“Like what? You’re her best friend. She would confide in you if she would anyone.”

  She looked down. She needed no reminder of their last meeting.

  “Poppy, what did you girls have words about? I don’t mean to pry—”

  “Then don’t,” she said sharply.

  Her aunt snapped her mouth shut, startled. “Poppy,” she admonished.

  “I’m sorry.” She looked down at her lap unhappily. “It is best not talked about.”

  “Very well. But if you ever wish to—”

  Poppy shook her head and rose to her feet. “Aunt Rachel, may I walk down to the village?”

  “You know your uncle said not to. You’re to stay in this room.”

  “But I want some fresh air.”

  She frowned. “Open the window.”

  “Aunt… Please. I feel like a prisoner here.”

  She looked insulted.

  “Please, Aunt. I only mean that I want some fresh air and to walk around, stretch my legs.”

  “No my girl, your uncle was firm about this. I cannot let you.”

  At that moment, there was a quiet knock on the door, and in walked the maid, Betsey.

  “Yes?” Aunt Rachel said.

  “Begging your pardon ma’am, but the horse has slipped a shoe and I’ve got the dinner to put on. Could you or Poppy take the horse down to the village?”

  Poppy looked at her aunt. “Aunt Rachel?”

  Her aunt frowned. “I don’t like it. But your uncle is working on his sermon and doesn’t like to be disturbed. All right. Poppy shall go.” She turned to Poppy. “Your legs are longer than mine and can bear the walk better, I wager.”

  Poppy tried to withhold her excitement. As her aunt turned to leave she mouthed, “Thank you” to Betsey, who smiled, bobbed a curtsey and led the way out.

  Suitably attired in her white walking dress, a dark brown pelisse and faded brown bonnet tied around her head, Poppy was ready to leave. She left the house and walked around to the little stable where she took the reins and slowly led the horse along the lane that led to the main road and eventually to the village. It was a long walk, and by the end of it, Poppy was tired. By the time she arrived at the town stables, the head groom, Mr. O’Grady, who also worked as an informal farrier greeted her.

  She entered the stable courtyard and waved to him. He stood, brushing down a horse. He was an older man with a red face and a paunch that stretched his shirt. But he had a long face, much like the horses he cared for, and he’d always had a kind word for her. “Hello, Miss Morton. Fine day.”

  “Hello, Mr. O’Grady.” She led the horse over to him. “He’s slipped a shoe.”

  “Ah.” He put a caressing hand on the horse, giving him a kind rub on his mane and neck, and began to check the horse’s hooves. He spotted the hurt one immediately. “I’ll get this done in no time.”

  “Oh. I forgot to bring coin.”

  His easy smile faltered. “Seeing as you’re Mr. Greene’s niece… Just bring it next time you’re in the village.”

  “I will. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

  He waved her off. “It’s no trouble, no trouble at all.”

  A thought struck her. “Mr. O’Grady, have your horses been hurt by caltrops recently?”

  He looked at her. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I…I thought I saw one in the road.”

  “Well now that you mention it, a few horses have come down with pains because of them. But I don’t make them if that’s what you’re after. Nasty things, those.”

  “Who does make them?” she asked.

  “Why, that’s the blacksmith, Will Shaw. You should know him.”

  “I should?”

  “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. He’s kin to that young man of yours.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her face grew warm.

  “Thomas Maddox. It’s his cousin.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “Aye. Come see me in a quarter-hour.”

  She left him and started walking. The village was not very great in size, only a handful of streets with shops here and there. There was the farmer’s market, with men calling out their wares to people in the late afternoon. The butcher’s sat nearby, where she could smell the blood from down the road. She could hear the loud ting ting of the blacksmith’s hammer against the anvil, and strolled down the side of the road, keeping free of the horses that were ridden by.

  As she approached the smithy, she held up a hand to ward off the afternoon sun. “Hello?” she called.

  It took another two calls before the sounds stopped. “Hello,” she called.

  A man came out. He was a young man, no more than twenty-five or six, but he was dirty, sweaty and his face was black with soot. He wiped his hands on his trousers. “What?”

  “I…I’m having my horse shod at the farrier’s.”

  “Miss Morton.” He nodded. “You’re Tom’s friend. You need a new shoe?”

  “No. It’s not that. I was wondering about caltrops.”

  “Sorry?” He looked confused.

  “I saw some in the road and fell on one. I hurt my foot.” She held up her cane.

  He stared at her, his face devoid of emotion.

  “You make them, don’t you?”

  “Caltrops? Yes. Have done. What of it?” He came closer.

  “Did you make any recently? In the last week or so?”

  He scratched his head. “I don’t know. Farmers like them sometimes. Collectors of historical artifacts too.”

  “Someone scattered them on the road. It’s what caused Mary’s accident.”

  He stared down at her. “You don’t think I had anything to do with that.”

  “No, no of course not. I was just wondering…”

  “You were thinking I’d made these for a murderer, is that it?”

  “No, no. I just was thinking…”

  “Don’t think. It doesn’t suit you. I had nothing to do with that accident. Now leave. I’ve got work to do.” His soot-covered face frowned.

