Page 27 of Part of Your World

"Muriel!"

The girl blinked and finally snapped out of her dreamy trance.

"Keep your wits about you, Miss Quinn. I have no patience for stupidity, whether naturally occurring or induced by lovesickness. Remember, if you cease to be of use to me, our agreement will be nullified. Not only will I reveal your lowborn status and complete lack of advantageous connections, but I will also leave Mrs. Erickson with the impression that you deceived me from the start. I will paint you as a morally bankrupt fortune hunter who cares nothing for her son and seeks only to gain his wealth and prestige by trapping him into marriage."

Her young companion's brows arched so high, they nearly reached her hairline. Impressively, though, she didn't give voice to her outrage. It seemed she had taken at least one of Octavia's lessons to heart. Maintaining silence one hundred percent of the time made her less likely to make a verbal slip in the Ericksons' presence, so Octavia had insisted she cease talking altogether.

The girl started digging in her pocket for that infernal notebook of hers, but Octavia didn't have time for a paper duel.

"Never mind that. I can hear your internal protests from here." She waved her hand through the air as if dispersing a swarm of irritating gnats. She raised the pitch of her voice in an imitation of girlish affront. "That's not fair. You'd be lying." Octavia pressed palm to breast and executed a wonderfully melodramatic gasp that any hapless damsel would be proud to have in her arsenal.

Then she narrowed her gaze and closed the space between herself and her charge with all the predatory grace of a lioness stalking her prey. "Let me make myself very clear. If you do not retrieve my ledger in two weeks' time, I will ruin you. And not only you. I'll ruin your entire family. My late husband had many connections in the shipping industry. I've maintained those since his passing. A few whispered accusations of misconduct in the right ears, and your father will soon find himself unemployed. I also happen to be good friends with the manager of the Beach Hotel. Your sister's husband works there, does he not? It would be a shame if he were to be caught with items stolen from guests' rooms in his possession. I doubt any establishment within a hundred miles would hire him after such a blemish on his record. Hard to provide for a wife and three young children whilst unemployed."

The girl paled and her wide eyes grew moist and shimmery. Good. Now that she was properly cowed, they could get down to business.

Octavia pulled a brown leather journal from her handbag and handed it to Muriel. "This book is identical to the one Horace Erickson stole from my home. Study it. The dimensions. The style. The color. You need to be able to recognize it immediately if you come across it. Once you find it, you can replace it with this empty one. That should keep Mr. Erickson from noticing that it is missing, at least for a while."

Muriel's hands trembled slightly as she took the book and laid it in her lap.

"What you need to do now is create opportunities to be inside the Ericksons' home. Use your wiles to get young Zane to invite you to dinner parties and soirees his parents are hosting. Search the house. Especially Horace's study. The journal might be hidden in plain sight or locked away in a desk drawer."

Hopefully, he hadn't taken it to his office at the Exchange. Horace didn't seem like a man who would leave valuables in a place accessible to the public, though. Better odds that he kept it at home with a wife and staff who'd been trained not to ask questions.

Muriel lifted her hands palm up, and Octavia read her concern as if it were a newsprint headline. "A pair of hairpins and a little finesse can open most any locked drawer or cabinet. I'll send my maid Vanessa to you at the academy later this week to give you some pointers. She's been cultivating a romantic entanglement with a footman who works at the Erickson home, so she'll be around. Keeping an eye on you. Reporting your progress back to me." Octavia narrowed her gaze to pinpoint precision and jabbed Murial right between the eyes. "You will do whatever it takes to secure my journal, Miss Quinn. Or your family will pay the price."

Muriel failed to join the other girls in the dining hall for the evening meal. How could she eat when her insides were swirlin' about like a whirlpool, thanks to the opposing currents colliding in her belly. Agony warred with ecstasy, leaving her confused and slightly dizzy from the back-and-forth of her thoughts.

What kind of cold-hearted villain had she gotten involved with? She'd been so certain God had directed her along this path. But what if she'd been led astray by her own desires? Da had been right to call her daft. Naïve too. Why else would she not consider that the consequences of her actions would impact more than herself? She'd seen the cold truth in Mrs. Underhill's eyes. Her threat was no empty bluff. She wouldn't hesitate to harm Muriel's family to get what she wanted. If Da, Alana, or any of the wee ones suffered for her impulsive choice . . .

