Page 120 of The Siren of Sussex

“I daresay it could be.”

“Have you received any messages of this kind about me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “Now you mention it.”

“Well?” he prompted with growing impatience.

She cleared her throat. “I have the distinct feeling that . . . it’s time you concerned yourself less with the dead and more with the living.”

Uncle Harris gaped at her.

She felt a flicker of guilt.

Botheration.

It wasn’t fair to mislead him. Not even in a good cause. Better to rely on the truth, however inconvenient.

“Fenny is in town, uncle,” she said abruptly.

“Fenny?”

“Fenella. My older sister. The one who ran off with Anthony Connaught. The two of them are stranded at a dockside inn. They’re in need of money to pay for their passage back to France.”

A look of amazement passed over his face. “The spirits told you this?”

“No. This much I know for a fact. And if you wish to concern yourself with the living, you might start with them.”

Uncle Harris seemed to consider this. And then he nodded. “How much do they require?”

“Obviously he still believed it was a message from beyond,” Stella said, bringing Locket up alongside Hephaestus.

“I suspect he did.” Evelyn shortened her reins, slowing Hephaestus so that she and Stella could ride abreast. “It was wrong of me to tease him.”

“Bah. Stuffy old men need a bit of teasing,” Stella said. “I tease my older brother with regularity.”

“Your brother isn’t an old man, surely?”

“He acts as though he is. He’s sober and self-righteous. Dreadfully old-fashioned. He doesn’t appreciate being nettled. Which is a sure sign that one must nettle him more.”

The two of them walked their horses along Rotten Row, navigating through the fashionable crowd.

Evelyn had been surprised that Stella had agreed to ride with her at this hour. Anne had ceased doing so, preferring to ride in the mornings with Julia instead. Evelyn might have preferred it, too, if she hadn’t a plan to enact.

Her plan.

Thus far it consisted of little more than a determination to keep Ahmad’s designs at the forefront of society. As for the rest of it . . .

She felt a flash of frustration.

Perhaps Fenny was right. Perhaps the youngest three of their sisters didn’t require London seasons and well-to-do matches.

Evelyn supposed it was possible.

It didn’t lessen her obligation. She must still contrive a way to support them.

A daunting proposition given the changing circumstances.

At least Fenny’s dilemma had been successfully dealt with. No sooner had Uncle Harris written out a check than Evelyn had tucked it into an envelope, along with the note she’d penned to her sister, and sent it off to the Jolly Tar in care of a footman.