Page 80 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“Stay here,” he said, trying to shut the carriage door on Vera.

“Why?”

He was already striding for the front door. He knocked, then entered, closing it behind him. Vera searched the house’s facade, wondering what on earth had made Stephen act as he had.

There’s no smoke from the chimney, she thought.

The implications dashed over her like a bucket of cold water, and she was running for the front door before she realized she’d exited the carriage.

Anne, she thought. Mr. Douglas.

She didn’t know who she was more concerned for—the small girl or the elderly man. But he’d been doing so well.

Stephen was climbing back down the stairs, a large bundle in his arms, by the time she stood in the front doorway. Vera could see her own breath in the cottage. Vera’s chest kept ratcheting tighter and tighter, then the bundle moved and Anne peeked out at her from beneath a thick blanket.

Vera wanted to collapse with her relief, but she was afraid that would frighten the girl. “Mr. Douglas?” she asked.

Stephen’s grim expression, the shake of his head, told her all she needed to know. “Take her to the house. Run her a bath and feed her. Get her warm.”

“Come, Anne,” she said, pulling the girl—blanket and all—from Stephen’s arms. “You and I shall go for a little carriage ride and have some biscuits on the way.”

Within minutes, Vera and Anne were heading back toward Bertforth House. Stephen had taken the two footmen back inside the house. Vera distractedly plied Anne with biscuits, trying to ignore how her throat felt like it was closing around her grief.

Mr. Douglas, gone.

Never again would she hear him tease her in that chiding way of his. Never again would he complain half-heartedly about the floral steam she made him inhale, about how the towel over his head was just so she could have a laugh at his expense.

Vera sniffled and swiped a tear from her cheek. She must be strong, for Anne’s sake.

“Miss Vera sad?” The girl patted her cheek.

“Yes.” Vera smiled through the tears that she was doing a poor job of hiding.

The girl offered up her half-gnawed biscuit, and Vera smiled. “Thank you, but I’m full. You’d better eat that one.”

Anne promptly complied while Vera murmured to her about all the things they’d do once they arrived at Bertforth House, about all the things they’d see there. She told her about her new puppy, Miss Beets, and of the hedgehog, the fox, and the raccoon that were friends.

If Anne had seen anything she shouldn’t, she didn’t seem all that disturbed. Vera fervently hoped that if Anne had seen Mr. Douglas’s body after he’d departed, that the girl thought he’d only been sleeping.

“Did you and Mr. Douglas have supper last night, Anne?” she finally thought to ask.

“Yes.”

“But no breakfast?”

The girl shook her head, her golden curls bouncing. “Mr. Douglas tired.”

It had probably happened sometime in the night, then. Vera prayed it had been quick, that the old man hadn’t suffered alone with no one to help him.

What would become of the girl?

Vera thought back to all those weeks ago, when Mr. Douglas had asked her to look after Anne once he was gone. If she had the means to do so, she would do it without a second thought. But as it was, the house she resided in wasn’t her own. She could hardly presume to advise Stephen on the subject.

When their carriage wheels crunched upon the gravel of the driveway, the front door opened and Jacqueline stood in the doorway. She took one glance at Vera, who’d emerged from the carriage and then turned back to take Anne into her arms, and seemed to understand the situation without being told.

“Roland,” Jacqueline said, “please roust the staff. Prepare the nursery. Have a bath brought up to the blue guest room in the meantime. And send a tray with soup and warm milk.”

Roust the staff he did. No more than a quarter-hour later, Anne splashed happily in a copper tub that was far too large for her before a cheerful fire, a maid carefully monitoring the water depth and temperature.