Page 18 of A Taste of Miss Honey

He glowered at her. “I mean it. You’ll do as I say.”

She pursed her lips, considering. “No. I won’t. So, if you want to ensure that I don’t suffer for helping you, I suggest you get well quickly.”

Ben growled with frustration, but he didn’t have the energy to argue as exhaustion swept over him. He closed his eyes as the shivering began again. Perhaps he would just have a little nap, just a few minutes, and then he would tell Miss Honey precisely why she ought to do as he said.

The Vicarage, Little Valentine, 23rd January 1816

“Miss Izzy, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

Izzy jolted, almost upsetting the teacup she was holding as she dragged her thoughts from the attic and the man who lay up there, fighting for his life. It had been a bad night, and she’d not dared to leave him. She had changed the dressing on the wound every couple of hours, bathing it and praying to see some improvement. He slept, but not peacefully, restless as his body swerved between fever that she feared might set fire to his skin, and bone-deep chills that racked him so hard his teeth chattered.

Barely sleeping herself, Izzy felt like she walked through a daze, an odd sense of unreality to her usual day, the effort of eating breakfast was quite beyond her. Now, she fixed her gaze on Mrs Mabbs, aware that the woman was awaiting some response.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs Mabbs, I was woolgathering.”

“And no wonder. You’re not sleeping, are you? Look at those dark circles under your eyes. You’re worn to a thread, and I know why. I know exactly what you’ve been up to, my girl, and don’t try to deny it.”

Izzy’s heart kicked in her chest as she gazed at the children’s nanny. She had thought her father the only one perspicacious enough to see through her, but he had barely been home of late. Thomas Bevin, a local farmer, had been taken ill and was not expected to live. The family were in disarray, and the reverend had been spending his days with them, away from home in the early morning until long after Izzy usually went to bed. An ill wind, she thought wryly, realising Caspar and little Daisy were watching the exchange between her and Mrs Mabbs silently, Caspar no doubt enjoying someone other than him getting a scold. Well, she had best face it.

“Y-You do?” Izzy asked, meeting the woman’s eyes. She wondered how on earth Mrs Mabbs knew she had a smuggler hidden in the rafters.

Mrs Mabbs nodded, her expression smug. “Yes, I do. You’ve been sitting up reading those dreadful novels of yours and scaring yourself to death so you can’t sleep. I tell you, it isn’t right, a young woman reading about haunted castles and mad monks, and blood and murder, and heaven alone knows what else. Is it any wonder you can’t sleep?”

Izzy let out an uneven breath, torn between laughter and a bout of tears. Her nerves were all on end, her patience shattered. Here she was drinking tea whilst Boreas sank deeper into fever. What on earth would she do if he died? “You’re right, of course, Mrs Mabbs. I’m living a nightmare, and it’s entirely my fault.”

“Mad monks?” Caspar repeated, finding this an intriguing conversation.

Mrs Mabbs tsked, reaching out for a fresh roll and tearing it in two, lavishly buttering each piece before giving one to Caspar and one to Daisy. “Never mind mad monks. What’s wrong with a nice fairy story? That’s what I’d like to know. Not that you were ever fond of those,” she lamented, shaking her head. “Even when you were a little girl, you always wanted stories about pirates and adventures.”

Izzy’s mouth quirked, it was true. Well, and she was having an adventure now, was she not? How romantic she might have thought it if she had read about a young woman nursing a wounded pirate back to health in a hidden location. Well, perhaps she would look back on this time in the same light if her smuggler lived.

“Well, you heed my words and forget those nasty stories and turn your attention to nicer things. I’ll be having words with your papa if you don’t—”

“For heaven’s sake, Mrs Mabbs, I am not one of your charges, nor do I need your advice. I’m not a child!”

Mrs Mabbs gasped, never having heard Izzy speak to her so harshly before. Little Daisy began to cry, and Izzy swallowed, wishing she could take it back. She was just so very tired and trying to pretend everything was normal seemed entirely beyond her. “Forgive me, Mrs Mabbs. I deserve to have my ears boxed for that. I’m afraid I am rather out of sorts. I had no right to speak to you so rudely.”

Mrs Mabbs’ expression softened. “You’re tired, pet. Least said, soonest mended, eh?”

Izzy let out an unsteady breath and nodded, grateful for the woman’s kindness. She was uncertain she deserved it, though. A knock at the front door took their attention and Mrs Mabbs scowled. “Who on earth is that at this hour?”

“I’ll go,” Izzy said, pushing to her feet and grateful for the chance to escape.

She hurried from the room and along the hallway to the front door and pulled it open.

“Surprise!”

Izzy blinked, stunned by the gorgeous young woman on her doorstep. Dressed in the height of fashion, wearing a redingote in a glorious shade of green, trimmed with black silk frogging and her black curls framing her beautiful face beneath a charming bonnet, stood Angelica Everdene.

“Angel!” Izzy cried and ran forward, hugging her friend tightly.

“Oh, you did miss me!” Angel exclaimed with delight, hugging her back with equal enthusiasm.

“Of course I did, you ninny. But where are my manners? Come in, come in. What are you doing here? I thought you were away at finishing school.”

Angel pulled a face. “And so I was. Oh, Izzy. I have a deal to tell you. None of it happy news, I’m afraid.”

Izzy regarded her friend with dismay, noting her dark eyes lacked their usual sparkle. Her mind immediately went to Black Jack, for Izzy had not been to see him this week, what with being rather busy with Boreas, though she knew her father had. It had taken some persuasion from both her and Angel to get the wicked old devil to allow her father to come, but it had only taken one visit and a rather lively game of poker for Black Jack to realise Reverend Honeywell was not the usual prosy vicar.