Not an ounce was missing.
*
IT WAS FULLYdark when they ambled back to the cottage. Without a candle to light their way, Prudence hung onto Leo’s hand as he guided them through the dark woods and then out to the meadow, where the grass was already dampening with the evening dew. At least there they could see by the quarter moon and stars.
The cottage windows were dark. Neither of them had thought to leave a candle lit or bring the lantern, but Prudence remembered where she’d left the matchbox. It was fun to live simply again—without the hum of electric lights or the initialwhooshof gas moving through the lines that braided throughout some house walls. Most of America did not have electricity or gas in their homes, but much of London seemed to. She’d lived so long in luxury that she’d forgotten the extra steps it took to live in other places. To live as she once had with her family. It made her suddenly homesick to think of that life. Of snuggling young Adelaide when she was scared, or rocking Samantha in the chair in the middle of the night while her mother nursed the infant Benjamin.
She hadn’t seen any member of her family for two years—since she left America after she settled Gregory’s estate. She’d inherited most of it, and could show that it was her that owned the shares of the railway companies, and that they were not eligible to be taken by Gregory’s nephews. They’d been kind to her, for which she was grateful. That was not always the case with moneyed individuals. Besides, she and Gregory’s nephews were more of an age, and she’d had a sneaking suspicion that one of them had wanted to marry her himself.
“I know right where the matches are,” Prudence whispered to Leo.
“Why are we whispering?” he asked.
“Because there is something about darkness that makes me feel like I must be quiet,” Prudence insisted. “As if there is an unruly baby somewhere, fighting sleep.”
“No babies here,” he said in his normal voice, which was loud enough to make her startle.
“Good ta’ hear it,” said a man, stepping out of the shadows in front of the cottage.
Both Leo and Prudence jumped. Leo had automatically put a protective arm out, shoving Prudence behind him. The man had an accent unlike any she’d heard before, but the voice was low and rough.
“You Lenny Morgan?” the man asked.
“Go inside,” Leo said to her, his voice low and even. He was calm, or at least pretending to be so. But his shoulders were as tense as they’d ever been in London, and his imperious veneer was growing over him like a quick-spreading moss.
“I—” Prudence didn’t mean to object, she was scared. She was scared of the dark, of the man, of what might be lurking in the cottage.
Leo’s voice came even softer, but more insistent. “Go. Inside.”
Prudence shuffled in the dirt behind him, not willing to leave his side.
“Please,” he added.
Prudence reached her arm out to feel for the low stone wall that ran around the perimeter of the house. Then she found the short wooden gate and unlatched it, wondering if she was walking into a fresh hell, or leaving Leo stranded in the wind with a highwayman.
“Who’s asking?” Leo responded to the man. It was dark enough that she couldn’t make out the man’s features, and the shadows played tricks with her eyes, not letting her see how big he was. But she heard a horse snuffle in the distance, so sheknew there was a horse tied to a tree somewhere. She wasn’t sure why, but that gave her comfort.
“Lenny Morgan was a friend,” the man said.
Leo snorted. “Of course he was.”
There was a thick silence as they waited for Prudence to fumble her way inside the cottage. She would get the lantern lit, and they could have a look at this scoundrel who was causing them so much unnecessary fear.
“And you would be?” Leo asked, his voice so sharp it could slice bread.
“Like I said, an old friend of Lenny Morgan’s.”
“Did this Lenny Morgan make a habit of having friends with no names?”
Prudence’s hands fumbled over every object within reach until she finally got a hold of the matchbox. Outside, there was the sound of a man spitting.
“If Lenny were ta know me, I’d be Granson.”
There was a silence. Prudence struck the match, and it flared to life. She caught a momentary glance of the man before he put his arm up, shielding his eyes. Tearing her eyes from the scene in front of her was difficult. The man had looked younger than either Leo or her, but the harshness of his voice didn’t sound young at all. He wore a dark hat, with a brim wide enough that it hid his face. He was shorter than Leo but much stouter. He looked like the Scots she knew back in Minnesota, built like plow horses, wide and stocky, strong as two oxen put together.
Leo put his hand out to shake the man’s hand, and after a moment, the other man took it. Prudence frantically looked for either the lantern or a candle. She found a candle and lit it, rushing to hold up the light source and check behind her in the cottage. A quick scan revealed no one.
“No one by that name here, friend,” Leo said. “Good evening.”
