Page 25 of Debtor’s Daughter

Chapter 8

Information desperately requested concerning the whereabouts of Mrs Magdelina Finchley, Miss Constance Merrivale, and Miss Caroline Merrivale.

Please contact their heart-broken uncle at the following address.

―Excerpt of an announcement in the London Evening Star

2nd October 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

“I was never more embarrassed in all my days!” Maggie confided to her aunt as she sat down at the breakfast table, pressing her palms against her cheeks. Though an hour had passed since she’d fetched Gideon home, she was still in a flurry of confusion. “And there was Gideon, bold as brass, eating an egg sandwich!”

“And you say Mr Weston wore only a silk banyan?” Aunt Connie asked, her eyes agog with delighted interest.

“Yes! Bright orange it was, and embroidered all over,” she said, and then covered her face with her hands and let out a groan. “Oh, kill me now. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.”

“Whatever for?” Aunt Connie protested. “Then you’d never have got to see such a splendid sight, and it seems as though he was not vexed with you.”

“Oh, but he was. He must have been! How could he not?” Maggie protested. “He has the most engaging manners and is so very kind and polite, but how can he not be at his wits’ end? He’ll move, you mark my words.”

“Oh, Maggie, settle your feathers,” Aunt Connie said with a sigh. She reached across the breakfast table and lifted the teapot, pouring them both a cup. “You are getting yourself in a lather about nothing. If you ask me, it was the sight of Mr Weston in such a state of undress that has addled your mind.”

“Auntie!” Maggie exclaimed, mortified by the accusation, not least because it was nothing but the truth. It was the only thing she could think of. For now, not only did she know that Mr Weston had strong, muscular arms, dusted with dark golden hair, but she knew too that his chest was similarly covered, and was powerful and broad and– oh, good heavens!

“I cannot blame you,” Aunt Connie carried on, adding an extra lump of sugar to Maggie’s cup before handing it to her. “Mr Weston is a splendid figure of a man, so athletic, and so very handsome,” she added with a sigh, lifting her cup to her lips.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!

“Oh!” She almost dropped her cup and turned to glare at the clock. “Cecil! That was not funny and quite unnecessary. You know you are my true love!”

Cuckoo!

Connie rolled her eyes. “He must always have the last word,” she muttered, reaching for a slice of toast. “Now, drink your tea and have some breakfast. Mrs Moody has sent up some of that bramble jam she made and it’s quite delicious.”

Maggie sighed and did as she was told. They ate in comfortable silence for a little while. Caro was not yet down, having volunteered to tidy Gideon up as Priddy was busy cleaning.

“Was there any post today? I thought we might have had a reply from Jack by now,” Maggie said, reaching for a second slice of toast. The jam really was delicious.

“Oh! Yes, I forgot. I thought I recognised the handwriting. It’s on the mantelpiece.”

Maggie spied the letter behind the clock and got to her feet, just as a knock sounded at the door. She turned to look at her aunt in alarm. “Whoever could that be?”

As no one knew they were here, they hoped, and they knew no one other than Mr Weston and Lady Montagu, any visitors were viewed with deep suspicion.

Connie frowned and gave a delicate shrug. “I see no way that horrid man could have tracked us down. I’m sure it’s nothing. A salesman, I’ll warrant.”

“At this hour?” Maggie said sceptically but went out to the hallway to listen as Priddy bustled up the stairs and hurried to the door.

“Might the lady of the house be at home? You may send in my card.”

The deeply resonant and well-modulated voice reached Maggie’s ears, and she gasped in surprise.

“Wallace!” she exclaimed and rushed past a startled Priddy to see the lugubrious face of their family’s butler. “Oh, Wallace!” she said, and was so overcome with shock and affection for the older man that she clasped his hands and held on tight, tears pricking at her eyes.

“There, you see! I told you she’d be needin’ us. Didn’t I tell you?” The smug words were spoken from behind the man and Maggie gasped in astonishment as she saw the familiar face of their housekeeper, Mrs Goodall.

“Oh!” was all Maggie could say, too overcome for words as she flew from the front door and hugged the woman tightly.

“There, there, my dear. It’s all right. We’re here now.”