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“Then go!”
“Yes, Father. Forgive me for disturbing you.” Spinning about, she bolted out the door and through the woods.
She didn’t stop until the manor was swallowed up by the towering oaks that surrounded it. Then, she slowed, dragging air into her lungs, trying to still her trembling.
Lord, how she loathed this feeling of helplessness. Perhaps if she were more like her mother, accepting, malleable, her plight would be bearable.
The fact was, Daphne was neither accepting nor malleable. She tolerated her incessant, oppressive fear because her choices were nil. But somewhere inside her a voice cried out that living conditions such as hers were unjust, cruel, unfair. That the same crushing tyranny perpetuating the English workhouses pervaded Tragmore as well, and always had, spawned by the blatant prejudice and hostility of its master.
The sight of the vicar chatting with a messenger in the church garden made Daphne’s sagging spirits lift instantly.
“Vicar!” She waved, picking up her pace until she was half running toward him.
Chambers turned, his face breaking into a broad smile. “Daphne! What a delightful surprise.” He pressed a few shillings into the message boy’s hand as he unfolded the note he’d just been given. “Thank you for your trouble, lad.”
“Thank you, sir.” Clutching the coins, the boy dashed off, mounted his horse, and was gone.
“Who was that?” Daphne asked, breathlessly reaching the vicar’s side.
“Hmmm?” Her friend was already immersed in his reading.
“That messenger. What news did he deliver?”
Quirking a brow, the vicar replied, “Evidently, you know the answer to that better than I.”
“ ’Tis about last night’s robbery, isn’t it?” Daphne gripped his forearm. “Isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
“Oh, tell me, Vicar. How much did he leave them?”
A dry chuckle. “You are a constant source of amazement to me, Snowdrop. No fear, no disquiet, only your usual loving curiosity. One would never suspect it was your home the bandit had invaded.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand pounds.”
Daphne gasped. “The jewelry and silver he took weren’t worth half that amount.”
“Nevertheless, that is the sum the headmaster discovered in the tin cup on his desk. Oddly, though, there was also a written threat.”
“A threat? What kind of threat?”
The vicar glanced down, rereading the note. “According to the headmaster, the bandit demanded the money be used for the benefit of the workhouse or he’d return to ensure that it was.”
“What a heroic gesture!” Daphne’s eyes sparkled. “And perfectly understandable, given the large sum involved. Vicar—” Anxiety clouded Daphne’s face. “Are you well acquainted with the Leicester headmaster? He isn’t the type to squander funds, is he?”
“Certainly not. He’s a decent, honorable—” Abruptly, the vicar broke off. “If you already knew where the funds went, why are you questioning me?”
“I knew where they went, yes. But that’s all I know. No details have reached Tragmore yet.”
“If no details have reached Tragmore, how did you know the bandit donated your family’s funds to the Leicester workhouse?”
Daphne met her friend’s puzzled gaze. “Because he promised me he would.”
Mr. Chambers’s eyes widened with disbelief. “He? The bandit?”
“Yes.”
