She sighed and I wanted to kick myself again, since her only taste of freedom, as far as I could tell, was obtained clandestinely.
I tried to distract her with more. “I will join her in a week, which should be pleasant, though she seems to be enjoying herself so much she only writes every ten days or so.”
Miss Smith started at that, which I could not understand in the least.
She sat up straight, and spoke emphatically, “Did you follow my advice years ago?”
“Yes, we have written every week like clockwork, with the minor exception of the past few weeks, when I was expected imminently.”
She still looked agitated, which was beginning to worry me, though I had no idea what she was worried about.
“The companion—did you know her personally; or did one of your relatives?” she asked emphatically.
“No, but she came with excellent references.”
“Did you interview those references personally?”
Now I was beginning to either worry or be annoyed, but I answered carefully. “No, but they were excellent.”
She sat stewing on that for a minute, so I finally asked, “Does something worry you?”
I had no idea what could worry her but wanted to find out so I could relieve her anxiety or do something about it.
“You will think me a silly goose when we meet next year?”
I admit I was momentarily distracted by the pleasure of anticipating that meeting, even if it was a year away.
“I would never think that. You remember we discussed such things a few years ago.”
She laughed lightly, but I could tell she was still nervous.
She finally said. “I have a bad feeling about this, though I cannot say why, exactly. You describe her as timid, and your descriptions of her activities suggest a certain appreciation for consistency.”
“Yes,” I answered, still not understanding.
“She had a tremendous change when her father died, then another when she went to school, then another when she left, then another when she went to Ramsgate. She built up the habit of writing to you when a small child, and I doubt just being busy with watercolours or pianoforte would distract her from a habit of years.”
“I must submit to your superior understanding of young ladies. You are an expert on the subject, while I am an ignoramus.”
She thought about it a moment more, and I could see her getting more and more agitated.
“At the risk of displaying early onset of my mother’s nervousness—” she said, then took a deep breath, stared at me hard, and spoke emphatically. “Go to her, Mr Jones! Go to her today! Right now! If nothing is amiss, I will take credit for gifting you with an extra week in your sister’s company, and she will remember it for years. If something is amiss—”
She need say no more because I was abruptly terrified. I jumped up to leave and hurriedly executed our tradition.
“Next year, Miss Smith?”
“Same time, same place, Mr Jones!”
I had almost made it to the door when she called me back momentarily. “Mr Jones!”
She looked even more nervous than she had when she handed my grandfather’s pistols over at fourteen, but then she looked just as resolute.
“I will be near my majority next year. If you’ve no objections, I would like to tell you my real name then.”
I was so caught up with my sister’s danger that I did not think through all the implications, but had I a fortnight to think, I would have said the same.
“It will be my pleasure to reciprocate, and get to truly know you, Miss Smith… publicly.”