  “You’re Tom’s cousin, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes. Some friend you are, thinking he had anything to do with this. Everyone knows it’s you and her that had that fight.”

  She turned red. “The constable said I had nothing to do with her accident.”

  “But he didn’t prove anything, did he? Perhaps you’re not so innocent as you think.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m getting sick of your questions. It’s improper for a girl.”

  Poppy took a step back. “You knew Mary, didn’t you?”

  “What of it? Everyone knew Mary. She always had a kind word. She’s the sweetest girl in the village.” He looked pointedly at her.

  Poppy was undeterred. “You fancied her.”

  The man blushed. “You ask a lot of questions. Why don’t you leave that to the constable?”

  “I want to find Mary. Don’t you care about her?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Girls come and go. I’m surprised a girl like you is sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. You should leave it well alone if you know what’s good for you.”

  “What does that mean? Is that a threat?” she asked.

  He gritted his teeth. “It is what it is. Now clear off.” He spat on the ground.

  Poppy walked away, fast. She turned back around and spotted the man by the entrance to the smithy, watching her.

  She collected the horse and rode back to her uncle’s house, all the while thinking of caltrops. Had the smith killed the maidservant, thinking it was Mary?

  She returned the horse, now freshly horseshoed, back to their little stable on their property and walked around the house. The windows in the front room were open and the voices inside could be heard clearly.

  Poppy was about to walk past when she heard, “You need to keep a tight rein on her before she damages her reputation more. All this nonsense about her does not look well on you, begging yer pardon, Mr. Greene.” Mr. Jenkins’ voice was clear.

  Poppy froze.

  Her uncle said, “I know what must be done. I’ve already refused to let her go anywhere but to church. She is a good girl.”

  “See that you look after her. With a second body, I’ve got enough to worry about without dealing with wayward silly girls running around town.”

  “Poppy has a good heart. She was so desolate at the loss of her friend. I am sure she was doing what she thought was right.”

  “Girls have no business in the matters of death. Now if you ask me—” Mr. Jenkins started.

  “Mr. Jenkins, I have a sermon to write. If there is nothing else—”

  “I’ll be going. You just remember my advice.”

  “Yes. Poppy will be looked after and restricted in her movements. Thank you for coming.”

  Poppy heard rustling inside the house, near the door. She tumbled behind a bush, tucking her skirts beneath her legs and laying as low to the ground as possible.

  The front door opened and closed, and in seconds she heard a man saddle a horse and ride off. She waited a minute, then heard her uncle comment, “Odious man. I am glad he is gone. I would not see him again.”

  “Yes, dear,” her aunt echoed. “He clearly knows nothing of young girls. But I thought you defended Poppy quite well. You’re right, you know, she does have a good heart.”

  Poppy brightened.

  “Despite all her faults.”

  Poppy scowled. She rose from the bush, brushed herself off and walked around the house, opening the door.

  Her uncle faced her, leaning against the sofa where her aunt sat doing needlework. “Ah, Poppy. I trust you’ve returned the horse.”

  “Yes. He’s got the new shoe.”

  “Excellent, well done.”

  She nodded. “It was good to get some fresh air. If you’ll excuse me.” She walked back to her room and lay on the bed, soon falling into a deep sleep.

  When she woke, darkness had fallen.

  “Poppy! Dinner!” a voice called.

  “Coming,” Poppy murmured into her pillow. She sat up on the bed and shivered.

  There was a draft coming from her window, yet she didn’t recall leaving it open. She rose and walked over to the window. There was something small, a little roll of parchment sticking in the window, letting in a tiny breeze.

  She released the parchment from the window and shut it. She couldn’t read in the darkness and tilted the paper to read it from the reflection of the moon.

  In black scrawling letters, it read: Leave now before it’s too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She peered at the note, then tucked it away in her right sleeve. It wouldn’t do to leave it lying around, especially with Betsey coming in later to turn down her bed and light a candle in her room.

  She drew an old dark woolen shawl around her shoulders and hurried down the creaking steps to the dining room. It was springtime and they dined on roast lamb. Despite the meat that smelled of rich juices and the steaming boiled potatoes, she couldn’t shake the chill that had come upon her.

  “Poppy, are you quite well?” her aunt asked.

  “Yes, I left my window open. I must’ve caught a chill.” She tugged the shawl tighter around her.

  “Silly girl, the nights are cold,” her aunt tsked. “Sit by the fire after dinner and that will warm you.”

  “I will.” Once dinner had ended, the three of them sat in the main sitting room. Her uncle read over his sermon for Sunday and once finished, picked up a book of religious texts. Her aunt did needlepoint by candlelight, while Poppy sat nearest the fire. She listened to her uncle read aloud, but she would be damned if she could remember a word he said. Was Mary alive? The note looked like her handwriting. Was she writing to Poppy from beyond the grave? She shivered at the thought.

  Her uncle read aloud for half an hour, and said, “Poppy, are you listening?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You seem far away. Are you… thinking of someone?”

  At that, her aunt perked up. “Has he written to you?”

  “No,” Poppy answered. “I was thinking of Mary. I wonder where she is and what she’s doing now.”

