His brows were as low as a bank of storm clouds. “I’m not entirely certain. What do you think?”
He handed it over far too casually, in her opinion, something unlikely if they were the mere acquaintances she was trying to pretend they were. But Libby didn’t seem to think anything of it, just came to Mabena’s side to look at it with her. Always more curious than polite, that was Libby. And much as Mabena had the sudden urge to shield the letter from her, she squelched it. It would give away too much about how invested she was in what Libby would think only a mystery.
Oliver,
I know you’ll be unhappy with me, and I’m sorry for that. I only meant to have a bit of fun, find a new story to tell, perhaps earn a bit. But it’s certainly not fun now. I can’t undo the last month, but I can try to put a stop to the trouble brewing, anyway. Only, I can’t do that where I’ve been. But I know you’re not going to like the plan I came up with, and so . . . well, so I’m not telling you.
I know it’s cruel of me to leave you guessing, and I’m sorry for that too. I assume Mrs. Pepper will return this and everything else to you, and no doubt you’ll worry. Try not to. I can’t say more than that—I know well you’ll interfere. You won’t be able to help yourself. Just trust me, big brother. Please? And if you would pay Mrs. Pepper for the cottage when she comes to you, that would be lovely. I’ll need it again soon.
If all goes well, I’ll be back home and annoying you within a few weeks. I’ve tried to put a few safeguards in place in case anything goes awry. There are no guarantees, of course, when one is dealing with this sort of thing, but . . . but I can’t in good conscience let it go unanswered. Even if it is unlikely I’ll prevail against them, I have to try. I owe it to him.
If you get this before Johnnie’s funeral, tell his mum I’m sorry I wasn’t there. He was a sweet lad.
Beth
Mabena’s frown was no doubt every bit as thunderous as Oliver’s. “Johnnie?”
“Rosedew.” Oliver’s voice was low; no doubt he was remembering that Beth wasn’t the only one who would regret missing his funeral. Mabena had helped watch him for his mum when he was little. Ages ago. He would have been, what, sixteen by now? “Had an accident two weeks ago, in Piper’s Hole on Tresco. He must have slipped, went down hard and . . . No one was with him, but a few of his chums found him next morning.” He shook his head, sorrow thick on his face. “His mother’s a wreck. Poor lad.”
She very nearly reached for his elbow. Funerals were, she knew, his least favorite part of the job. And it would be worse when it was that sort of funeral. “A couple weeks ago? Then this must have been written before the funeral but after the accident.”
“Must have been. I—” He was interrupted by a knock upon the door.
Libby huffed. “If it’s another someone looking for your sister, Mr. Tremayne, I’ll let you talk to them.” She spun to the door before Mabena could thrust the letter back to Oliver and insist she ought to answer all knocks instead. It wasn’t fitting for a lady when Mabena was there.
But Libby, of course, never thought of such things. She merely pulled the door open before Mabena could get out so much as a squeak of protest, revealing a glowering Mrs. Pepper with a basket as big as her scowl.
“Mrs. Pepper!” Libby’s greeting was pure sweetness—and perhaps relief at it being someone who knew who she was, more or less. “How—”
“Was that a man’s voice I heard?” Their landlady pushed her way in. “I hadn’t thought it necessary to set down the rules for you, being well bred as you clearly are, but—oh! Mr. Tremayne!”
The woman’s demeanor changed as swiftly as lightning when she spotted Oliver. Mabena rolled her eyes—she couldn’t help it. It was annoying and convenient both how he had that effect on people.
He’d folded the letter in the moments when she and Libby were turned to the door, and he now smiled warmly at the old biddy, holding out a hand toward her. “Hello, Mrs. Pepper.”
She put her hand into his, setting her basket down to a gentle rest on the floor. “How good it is to see you again. I thought I’d not get the chance once your sister went home. Are you here on business or for a visit? Calling on Mr. Gale? He made mention of seeing if you would consider filling in for him one Sunday here, if that cough of his doesn’t improve.”
His smile didn’t so much as falter, though his mind surely snagged, as Mabena’s did, on that once your sister went home. “I’ll certainly be paying a visit to Mr. Gale. He did send me a note just yesterday, yes. And I told him I’d be happy to fill in for him at St. Mary’s soon. I’m going to encourage everyone at St. Nicholas’s to simply come over here with me.”
“Oh, we could have a meal together afterward, the whole parish together.” Mrs. Pepper positively beamed at him. “And we do so love to hear you now and then.”
“And I relish the time with you all as well.” He patted her hand, which still rested in his. “And how is Kayna, ma’am? And your husband?”
He had a way of asking those simple questions in a way that made it clear he actually cared about the answers. Where normally people would give a polite, simple answer, with him they responded with the truth. Hence Mrs. Pepper’s long sigh. “I do worry for Henry. He tries to do too much, never admitting he isn’t as young as he used to be. And Kayna hasn’t been quite the same since she lost the last babe.”
Mabena drew in a sharp breath. She hadn’t even known Kayna Pepper had married, much less that she’d lost a child—or more than one? Was that what “the last” indicated? Perhaps she oughtn’t to have told her parents not to bore her with island gossip. Then she wouldn’t feel quite like the world here had spun away from her.
“I’ve been praying for her and Thom every day,” Oliver said, his gaze never leaving the woman’s eyes.
She sniffled. “I know they’d appreciate it if you stopped in while you’re here. Poor Mr. Gale hasn’t been well enough for his usual visitations.”
“Absolutely. And I’ll make certain to say hello to your husband as well before I go home for the evening.”
Mabena was about ready to shake him—or Mrs. Pepper—to draw them back to the question of Beth. She had to curl her hands into fists to control them but didn’t quite manage to keep her feet still. She shifted from one to the other.
Oliver finally glanced at her, then back to the older woman. “Forgive me, Mrs. Pepper, but did you say Beth left for home?”
For a moment, her face went utterly blank. The kind that bespoke genuine surprise at the question. “Two weeks ago, wasn’t it? Right after poor Johnnie Rosedew. I thought at first she was just going to Tresco to be there for the funeral, but she took an awful lot with her. And when she didn’t come back—well, I knew you’d talked her into staying home. Though I must say, I was a trifle peevish when she didn’t bother letting me know she was done with the place. Had I not happened to see her leaving with all her things . . .”
Oliver’s frown dug its way back into his forehead as she spoke. “She didn’t come home.” He said it so simply. Clearly. So very briefly that even Mrs. Pepper must have heard how the words haunted him down to his soul.