She waited for him to elaborate. He did not.
Strange.
His disinclination to discuss the matter any further must have something to do with the steward.
In fact, Harbury had always been reluctant to talk about Anderson. He hadn’t, for instance, told her about the shouting match between the steward and Dr. Wilton on Tuesday, a “discussion”—according to Mrs. Pratt—overheard by half the residents of Lower Harfield. Nor had he told her about the Friday prior, when Tull had found Anderson searching one of the bookcases in the library they’d just finished organizing.
She’d a growing suspicion of Anderson. Did her husband have the same?
If so, he had not spoken or acted against the man.
Harbury wiped his mouth on a napkin and arranged the cutlery. “I’ll ride over to the rector’s,” he returned to an earlier topic, “so that you may have use of the carriage.”
“Thank you,” she said, though she had no intention of inconveniencing the coachman.
After Harbury left, she requested Trusty be harnessed to the cart. Then, she carried a basket of cheeses, bread, and all the oranges cook could spare out to the courtyard.
“Shall I attend you?” the groom asked.
“No, thank you,” she replied, with a twinge of guilt.
Harbury had asked her not to go out without a groom. But such a restriction seemed unreasonable when she would be confined to the estate and driving on a road she had traveled on before.
She wasn’t disobeying her husband,per se.
She was simply interpreting his instruction as one meant for destinations beyond the boundaries of Harbury land.
Perfectly reasonable.
And plausible.
She hoped.
Because bringing along a spy wouldnotearn her the estate’s women’s trust.
Chapter Twelve
Mrs. Townsend greetedCassie on her steps, just as she had on Cassie’s prior visit. Her salutation was warm, but as she introduced Mrs. Grayson, Mrs. Bottlesworth, and Miss Clapham, the atmosphere cooled.
Mrs. Townsend, Cassie judged from the age of her sons, appeared to be around forty. Mrs. Grayson, with her abundant white hair, must be much older. Both Mrs. Bottlesworth and Miss Clapham were nearer Harbury’s age, leaving Cassie feeling very young. Very young, and even more inexperienced.
But she’d come too far to turn back now.
Mrs. Townsend suggested they collect the pods before tea. As they worked, Cassie inquired about the various attendees’ family’s size and health. She encouraged them to discuss their livestock and farms. While working side by side promoted disclosure, by the time they’d snipped half the plants clean, Cassie was running out of questions.
“Might you have anything to ask of me?” she ventured brightly.
The others exchanged significant glances.
Miss Clapham was the first to speak. “Mrs. Townsend tells us you have five sisters.”
Not really a question.
Cassie wondered if Miss Clapham had only spoken because the silence had been painful. Cassie would have done something similar in the same position. A lady after her own heart, perhaps?
“Yes,” Cassie replied. “I’m the eldest, thoughby only a few minutes. Elizabeth is my twin. Then there’s Millicent and Lenora, a mere eleven months apart, and Annette, the youngest.”
“Your poor mother.” Mrs. Bottlesworth’s eyes widened as if she could not believe she had allowed the exclamation to slip out. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
