Page 9

Her sister went still. “To wonder what?”

“To doubt,” Cressida admitted. She picked up a teacup and began to wash it. “He’s never been gone this long without sending word, not unless there was a war going on. And then we certainly knew where he was.”

Callie bit her lip.

“I heard a horse,” she said bluntly. “Out behind the house. It could have been Papa, but I feared it might be another creditor, so I went out to see. A man was walking around the stables, and I thought he’d come to take the horses.”

“Cressida, you shouldn’t go out there by yourself! You should send Mr. Webb⁠—”

“He was busy mending the fence, and there wasn’t time to fetch him. We’ll be even worse off if the sheep get loose. Don’t worry,” she added, seeing Callie’s dismayed expression. “I took Papa’s pistol, just in case.”

Callie gasped. “You pulled a pistol on him?”

She flushed. “I didn’t shoot him. Even Granny would have heard that.”

The door creaked open and Tom came in. At the sight of Callie he stopped short, ducking his head in a hasty bow.

“Mr. Webb, my sister says there was a man on the property, looking at the horses,” Callie said.

He glanced at Cressida, who kept her eyes on the teacup she was wiping. “There was.”

“What are we to do?” When no one answered, Callie threw up her hands. “What aren’t you telling me? Did he take the horses? Did he set fire to the stables? What happened?”

Tom just looked at Cressida, who took her time washing every last crevice of the delicate cup. It would be worth more unchipped, when she had to sell it. “It was our neighbor,” she said.

Callie looked puzzled. “Which one?”

“Major Alexander Hayes,” Tom answered for her. Cressida shot him a dark look.

Callie gasped, her hand flying to her throat. “Oh dear—the dead one?”

“He’s definitely not dead anymore.” Cressida handed the cup to Callie to dry. “And he was looking for Papa.”

There was a long moment of silence in the kitchen, broken only by the splash of water as Cressida washed a plate. The three of them were conspirators, keeping the bad news from Granny that Papa was gone and apparently not coming back. Cressida hated to think that, but every day that he was gone was another day of doubt that he would ever come striding through the door in his exuberant way, roaring with laughter and bearing gifts for them all. Every day that he was gone, they sank deeper into debt, since Papa had left only a few weeks’ worth of funds. Among the three of them standing silently in the kitchen, they had managed to feed themselves and the animals, but they’d had to let go all the servants and quietly return the more frivolous things Papa had bought. They were getting by, but only just, and Cressida knew they were perilously close to slipping beyond that into true difficulty.

“Perhaps I should go after the sergeant,” said Tom at last. “He’s been gone a long time.”

Callie made a soft noise of distress and Cressida shook her head. “I think we’d rather you stay, Tom. Papa. . . ” She paused, steadying her voice. “Papa can look after himself.” I hope.

“Thank you, Mr. Webb,” Callie added in a heartfelt tone. “But I— Yes, we would much rather you not go.”

Tom flushed. “Of course, Mrs. Phillips,” he mumbled. He and Callie kept up a formality in address that Cressida had long since discarded. Tom was like a member of the family after all these years. He’d come home with her father from the wars, and with no family of his own to go to, he'd stayed. He had a much more practical bent than Papa had. Papa could charm an extra pint of ale from even the most hard-hearted innkeeper, but Tom could fix the fence around the sheep pen and mend broken furniture—infinitely more useful talents, in their present situation.

“Well, the good news is that he wasn’t here to collect on a debt Papa owed him,” said Cressida.

“He said that?”

She frowned at her sister. “No, but how could Papa owe a man who was dead and buried five years ago?”

“Obviously he wasn’t really dead and buried five years ago,” snapped Callie. “He’s had just enough time to find debt markers in the late Mr. Hayes’s things.”

That was true. Papa might have owed money to Frederick Hayes, and his brother could have discovered the note. Cressida sighed. “Perhaps. Tom, could we get by without the horses? They cost a fortune to keep.”

Tom folded his arms and thought a moment. “That’d be the end of farming. Oxen cost just as much and can’t pull a carriage. And you’d have to tell your grandmother.”

With great care Cressida set down the last clean teacup. She didn’t want to tell Granny, who had lived so frugally to raise two motherless granddaughters while their father was at war, that they were destitute again. Granny had been happier than any of them to move to Marston almost a year ago, delighted beyond words that Papa’s grand plans had finally paid off and bought them a life of comfort and ease. Leaving this country cottage would be hard on Granny, even had it not been a tacit admission that Papa had failed them.

“We’ll worry about that if he comes again seeking repayment,” she said softly. “For now, we’ll just. . . keep on as we are.”