Page 8 of Pleasantly Pursued

The innkeeper returned and dropped a letter on the table. “Can I do anything else for you?”

“A meal, please. Anything hearty will do.”

“Right away.” The portly man left to retrieve my early dinner.

I turned my attention to the letter he set on the table. Despite Thea’s easy shift into the appearance of a kitchen maid—complete with floury face and tired eyes—she did not so easily pass as a low-class woman, and I wondered at the intelligence of her employer for not being more suspicious of her. Her walk was too graceful, her neck straight and not stooped in the least, as it should be from years of manual work. Her voice, though she had added some gravelly affect to it, was properly trained in a high-class tongue, a lilt to it that I could only imagine came from her time living in Sweden, or possibly from Vienna after that.

But above all, the loopy, elegant script she’d written my name in possessed all the class and delicacy of a woman of esteem. She could not write to me in this manner and expect anyone to believe that she was a simply-born miss.

The paper was thin and the pencil she wrote with dull, but her words flowed across the page prettily, despite those obstructions.

B.B.—

Notice has been fulfilled. Position has been replaced. I am prepared to leave Monday at the earliest.

—D.N.

While I understood and appreciated her attempts at anonymity, the date she wrote was alarming. It was Wednesday now. Had she been ready to leave two days ago?

The innkeeper set a bowl of steaming stew before me with a chunk of bread and slices of ham and cheese.

“Do you recall when this letter was left for me?” I asked.

He scrunched up his nose and looked to the door as if it held the answers. “Four days ago? Maybe five.”

Much earlier than either of us had expected. Perhaps Thea had not been as difficult to replace as she’d thought. “Thank you.”

He left me to eat, and I tried to consume my fill, but I found my nerves warring with my appetite. It wasn’t customary to allow a servant to remain when they were no longer employed. I had to hope the Fuller family was different in this regard, or that Thea had enough funds to provide lodging for herself for a few days.

I tossed coins on the table beside the half-eaten meal and strode from the inn.

It took a quarter hour to retrieve my horse and ride out to the Fuller residence. A gentleman knocking on the kitchen door again would prove odd, but what other choice did I have? I strode across the garden, rapped my knuckles on the door, and pulled my hat low over my eyes in case one of the footmen who served me dinner last week or the butler happened to be nearby.

The craggy cook opened the door, scowling at me, with deep set grooves lining her forehead and fanning from her downturned mouth. “I told you last time, there isn’t nobody here by the name of—”

“I hoped to speak to Mary.”

“She doesn’t work here anymore.”

My heart swooped. Had she given me the slip, or merely been told to leave? Surely her note was enough proof that she intended to go with me to Chelton.

She’d promised.

“Where can I find her?”

The cook’s face crumpled further. “You can’t.” She slammed the door, and I bit back a curse. I yanked off my hat and turned away, running a hand through my wild curls. I was in sore need of a haircut, and my hair tangled on my fingers, yanking hard. I winced and slammed the hat back on my head.

“Where the devil are you, Thea?”

“You mean Mary?” a small voice asked.

I spun to face a waif of a girl, hardly out of the schoolroom. She probably had yet toentera schoolroom at all, if I had my guess. She slipped from the kitchen quietly and closed the door behind her.

“Yes. I meant Mary. She is my friend, and I need to find her.”

“She’s not here,” the girl said apologetically. “They made her leave when I arrived. Can’t pay two kitchen maids.”

“Understandable,” I said, hoping to keep her talking. “Where can I find Mary now?”

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