“What type of goods?”
“No idea.”
Anthony reached for the horse’s brush. “And Miss Sutcliffe? How did she handle the journey?”
Timmons gave a slight grin. “She’s in love with me. O’ course.”
Anthony scoffed. “I’m sure she is. And did you learn what this all-important errand was?”
Timmons patted the horse’s shoulder as he rounded the stall. “She tried t’ ’ide what she was up to, but she’s a ’orrible liar. She ’ad me take ’er t’ th’ milliners, but from there I followed ’er to the jeweler. I stopped in after she left, and t’ jeweler said she tried t’ sell some jewels and baubles and whatnot, but ’e knew who she was an’ wouldn’t touch something from t’ Prior estate if ’is life depended on it.”
Anthony stiffened. He’d wondered about Charlotte’s finances. He assumed everything that belonged to Roland would pass to Henry, and such arrangements did not leave a great deal for the widow. And based on the current state of Hollythorne House, he doubted the estate was very profitable. But the thought of her selling personal belongings was sobering.
Timmons glanced over his shoulder as Tom led one of the carriage horses inside. “Sounds like our Mistress Prior may not ’ave access to t’ ’efty Prior fortune after all.”
Anthony nodded. “I would assume that it was left to the baby.”
“You’d think so.” Timmons smirked. “Wish someone’d leave me money. But then again, you wouldn’t know about that. You inherited a bit o’ land and funds for a commission. Yet you continue t’ play t’ role o’ thief-taker.”
His words were spoken in jest, and yet a hint of skepticism was hidden therein.
They finished settling the horses in silence, and something about this was not sitting right.
* * *
Charlotte jumped from her chair as Sutcliffe appeared in the threshold to her bedchamber. “You’re soaked through!”
Sutcliffe hurried into the room and closed the door behind her, her cheeks and nose flushed from cold and her light hair windblown about her face. “I’m sorry I am so late returning.”
“No, no. Do not be sorry. You must be freezing! Come, remove that cloak and draw closer to the fire.” Charlotte ushered Sutcliffe in and helped untie the sodden satin ribbons from beneath her chin and lifted the heavy traveling cloak from her shoulders. “Oh, this must have been a miserable trip for you. You must tell me everything that happened.”
But instead of nearing the fire, Sutcliffe’s brows furrowed. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Prior. The jeweler did not buy a single piece.”
Charlotte had expected to hear that not all of them had sold, or that she only got a fraction of what they were worth. But none?
She’d not show Sutcliffe her disappointment—not after the journey the lady’s maid had endured on her behalf. Charlotte motioned for her to pivot so she could help her with the tiny fabric-covered buttons of her heavy wool gown. “What happened?”
“I spoke with the jeweler—the very one I spoke with the day of Mr. Prior’s death. He said he knew who I was now and wanted nothing to do with anything owned by Roland Prior. It was too dangerous. I asked him what he meant, and he said the millers are out for blood and that he didn’t want to get involved. Do you know what he meant?”
Charlotte bit her lower lip and helped Sutcliffe step out of the gown. “Unfortunately I do. Silas was here earlier today while you were gone. I don’t know specifics, but apparently there is unrest over the fact that Roland owed workers money, but I don’t really know what for.”
When Sutcliffe was free of the gown, she quickly changed to a dry flannel chemise and wrapped a heavy knitted shawl about her shoulders. She then produced the satchel and poured the items out onto the bed.
Sure enough, every item that she’d selected to sell was still here.
Charlotte groaned, unsure if she should cry, scream, or throw the jewels against the wall.
She would not give in to frustration.
She would not.
She shook her head, as if doing so would jar free fresh determination and optimism. “Well, we’ll try again. A different shop. A different city if necessary. We are not helpless or without options. We just must be clever, that’s all.”
A knock on the door interrupted them, and Charlotte held her finger to her lips. The last thing she needed was for anyone in this house to know she was trying to sell her belongings. She opened the door to reveal Rebecca with a tray of tea.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Prior. Mrs. ’argrave told me t’ bring this up. She said Timmons told her Miss Sutcliffe would need it after t’ ride on account of t’ rain.”
Surprised, Charlotte looked to the steaming pot of tea and teacups. “Mr. Timmons suggested this?”
Rebecca nodded, her light brown eyes wide.
It was a very forward suggestion for a guard, but it would not do to vocalize such thoughts. Charlotte smiled and accepted the extended tray. “Thank you, Rebecca. Give Mrs. Hargrave our gratitude.”
Rebecca bobbed a curtsey, and no one spoke until the door was once again closed and Charlotte placed the tray on the table in the center of the room.
“Well.” Charlotte straightened the teacup that had shifted during the transfer. “That was a thoughtful gesture.”
Sutcliffe stood from the bed, a horrified expression on her now florid face. “But it’s so forward. Isn’t it?”
“It is nothing to get upset about,” soothed Charlotte with a dismissive wave of her hand, as much to calm her own nerves. “He probably was merely aware of how uncomfortable the trip was and was getting something to warm himself as well.”
Sutcliffe, cheeks flaming, accepted the cup of tea and sank into the chair next to the table. “I promise I did nothing to encourage his attention.”
“I know.” Charlotte ignored the uneasiness that wound its way through her and drew a deep breath. “Tell me all about the journey.”
Sutcliffe sipped her tea and lowered it back to the table. “Actually, it started off quite pleasant. The rain held off most of the day until we were about an hour from home, and we stopped and waited in the dining room of a traveling inn.”
“And Mr. Timmons? Was he a worthy escort?”
Sutcliffe bit her lower lip—a telltale harbinger of the watchman’s effect on her. “He was very much a gentleman. He’s not nearly as rough as one would assume at first glance.”
Charlotte listened in silence as the young woman recounted the day and was grateful to have someone else to think about instead of worrying about her own situation.
Even so, Sutcliffe’s admiration for Mr. Timmons was woven into every word she uttered. Charlotte resisted the urge to comment on the seemingly budding relationship. It was not her responsibility to guard her maid’s virtues and keep her heart from being broken, but circumstances had blurred the lines between mistress and maid, friend and acquaintance. They needed each other. After what they had endured over the past week, they would never be able to return to the traditional rules that guided a lady and her maid. It would do no good to caution her or attempt to dissuade her. And at the moment, if Sutcliffe was happy, who was she to intervene?