She was just pouring it into two cups when Libby reemerged a few minutes later, a sheet of paper in her hands, which she took with her to the sofa. When Mabena slid the peace offering onto the table, Libby didn’t even glance up.
Mabena huffed. She didn’t want to apologize. She shouldn’t have snapped at her, but she wouldn’t have had to if Libby hadn’t pressed. Always with the why. When would the girl learn that she didn’t need the answers to everything? “It’s your favorite. Don’t let it go cold.”
Libby reached out, wrapped a hand around the mug, and lifted it to her lips. Obedience. Not pleasure.
And what was Mabena now, her mother? She spun back to the kitchen and picked up her own cup. Though she didn’t take much pleasure in the taste either. “What’s that you brought out?”
A shrug, and she flipped it around for Mabena to see. “Darling found it under the bed.”
A drawing of a coat of arms. Not one from any of the families in these parts though—probably something a previous tenant had dropped.
Libby set it on the table and went back to her book.
Mabena hissed out a breath. “Are you going to make me say it?”
Silence. The rustle of a page. A voice barely above a whisper. “I would never make you say anything.”
Even though she should. Any other lady would probably have met her attitude with an ultimatum: apologize or be sacked. But Libby wasn’t like any other lady. “My lady . . . I oughtn’t to have snapped at you as I did. It wasn’t your fault, nor you I was irritated with. All right? Please stop avoiding me.”
“All right.” Still the same small voice though. Mabena hadn’t heard her sounding so . . . so insignificant since after her coming out ball last year. When Lady Telford had to threaten to cancel the order for the new set of encyclopedias if she didn’t come out of her room and get ready for that night’s musicale. When she’d been overwhelmed by all the expectations and other young ladies with their backbiting and the gentlemen who saw only pound signs when they looked at her.
Mabena couldn’t think how her one flare of temper had resulted in this. But clearly a cup of chocolate wouldn’t mend it.
What was it she’d even said? She’d only told her to leave it alone, hadn’t she? And, yes, she’d stormed off—but it wasn’t as though she couldn’t find her way back to the Moon cottage. There were only so many streets, and they’d explored them all together Tuesday night. Besides, Tas-gwyn Gibson had caught up to her in about two seconds. He’d have kept her entertained on the walk home.
Leaning against the wall, she took another sip. Her gaze darted to the table, the drawing. Not from a family in these parts, but . . . it looked a bit familiar. She couldn’t place where she’d seen it before though. Likely on something an incomer had. Or even, she supposed, a crest she’d seen on a carriage that visited the Telfords.
It was probably nothing, but it niggled, so she moved over to pick it up and studied it a bit more closely once she was in her spot again. Turned her eyes to the window, hoping realization would dawn, and frowned when she saw a man approaching their door, which might not have been anything worth noting if it weren’t pouring. He wore a mackintosh and carried a brolly, but it took her only a moment to be certain that she didn’t recognize him—the hair peeking from his hat was fairest blond, and there was no one here who could say the same.
Under his arm he clutched a parcel.
Mabena shot upright, slipping the drawing into her pocket. “My lady! A man’s coming. With a package.”
Libby’s mug clattered back to the table. “For Beth, do you think?”
“I don’t know.” But the pounding of her heart said maybe, just maybe this one would have a clue that would tell them something useful. “You should be the one to answer the door, in case it’s for Beth.”
A mask of uncertainty settled over Libby’s face. “You don’t think I should say I’m not her? Ask him what he’s about?”
And scare off any future deliveries? “No. Just play along with it.”
“But . . .”
“How else can we help Oliver find his sister?”
Libby let out a breath. Nodded, even as footfalls joined with the pounding rain, and then a knock harmonized too. She stood, depositing the kitten on the sofa, and moved to the door. Mabena stayed out of sight, her fingers curled tightly around her mug.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon. Elizabeth?”
Her heart raced, even as she tried to place the accent. Cornish, without question. But not quite the cadence of a native islander. But of course it wouldn’t be a Scillonian—any native would know it wasn’t Elizabeth Tremayne at the door.
“That’s right. Though I wasn’t expecting a delivery today.”
What was she doing? Mabena’s nostrils flared.
The bloke, however, sounded a bit confused. “It’s Wednesday, ain’t it?”
“Oh! Is it?” Libby chuckled, though Mabena heard the strain in it. The stranger likely wouldn’t though. “I’ve lost a day somehow. Very well, then. Thank you.”
A moment later the door swung shut again, and Mabena surged forward, sliding her mug onto the table. The parcel—a large manila envelope—was now in Libby’s hands. “Why the question?”
Libby flipped the envelope over in her hands. “It was Wednesday last week too. I’d been wondering if there were no more by design or if the rain had kept people away, and then our absence. But this fellow came through a downpour. Which either meant that he’d been waiting for me to come again and saw our lights, or that Wednesday is simply the delivery day.” She shrugged. “Not that two examples provide enough data to say for certain. But we at least know now that he’d meant to come today, not that he’d been put off by my absence.”
Mabena smiled. “Sometimes that scientific mind of yours is rather helpful.”
Libby’s answering smile was weak, strained. “Sometimes.”
Blast. That wasn’t how she meant it to sound. Which normally Libby would know. But she didn’t have time just now to soothe her. She grabbed her own hooded mackintosh from its hook. “You open it. I’m going to follow him.”
“Mabena!”
But she was already dashing out the side door and hugging the garrison wall as she ran, grateful that the man had that umbrella. It not only obscured his view of people following him, but it also gave her something to keep an eye on.
A drizzle was never enough to keep anyone inside, but this sort of rain meant largely empty streets as she trailed him into Hugh Town. The fellow kept up a quick pace, which suited Mabena fine. She had no trouble keeping him in view while staying well out of his.
Somehow she wasn’t surprised when he led her straight to the ferry dock, where the last trip of the day would depart within the half hour. She hung back under a helpful eave, watching as he purchased a ticket and then jogged up the gangway and onto the boat. She had no reason to expect him to debark again, but still she waited a few minutes. Just to be sure.
The rain eased up as suddenly as it had come upon them at noon, and her lips quirked with the lightening of the clouds. Tas had said the storm would blow over by supper. Looked as though he was right, as usual. She took another minute to listen to the drip-drip of water still running off thatch and tile and into the drains, but the blond bloke didn’t emerge from the shelter on the ferry.