Page 23 of Bane Bloom

She gave a satisfied nod. Walking into the dining room, she glanced around and said, “It’s cold in here, Miss Gray.”

“Cricket,” I reminded her.

“You add some wood to the fire, Cricket. I won’t be two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She started toward the back door. “This goes to the kitchen, yes?”

“It does.”

I did as instructed before sitting down at the table to wait, not quite comfortable with the idea my new friend had felt the need to take such pains over me. But maybe she needed a friend, too. I took up one of the sketchbooks I’d left on the table, thinking I’d try drawing the Bane Bloom from memory. I could still see it clearly in my mind, but I struggled to get more than a few lines down before finally muttering with dissatisfaction and turning to a fresh page.

As I put pencil to paper again, something unplanned began to emerge. Squared forehead, furrowed from constant narrowing of the eyes. High cheekbones, strong brow bone, and beard-softened angle of the jaw. A crown of cropped hair that looked like a hand had just been run through it. I thought about the hues I’d mix to achieve the chestnut brown. I wondered whether I would be able to re-create the clear, cold blue of his eyes.

I was lost in my sketch when Annie returned. Startled to find it more than a fair likeness, I flipped the book closed and pushed it aside. Annie’s eyes touched on it briefly before she set a plate of eggs, sausage, and toast before me. Hunger gnawed my belly.

“This is a feast, Annie. Will you join me?”

“You go ahead, I’ve breakfasted already. I’ll just go for the coffeepot.”

She returned with the pot and cream pitcher, then fetched two cups and saucers from the sideboard. As she filled the cups, she said, “I’ve put a fresh loaf in the kitchen. Keep it in the bread box, and it’ll last you for at least a couple of days. I brought you a jar of jam, too, and there’s fresh milk on the cold stone. I know Thomas trades for things, so you won’t go hungry, but I wanted to make sure you had a good, hearty breakfast on your first morning.”

I felt a tug at my throat. “I don’t know what to say, Annie. Thank you.”

She took hold of a chairback. “Shall I sit with you for a bit?”

“I’d like that.”

After Thomas’s blank stares and uncanny observations, her warmth and easy smiles were welcome as sunshine. She eased into the chair and pulled one of the cups closer.

“It’s rare I take my coffee sitting down at a table,” she said with a laugh.

“I can imagine. Is this your first child?”

She nodded. “Bill doesn’t much like me working in this state, but there’s no one else to do it. And I feel fine, really, except for being done in most evenings.”

“Running an inn must be hard work.”

“That it is. And it hasn’t even really started yet. We get more visitors from London every summer. But we’ll soon have help from Bill’s mother. She’s been away for some time caring for his grandfather, but we expect her back in a few days.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I picked up the pitcher and tipped milk into my coffee. “You get on with her, then?”

A corner of Annie’s lips lifted. “Well enough, though she’s a little narrow minded. But I’ll be grateful for the help.” Her eyes flitted to my plate. “Now you go on and eat your breakfast while it’s hot.”

She sipped her coffee, and the fresh log crackled in the fireplace. After I’d cleared my plate, I said, “Everything was delicious, Annie.”

She lifted the coffeepot to refill our cups. As she added milk to hers, she said, “After you left yesterday, I confess I felt awful for giving you a fright over Mr. Carroll. Part of the reason I came this morning was to see how you were, and apologize.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Please don’t worry yourself over that. It did come as something of a shock, but I suppose Mr. Harding had his reasons. I’m glad to know the truth.”

She looked skeptical, but she offered a small smile.

“You mentioned that the constable thought Mr. Carroll hadn’t drowned,” I said. “Did he have any other theories about what might have happened?”

Her forehead creased as she considered. “It came to light that he had debts back in London, so they thought he might have gone off somewhere to avoid paying those. It was also suggested he may have been troubled in his mind.”

A theme seemed to be developing, and not one I cared for. I studied her more closely. “Do you have an opinion about it yourself?”

She sighed softly. “I only met with him a few times, but over the week or so he was here, he did seem to . . .” Her frown deepened as she searched for a word. “Drift.”

My heart skipped. “In what way?”