Page 28

She sniffed. “Bribery.”

“Absolutely.”

A crack of a laugh. “Finally, my worth is recognized.” She preened, just a little, before accepting the hot cross bun and then just taking the whole lot. “Now what do you want?”

“I’m Lady Clara.”

“They call me Granny Mab.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

A scoff. “Then you should probably get out more, find a hobby. Isn’t that what you fine ladies do? Charity and decoupage?”

“I’m a guest up at Eastbourne Hall.”

“I figured as much, though you don’t look the type.”

Clara stifled a sigh. “I know.”

“That wasn’t an insult, my girl. Despite that horrid dress.”

“You are not fond of the Hall?”

“Never been, have I? Someone like me? But I’ve heard a thing or two.”

Something Clara was very much counting on. “You’ve never been at all?”

“Oh, a few times for harvest suppers in the field, and once to bring my sister her supplies when her courses came unexpectedly. I was a seamstress and sometimes a lace maker.” She held up her gnarled fingers. “But my sister worked in the kitchens for the old marquis. He was an odd one too, but kind enough.”

“The new marquis is not kind?”

“Not to old women and wallflowers,” Granny Mab said drily. “Which I am sure you have already found out yourself. He does not care to have us marring his view or interrupting his pleasures. He likes us out of the way.”

“Has he always been like that?”

“He moved half of the village down into the valley so he could better see the countryside from his balcony.” She shrugged. “Bah. Toffs.” She squinted an eye at Clara. “You’re not the first one to come down here and ask questions about him.”

“I’m not?” Interesting.

“Nah, some young bloke was asking questions just yesterday.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I didn’t like his attitude.” Granny Mab winked. “He offered me a penny. I prefer hot cross buns.”

Clara smiled. “And what would you tell me about the marquis? For another basket of hot cross buns?”

“That you should stay far away from him, but you already know that, a clever girl like you.”

“How do you know I am clever?” Clara narrowed her eyes. “And don’t say it’s my dress. It’s not that bad.”

Granny Mab cackled. “You’ve got that look, is all. Like a governess.”

“Splendid,” Clara said drily. Some ladies with pale hair and slender bones looked like fairy queens. Not her. But as a transition to the real questions she wanted to ask, she could not find better. “I suppose there is a governess up at the Hall?”

“No, but they had a chaperone until recently.” Granny Mab lowered her voice. “She’s disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”