His eagerness was palpable, and I couldn’t help but groan inwardly at the thought of Mr. Barron trying to impress Abigail with his newfound interest in antiquities. Worse still, he had encroached on my personal space in a manner that most gentlemen would avoid.
“We’ve found lovely patterns made of tile from an old settlement worthy of a museum.” I forced a smile while I opened my reticule to deposit the tin of tea inside. “You do visit museums, don’t you, Mr. Barron, Mr. Cording? I would think any educated gentleman would have a healthy interest in history.”
Mr. Cording and Mr. Barron both gaped, but I plunked the coins on the counter and turned on my heel and reached the door as quickly as I could before anything else popped out of my mouth that I would later regret.
Outside the apothecary, the morning sun shone bright in my eyes, momentarily blinding me despite my poke bonnet. A form brushed against me, stopping me in my tracks.
“Miss Littleton, I have offended you. I must beg your forgiveness.” A contrite Mr. Barron stood before me with hat doffed.
My heart softened a smidgen. “No matter, Mr. Barron. All is forgiven.”
“If you need any assistance, you’ll ask for my help? I do count the vicar as a friend. And hopefully Lord Hawthorn one day soon as well.”
I tensed at the thought of the prickly lord. “It may not hold interest to you unless you admire old pottery and fragments of an ancient floor.” Caution made me color the find in the blandest of hues.
His brow furrowed. “If I may be so bold, there have been unsavory types wandering these parts—men with no work heading to London. One can’t be too careful. Mr. Perry might find himself in need of a guard or two to watch over things and assist with the excavation. And of course, I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.”
I paused at the image of Abigail and me mostly alone within the field, with nary a person close by to hear us scream. A shudder rippled from one shoulder to the other, but I kept my voice firm. “I may not be able to dig much longer. In fact, there seems to be some misunderstanding that a portion of Mr. Perry’s field might belong to the Hawthorn estate. I don’t believe it to be true, of course. Mr. Perry’s family has owned that farm for the past seventy-three years.”
Mr. Barron’s expression changed, the left side of his mouth tilting in a rueful smile. “How unfortunate. My recommendation is to involve the magistrate at once and assess the boundary lines. I believe the former Lord Hawthorn had a tendency of taking what didn’t belong to him. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but I would defend Mr. Perry’s right to use his land as he sees fit.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barron. Excellent advice.”
He preened before stopping on the road cutting through the heart of Bramnor. “You will extend my offer of assistance to Miss Perry as well?”
A grin broke free at his enthusiasm. His reason for asking about the dig must be motivated by my friend. I liked him a little better for wishing to impress her, even if I found his taste in fashion to be that of a coxcomb.
I nodded and bid him good day, then hurried on my way, pondering all the gossip I had heard—the laudanum and the ghosts and the interest in the dig. The more people who learned of the discoveries in the Perry field, the more muddied the situation became.
I blew out a long breath to steady my nerves as I considered my next visit. Mrs. Eacher’s cottage was on Lord Hawthorn’s land. At least today I was prepared with my new bonnet.
But surely I wouldn’t run into the peevish lord again. That would be far too much for the Fates to spin.
9:Bridget
Leisure without books is death,
and burial of a man alive.
SENECA
My visits with Mrs. Eacher were always enjoyable. I could usually be myself around her and never perceived judgment reflected from her filmy eyes. She peered into the hearts of men and women better than most, yet rarely said a word of condemnation, instead plying them with tea while offering a seat by her fire.
We were both satisfied with the developments of our shared story,The Mysteries of Udolpho. I tucked the book into my satchel after closing the door behind me, torn about leaving the safety of my friend’s cozy cottage to head home. I had stayed longer than planned, discussing my brother. When Mrs. Eacher asked me to lead in prayer, I muttered rote phrases, but when her blue-veined hand clasped mine, a tear slipped free.
Bridget... my sweet Bridget, your heavenly Father sees your concerns. Surely you can take these burdens to Him and trust Hisprovision.She could not see the emotions no doubt twisting my features as I muttered that it was late and I must be on my way. I, however, saw the flash of disappointment play across her face.
Time wasn’t a luxury I had. And I was tired of discussing my pressing concerns with a mute God.
As I walked away, a harsh wind picked up, matching my mood, tempered with the tangy sweet scent of coming rain. The long grass brushed against my skirt as the storm gathered. I took the quickest route through Lord Hawthorn’s estate, doubting he’d see me in such foul weather. Surely he hunkered within that great dining room with the deer head frozen on the wall as he sipped claret or port or whatever it was he preferred.
Chagrined that I would think of him at all, I defiantly marched across the winding trail beaten into the grass, past the fields and the apple trees offering a boundary line.
Thunder cracked above my head, and I jumped, already nervous of the incoming storm. If I hated horses, I hated storms just as much.
I hastened along the path, and the moment I reached the farthest edge of Mr. Perry’s field, the heavens broke loose, roaring with fury and sending sheets of rain that formed pools in the indentations of the field. Already my best slippers were soaked and likely ruined. My embroidered blue hem was splattered with mud, and the once jaunty ostrich feathers on my bonnet drooped forward in defeat. I would never hear the end of ruining my best outfit. Vanity of vanities, to wear my prettiest gown in the rare happenstance that I might encounter Lord Hawthorn. How foolish to think I could ever come close to a diamond of the first water and impress anyone at all. What I needed was a pair of sensible boots and more dresses the color of mud.
Then another fear—beyond destroying fashion and dealing with the formidable Mrs. Herriot—took hold, forcing me to liftmy skirts and dart across the mucky field. The mosaics! Surely the rain would ruin the progress Abigail and I had made in uncovering them. I had persuaded Mr. Perry to cover each section with canvas and dipped into my meager funds to purchase the supplies.