Tears welled in Muriel's eyes as she sat on the edge of her bed. What had she been thinking? Blindly trustin' a stranger and her own flawed judgment instead of seeking wise counsel. From her da. From God. Instead, she'd donned a pair of thick, rose-colored glasses and seen precisely what she wanted to see. A way to Zane. Never once did she think to examine the water around her for sharks.

Don't let them suffer on account of me foolishness, Lord. She buried her face in her hands. I'm sorry fer not seekin' ye first, like the Scriptures say. I was seekin' Zane. Seekin' me own desires. Now I'm in an awful tangle, and I don' know how to get meself free.

Wiping her damp eyes on the cuff of her sleeve, she straightened. Moping wouldn't help her situation. Finding the missing journal would. It was the only way to protect her family. Until tonight, she'd considered the journal her secondary mission. Cultivating a relationship with Zane came first. Not anymore. If she had to risk her future with Zane to save her family, that's what she'd do. Even if it meant learning how to pick locks with hairpins and snooping through private rooms.

But, oh how she wanted Zane, too! Muriel pushed to her feet and paced the length of the small room she'd been given. Instead of joining the older students in one of the larger dormitories, she'd been cloistered in a spare cell in the convent wing. It only took about four strides to get from door to window, so she made several passes as she relived every moment of her second meeting with the man of her dreams.

Zane Erickson had been everything she'd hoped for and more. Much, much more. Mercy, but he was a broth of a lad. Thick black hair free of pomade had begged her fingers to take a wee ramble through the short strands. Eyes the color of the sea when kissed by the sun had sent her pulse into a thundering gallop. Then there'd been the small cleft in his chin beneath a well-formed mouth that smiled easily. And a tanned complexion that hinted at a love for the outdoors. Consciousness definitely became him.

Yet his handsome face hadn't melted her heart. His kind manner and vivid integrity had accomplished that feat. She paused her pacing at the outer wall, the fading light of the summer evening drifting through the high window that had been left open to allow a bit of a breeze. Muriel turned and leaned her back against the cool, whitewashed brick as a vision of Zane kneeling before her filled her memory. How distraught he'd been to think he'd caused her injury—an injury that wasn't even real. Just another of Mrs. Underhill's twisted half-truths. Half-truths that Muriel had done nothing to correct.

Pretending to have no voice had seemed harmless when Mrs. Underhill first proposed the scheme. How wrong she'd been. Harm had screamed at her from Zane's devastated gaze and passed through her skin as his hands clutched hers in agonized apology. Was he still blaming himself? She'd tried to relieve him of that burden without revealing a truth that would banish her from his home, but he hadn't seemed convinced. How could he be? Half-truths only beget confusion, not understanding.

Ah, to be sure, I've got meself into quite the pickle. What am I to do, Lord? If I confess the full truth, not only will I lose Zane before I've the chance to get to know 'im, but I'll bring the wrath of Mrs. Underhill upon me family. I don't see a way out.

Muriel turned her gaze to the crucifix on the wall near the washstand, the only decoration in the room. The church she attended used a simple, unadorned wooden cross to signify Christ's sacrifice, but seeing the suffering Jesus hanging there—the thorns cutting into his head, the nails piercing his hands, the way his head drooped in agony and exhaustion—sharpened the quills that jabbed her spirit.

She might not be lying outright, but she was participating in an act of deception. She doubted her Lord would approve.

A soft tapping at her door brought her out of her musings. After swiping away the moisture pooling in her eyes with the back of her hand, she crossed to the door.

Sister Mary Vincent stood in the hall, a small tray in her hands. Kindness radiated from her eyes. "I noticed you didn't come down for supper and thought you might be hungry."

Muriel opened her mouth to thank her then stopped herself as Mrs. Underhill's threats flashed through her mind. Apologizing with her gaze, Muriel dipped her chin and opened the door wide.

The young nun smiled as she stepped inside. "No need to fret, Miss Quinn. Mrs. Underhill explained about your vow of silence." She placed the tray of bread, fruit, and cheese atop the modest writing desk positioned against the wall at the foot of the bed. She retrieved a tin cup from within her pocket and moved to the washstand to fill it with water from the ewer. "Vows to the Lord are sacred things, and I commend your desire to quiet yourself in order to hear God's voice more clearly. After listening to you sing, I knew immediately that God had blessed you with an incredible gift. Yet great talent can also make one susceptible to pride. You are wise to guard against such attack."

Muriel shook her head, her conscience swelling to painful proportions in her chest. She couldn't allow this godly woman to be tainted by her deceit. And maybe, just maybe, Sister Mary Vincent could help.