  “Why?”

  “She may be in danger or all alone. I just hope she’s all right.”

  “Poppy, will you not tell us what your argument was about? To push her and make the girl flee like that—” her aunt started.

  “I never asked her to leave.”

  “Well, she must have had some reason,” her aunt pushed. “And we’ve had to pay to replace the glass door, you know.”

  “Rachel,” her uncle’s voice was firm. “It is her business, and none of ours to pry. Be at ease, Poppy.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. What with Mary gone…”

  “The girl is gone. But it doesn’t do to think of such things. Young ladies do get into trouble sometimes. It is a shame that the search party did not find her.”

  Poppy nodded and excused herself. She felt chilled to the bone, and no matter how much she wrapped herself tightly in her old woolen shawl, the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Huddled in her thin nightdress, dressing gown and shawl, she padded down the corridor to fetch another blanket when her uncle’s voice echoed from the sitting room, “A foolish girl, that Mary. Poppy is well rid of her.”

  “Oh Reginald, how can you say that? You cannot be so blind. Mary was a beauty.”

  “Poppy is her superior in intelligence. And she has an innocence about her which is most pleasing.”

  “But she has not Mary’s beauty and you know it. That is what a man sees first. Do you not agree?”

  “Aye,” he said begrudgingly. “A pretty face can be charming, but a girl’s wit and manners are what will keep his attention. There are far too many empty-headed girls walking around, and not a drop of sense in any of them. Poppy will be fine, I am sure.”

  The following day was Sunday, which meant they would all go to church. Her uncle had already gone ahead, and she walked the short distance with her aunt. The day was bright and the church bells rang out, calling the appointed time.

  Poppy barely listened to her aunt’s chatter as they entered the church and walked past their neighbors and fellow villagers. But as they entered in their normal pew up at the front of the church, her aunt stopped short. “What is that?”

  Poppy peered behind her aunt.

  It was a caltrop, right on her seat.

  “Nothing, Aunt. A practical joke, I think,” Poppy lied.

  It was a warning.

  Poppy pushed it off her seat with her walking stick and it landed on the floorboards with a loud thunk. She felt her face warm and looked down at the dirty metal caltrop, kicking it aside. She schooled her face to remain calm but her hands betrayed her, trembling as she sat down in the pew beside her aunt.

  She casually looked behind her, at the people sitting in the pews. The service had not started yet, and people were still filtering in. But no one was shooting her suspicious looks, nor did she see anyone that looked out of the ordinary. Even Tom’s cousin was not present.

  Tom was, however, and gave her an encouraging smile. After church, a touch at her elbow revealed him grinning beside her. “Good afternoon. May I walk with you a little?”

  Her aunt looked at her, questioning. Poppy gave a little smile, feeling her heart lift.

  Tom escorted her outside the church for all to see, not touching but close enough it was clear he was making an effort to be near her. Poppy felt a thrill run through her at the closeness of him, even if her aunt was walking behind them.

  But Tom was an expert at getting a young lady alone, and he set a pace that quickly outdistanced her aunt. Once out of earshot, Tom said, “I heard you visited my cousin.”

  Poppy blushed. “Yes, I did.”

  “Why on earth would you go to his smithy and bother him?”

  “What? I didn’t, I only asked him about the caltrops.”

  “I know. And yes, you did bother him. He came to me afterward, very troubled.”

  “I did not mean to trouble him. I only wanted—”

  He talked over her. “I don’t want you going over there again. You’re only making things worse for yourself.”

  She felt a flash of irritation. “What do you mean?”

  “Your name has just been cleared of murder. Do you want to risk sullying it again by asking questions and being a bother?”

  “But I wasn’t—”

  “You were. My cousin is a blacksmith, he makes caltrops for farmers to keep their cattle from wandering away. There, now you have your answer. Will you please stop asking all these questions? You’re making me nervous.”

  “You? Why?”

  “I’m worried something will happen to you.” A shadow flitted across his face as they approached the lane that led to the parsonage. “Mary has still not been found, you know.”

  “I know. My uncle told me the search party did not find her.”

  “I’m afraid for you. I worry that something will happen to you too.”

  “Did you write that note?” she asked.

  “What note?”

  “Nothing. Something I dreamt.”

  “Ah.” He smiled and patted his hair. “You’re dreaming of me?”

  She had, many times. “Maybe.” She turned to him. “Tom, why did you leave me there with Mrs. Markham?”

  “Someone had to go fetch help.”

  “Yes, but you left me to attend Miss Hawkes.” She swallowed nervously just thinking about it. “I thought you would come back.”

  “There was no need, the authorities were on their way. I would only be a hindrance.”

  She frowned.

  His smile was sly. “You are so transparent, Poppy. I can see whatever you’re thinking far before you say it. But please, stop asking questions. It’s bad enough you drove Mary away, I would not—”

  “What? I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh come now, there’s no need to be embarrassed. The entire village saw the row between you and Mary.”

  “I did not drive her away,” her voice was firm.

  He laughed. “Do you mean to say you had nothing to do with it? Good heavens, you really are angry, aren’t you?”

 

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