Page 26

“Ah, your reticule is here.” I went to the nearby Pembroke table, opened the top drawer, and lifted the purse to show her.

“Thank you.”

Mr. Hunt raised his palm to her. “Take care to drink slowly.”

She nodded and took several small sips.

He peered at her. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Um…” She touched her forehead. “Oh yes, it is Monday, the sixteenth, I think.”

“Do you have a headache or any other pains?”

“No, I’m tired is all.”

Mr. Hunt picked up his leather case and beheld me. “With a day or two of rest and three full meals each day, Mrs. Jones ought to be back on her feet. I shall depart now.”

“Thank you for your help.”

He bowed and left the room.

I sat at the chair beside the bed. “Where are you from?”

“My ’usband didn’t like to stay in one place very long, so I’ve lived and worked all over northern England. Most recently, we left Manchester for Buxton.”

She met my gaze for brief moments, her sight roaming the room. “We stopped in Ashbourne when my ’usband fell ill to ague. The sickness worsened and…’e died.”

The poor woman. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” She bit her lower lip.

“How did you end up at Pemberley Estate?”

“Well, I’d been for Buxton. I’d ’oped to find work there.”

“Buxton is twelve miles from here. What sort of employment do you seek?”

“I’ll take almost any sort of work. I’m a fair seamstress and can read and write.” She drank from her glass.

“Do you have a written character?”

“No, ma’am.” Her chin dipped lower. “My ’usband insisted upon keeping our important documents ’imself. The trouble was, ’e always lost ’em.”

Verily, she needed a good turn. In the next few moments, my mind became settled—I should take a chance on her. “If it suits you, I am certain we could find work for you here.”

Sarah placed a hand upon her sternum. “Oh, yes, ma’am, thank you! I’d be most grateful!”

“Then it is settled.” I shifted towards my housekeeper and gave her an intent look. “Mrs. Reynolds will put your skills to good use.”

“Yes indeed, madam.” A slight crinkling in Mrs. Reynolds’s nose gave the sole hint to her pique; no doubt she did not appreciate having this new charge thrust upon her without warning.

At the knock upon the door, Sarah flinched and braced herself.

I touched her hand. “All is well. You are safe here.” I called out an invitation, and a maid entered to deliver a tray with refreshments. Sarah reposed against the pillow. Whilst Mrs. Reynolds fixed a plate of food, my gaze lingered upon Sarah. What made her so frightened? Had her late husband been her tormentor? If so, it seemed the memory of his abuse continued to affect her.

With Sarah in Mrs. Reynolds’s care, I quitted the room and went to my husband’s study. We sat together in chairs near the window, and I recounted all that had transpired.

Fitzwilliam brushed his knuckles over his mouth. “I am sorry to hear Sarah went through such an ordeal. Did she mention who had hurt her?”