Page 29 of The Scandalous Spinster

“She snuck into that house just down the lane, the one with the cracked window. And that was the last we saw of her.”

“I see. Is there anything else?” Sybil would not have stopped in an abandoned cottage without very good reason. And she would not have let herself be seen if she did not want to.

Granny Mab raised her eyebrows shrewdly. “Does the baker have any of those bubby cookies left? The ones with the jam?”

“I can check.” The nipple cookies were popular, apparently.

“Good. He won’t let me inside anymore, says I steal. Me!”

Given the holes in her shawl and the state of her mended dress, Clara would not have blamed her. In fact, she was going to buy an extra loaf of the dark bread that lasted longer than sugared buns. And a wheel of cheese. Surely there was somewhere to buy cheese in the village? Even if it was carved into the shape of a naked nymph.

“Thank you,” Clara said. She didn’t know what any of it meant yet, but it was more than she’d had to work with just a quarter of an hour ago. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“One of those beers from the inn.”

Clara brought her two.

On her way back up the road that cut through the village, she saw a circulating library wagon with books wrapped in paper and string. She wondered if anyone had stopped by the Golden Griffin to ask about the newest Nightingale chapbook. If there would be enough money to buy meat and more coal if the weather did not stay warm. If this was her last chapbook to be published. Given the threatening note tucked into her cuff, it might well be.

Sadness and fury twined through her. She had wanted to burn the note on principle, but getting rid of evidence would not her help her in the long run.

“No reason for that girl to go into that cottage,” Granny Mab said, wiping foam from her mouth with the back of her gnarled hand after taking a mouthful that would have felled a man twice her size and half her age.

“Why not?”

“Well, they found that Welsh girl down there one morning, in her nightdress and bare feet. She was frantic. Caught some fever, they said when they came to fetch her. She howled something fierce.”

“Which Welsh girl?” Clara asked.

“Yardley, Yarffyd. Some Frenchie name as well. Blanche?”

“Miss Blanche Yarwood?”

“Aye, that’s the one. Merchant’s daughter or some such.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, two months now? There was snow on the ground. No one dared go near.”

“And did she recover?”

“Could be. Haven’t seen her since.”

“I see.”

Clara tried not to be obvious when she left Granny Mab and made a beeline straight for the cottage.

“Well, what have we here?”

Clara whirled around to find Bram leaning against a tree, arms crossed.

He did not sound happy to see her.

Chapter Eleven

He did not look happy either.

In fact, he was rapidly crossing from irritation to banked fury right before her very eyes. She blinked at him. “Has something happened?”