Perry swallowed a chuckle. One didn’t see a ghost every day.
“Edie will help us.” This was the most assurance Perry had ever heard in Davy’s voice.
“How?”
Kincaid’s blunt question set the girl to frowning.
These locals were not obsequious towards their so-called betters. Oh, they might be cowed by people like Scruggs and Sir Richard, but that was the practical consideration of physical intimidation. But merely being born to a higher rank didn’t rate the kind of deference Perry had always received from the tenants of Cransdall.
Free trading gave them freedom.
Plus, Perry thought, they’d seen the colonies revolt, and a revolution in France that had sent people of her own class to the guillotine, and had others fleeing to England, perhaps arriving on these very shores.
Edie raised a pugnacious chin. “I was in service with Sir Richard.”
In service. The girl had probably been a housemaid, one who flicked dust from every piece of furniture, in every nook and cranny. She would know about secret doors and hidden passageways and where they led. If there were stories of treasures hidden in a priest hole or some such, she would have heard them. She would know Sir Richard’s ways. She would have learned early when to steer clear, when to be one of the invisible girls with a broom and a duster. She would know how many servants there were and where they would be.
Jenny crossed the room. “I’ll finish that, my lady,” she said.
Edie’s eyes widened, taking in Perry’s plain dress, the frowzy hair, and her necklace of purple bruises. And the big, handsome man with his hand on her.
Perry’s man. Well, he would be for a few hours more, and then his damned honor would take him away. And she couldn’t think about that now.
“Please sit, Edie,” Perry said. “Make room for her at the table.”
