Page 27 of Debtor’s Daughter

“Like I care about that,” Mrs Goodall said with a snort.

Nodding, Maggie did not waste a moment. “I shall ask him at once,” she said, pushing to her feet and hurrying to the backdoor.

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, but Mr Weston was the only one who could possibly help… providing they had not vexed him too far and pushed his good manners to breaking. He might be packing at this very moment. She could hardly blame him.

Whilst she knew it was deeply inappropriate for her to go around to the backdoor of his home, it had to be better than setting the neighbours’ tongues wagging if they saw her go in the front door. At least her overgrown garden had the benefit of shielding it from view. Besides, she was no innocent miss, but a widow, and far past worrying about such things as propriety. So long as she did nothing that would reflect badly upon Caro, there was no need to get in a fret about things. Mr Weston would not give her away, she knew.

Still, she was careful to knock loudly at the door this time, and to wait until it opened instead of bursting into the poor man’s house unannounced.

“Mrs Finchley,” Barnes said, smiling warmly at her. “Do come in.”

“Thank you, Barnes,” she said, grateful for his politeness, and that he didn’t bat an eyelid at her odd behaviour. “I didn’t want to get curtains twitching up and down the road by coming to the front door, but I must speak with Mr Weston if he could spare me a moment.”

“Of course. If you would be so good as to take a seat, I’ll see if he is at home.”

Maggie nodded and sat at one of the kitchen chairs, wondering if Mr Weston was cursing his rotten luck. Yet barely two minutes later she heard footsteps coming downstairs and then there he was, striding into the kitchen and making the previously cosy space feel suddenly rather stifling. How was it he seemed to use up all the air in the room whenever he appeared? He was dressed elegantly as always but with a slightly careless attitude that spoke of his artistic temperament and yet suited him admirably. She wondered if his valet despaired of his informal manner of tying his neckcloth or if the artful disorder was actually his own work, for she suspected it was harder to achieve such perfect imperfection than to be entirely tidy.

As he moved closer, Maggie’s heart gave an excited little leap in her chest, which she told herself sternly was simply nerves. Really, she was pushing her luck and, if he threw her out with a flea in her ear, it would be no more than she deserved. Yet he smiled as he saw her, and such a smile it was. Surely this man must have females throwing themselves at him on all sides, for it was such a warm expression, designed by some beneficent god with the sole intention of turning women into fools whenever they saw it.

“Mrs Finchley, we meet again,” he said, and she prayed that really was amusement in his voice and not well covered exasperation.

“I am afraid so,” she said, so nervous now that her clasped hands tightened, the knuckles turning white. “I beg your pardon for intruding once again.”

Mr Weston noticed her stiff posture at once, and his smile faded. Moving to the table, he drew out a chair and sat down. “Not at all. But something has happened. What is it? Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” she said, and then sighed. “No. Not exactly. At least, it is a problem but not one I ought to complain about, only I’m in such a fix and I do not know what to do and—and I’m not making the least bit of sense, am I?” she said, shaking her head as she noticed his rather bewildered expression.

He laughed and reached out, patting her clenched hands, which rested on the tabletop. The touch was brief, yet Maggie had come out in such a rush she wore no gloves and the brush of his bare skin against hers made her tingle all over in the most peculiar way. Good Lord, but she was a wicked creature. What was wrong with her? Wasn’t this the man she hoped would marry Caro? Yet here she was getting herself in a dither like the veriest schoolgirl because he was kind and handsome and – well, maybe it wasn’t such a surprise, after all, but it must stop at once. How uncomfortable it would be to feel such a forceful attraction to her sister’s husband. No, indeed, that would not do.

“Why not start at the beginning?” Mr Weston suggested. “I’m in no rush. Tell me all and if I can help, I shall.”

Maggie groaned and put her head in her hands. “You really ought not to say such reckless things to me.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “I mean it.”

Maggie frowned down at her clasped hands, aware she had not only overstepped the mark by coming here but gone far beyond it. “But I am coming to depend upon you and that—that is not at all appropriate, nor fair. We are not in any way your responsibility. If we were living at home, I should know far better how to go on, but here, so far from everything that is familiar, I feel all at sea and—”

“Hush now,” Mr Weston cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “I hope we are friends, are we not? And what is a friend for if not to help in times of difficulty?”

Maggie looked up, touched by his words. “But you hardly know me,” she said in wonder and then reminded herself sternly that it was for Caro’s sake he was so kind.

Mr Weston hesitated for a moment, his brown eyes studying her. “Perhaps. But I know a good deal, and I admire what I see very much.”

Of Caro—he admires what he sees of Caro, Maggie told herself, yet her ill-behaved heart gave a joyous little leap in her chest all the same.

“Now then,” he carried on. “This problem of yours, tell me all.”

Taking a deep breath, she explained about the unexpected arrival of their devoted servants, and her dilemma of what to do with them.

“I simply cannot turn them out,” she said desperately. “They are like family to us. Wallace has been more of a father to us than Papa ever was, if I’m honest, and dear Mrs Goodall has been cook and housekeeper and so much more. She nursed us when we were poorly and has been a shoulder to cry on so often for all of us. They have been with us all our lives and are dear to us, and all they ask is bed and board and the opportunity to be of use to us, but Mrs Moody too has been a godsend, and I cannot be so shabby as to turn her off after all her kindness.”

Mr Weston was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

“I have a cook who comes four days a week, she also prepares food for the other days which Barnes deals with. However, it is purely a business arrangement, and I should have no qualms in ending it, for the lady is doing very well, as I understand. The only reason she is not full time is that I was used to being out so often, but now I am more settled, there is no reason I cannot employ someone on a regular basis. So, I could certainly take on one of your ladies, though I do not believe she will wish to live in a bachelor establishment. As to the question of Wallace, however, there is a spare room in the attic. I should not mind he if made use of it, whilst working for you during the day. I shall have to speak to Barnes but he’s a very amiable fellow and I do not think he would mind. We could give it a trial period for a few weeks and see how it goes? Does that work, do you think, at least to be going on with?”

Maggie stared at him. It was more than she could have hoped for, but ought she to accept? She was so much in this man’s debt already, to ask this of him too seemed outrageous, yet how could she refuse when it was an answer to her prayers?

To her mortification, Maggie felt her eyes fill. She fumbled for a handkerchief but found none and gave an exasperated sob as Mr Weston proffered a pristine one of his own.