Page 55 of Debtor’s Daughter

“Certainly. Wednesday is perfect,” Mr Weston agreed, giving Caro a conspiratorial smile. “I shall see you then.”

“Providing it doesn’t rain,” Maggie pointed out, some cautious part of her determined to keep hold of her good sense and not be utterly foolish.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Finchley, ladies,” he said, raising his hat to them before carrying on next door.

Hurrying into the warmth of their own house, they cast off cloaks, gloves, and bonnets and hurried to congregate by the fire to wait for the tea Wallace promised to bring them.

“Thank you, Maggie,” Caro said, moving to hug her sister. “I had such a lovely time. Lord Harry and Mr Abner are very kind gentlemen and such fun. I am so glad to have met them.”

Maggie kissed her sister’s cheek. “You’re welcome, dear,” she said, wondering if she ought to give Caro a hint about not getting her hopes up and looking too high, but it seemed cruel to spoil her cheerful mood and so Maggie held her tongue.

“You’re looking much more the thing,” Aunt Connie observed with a sly smile. “I knew a walk and taking Mr Weston’s arm would put the colour back into your cheeks.”

“It’s simply the fresh air,” Maggie said, not yet ready to confide in her family about her conversation with Mr Weston. She wanted to sit quietly with the words and recall every one, holding them close to her heart and examining each of them until she was entirely certain she had not made the entire thing up, for it seemed too fantastically wonderful to be true.

Mr Weston, handsome and wealthy, fashionable and eminently eligible, held her in the very highest esteem. He had wanted to kiss her! That knowledge made her cheeks burn with the anticipation that he might actually do so if she gave him the chance. Her heart did the oddest little dance in her chest. Maggie busied herself with the tea tray that Wallace set on the table and kept her head down so no one would notice how flustered she was.

Wallace cleared his throat, though, and she was forced to look up.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs Maggie, but I read something in the newspaper today that gave me pause. I thought you ought to see it.”

Frowning, Maggie reached for the clipping, which he handed to her, and she read the words with growing disquiet.

Ten Pounds Reward Offered,

For information concerning the whereabouts of Miss Connie Merrivale. Information to be addressed care of Mr P Chambers. Ridgeley House, Belgravia, London.

“Whatever does it mean?” Maggie asked, before handing the correspondence to her aunt.

“At first I thought it was that devil, Jenkins, trying to track you down, for I saw another notice asking for information a month back,” Wallace said, his expression grave.

“Good heavens!” Maggie exclaimed.

Caro gasped and came to sit beside her, clutching her hand. “Maggie?” she said fearfully.

“Don’t you worry, Miss Caroline,” Wallace said staunchly. “That wicked fellow won’t be troubling you ladies, not while there’s breath in my body.”

“Thank you, dear Wallace,” Maggie said warmly, touched by his sincerity. “We know we may always depend upon you.”

Wallace’s gaunt face turned slightly pink, but he squared his shoulders, pleased with this confidence in him.

“What did that notice say?” she asked, troubled by the idea the horrid man had not yet given up his notion of marrying Caro.

“That he was your distraught uncle, or some such nonsense. Well, we all know that’s a fat lie, for your only uncle didn’t care a fig,” Wallace said crossly. “But this one is different. That’s a fine address and a well above that crook Jenkins’ touch, I assure you, and then there’s the reward, which that devil could never pay and would never offer, he’s that mean.”

Maggie considered Wallace. He was entirely sincere in his devotion to their family, for ten pounds was an unheard of fortune and he could easily have taken advantage of the offer. She promised herself there and then, if ever she could do so, she would ensure that Wallace was rewarded for his loyalty.

Maggie looked at her aunt, who was studying the notice with consternation.

“But why me? I don’t know a soul in London any longer, I’ve certainly no recollection of a Mr Chambers,” she added thoughtfully, and then brightened. “Perhaps it’s an old friend seeking me out. Ten pounds seems an extraordinary amount, though, even for me! Why go to so much trouble now? If they wanted to see me so much, why have they left it so long? Better late than never, I suppose,” she said with a frown.

“Should we reply, then?” Maggie asked, with a tremor of unease.

“No. No, I think we should call at the address. If someone wishes to see me, then I would like to know why,” Connie said firmly.

Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!

“Oh, Cecil, do be quiet. I’m sure it’s nothing to fret about, my dear. Don’t get yourself all agitated,” Connie told the clock with a sigh. “He does worry for me,” she added in an undertone to Maggie.