Promise Me Tomorrow. Candace Camp
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Betsy’s hand, his eyes twinkling. “She was so pleasing to the eye, they scarcely noticed the blunt leaving their pockets.”
Betsy dimpled girlishly. “Go on, you old charmer.”
Harrison ignored his in-laws’ byplay and looked at Marianne. “Is that it, do you think?”
Marianne could feel her cheeks coloring. “Well…I think he was hoping that I would agree to…ah…some sort of arrangement in return for his silence.”
“The blackguard!” Piers growled, jumping to his feet, his boyish face dark with anger. In the excitement of the moment, he forgot his careful work on his accent and plunged back into the cockney of his roots. “I ought to draw ‘is cork. You mean ‘e offered you a carte blanche?”
“Heavens, no. Oh, Piers, do sit down. Don’t get in such a taking. He never really said anything. It was just, well…” She hesitated, not wanting to tell them about that kiss. Just the thought of it made her go all strange and melting inside. “It was just a feeling I had. Perhaps I was wrong. Because I told him I would not, yet he still did not tell Lord Batterslee.”
Piers snorted. “I know ‘is type. ‘E—I mean, he—just didn’t want to give up his power over you. He’s hoping to wangle his way into your bed, that’s what.”
“That thought occurred to me. But he is bound to see that that is an empty threat. I am afraid that then he will tell Lord Batterslee. Harrison, I’m so worried. I fear I have ruined everything for us. What if he tells Lord Batterslee, and he sets a Bow Street Runner on us? Perhaps we ought to try our luck on the Continent for a few months, as you were talking about last year.”
“But what can they prove?” Harrison pointed out reasonably. “You didn’t steal anything. He didn’t even see you trying to steal something. All he saw was you wandering around, looking at things. That’s not proof.”
“They don’t always need proof,” Da put in, his voice tinged with bitterness. “One word from a lord and—” He drew his forefinger across his throat in an ominous gesture.
“Even if he did not tell the authorities,” Betsy pointed out, “all he has to do is spread it around that Marianne is a thief, and the Game will be ruined. She won’t be received in polite society after that.”
“That’s true.” Harrison rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But we were on the verge of such opportunity—I hate to throw it away on a mere chance. I think we should wait and see. If we lie low for a few weeks, we might be all right.”
“Do you think so?” Marianne brightened a little. She hated to think that she had ruined their plans for everyone.
Harrison nodded. “Some other pretty young thing’ll come along to tickle his fancy.”
That much was true, Marianne was sure. No nobleman was going to waste his time looking for or thinking about some socially inferior girl. If one was not of their class, there was only one use for a woman, and no doubt he could find other willing participants. Marianne realized that that idea gave her no joy, but she shoved the thought aside. She was, after all, a realist; she had to be.
“He doesn’t know where you live, right?”
“No. I left the party, and I am sure that he did not follow.”
“If we take nothing from Batterslee House, it will lull his suspicions—or at least give him no proof to back them up.”
Marianne sighed. “I am so sorry. I don’t know how I could have been so careless.”
“It happens to all of us,” Harrison assured her kindly. “The main thing is that nothing happened to you.”
“Thank you. But it would have been a nice bit of change. They had some beautiful things.”
“I am sure it wasn’t all a loss. You met some people, didn’t you?”
Marianne nodded. “A few. Lady Ursula Castlereigh and her daughter. I talked to the daughter at some length.”
“There? That will get you entré into other places. You see if it doesn’t. And if not…” Harrison shrugged. “Well, we’ll try the Continent, as you said, or go back to Bath.”
Piers groaned. “Not Bath! There’s nothing but old ladies there.”
Harrison cocked an eyebrow at him. “We aren’t there for your entertainment.”
“I know. I know.” Piers sighed and subsided.
“Well.” Della glanced around. “There is nothing else to do tonight. We will just have to wait and see. I am sure Marianne would like a bite to eat and a good night’s sleep.”
Marianne smiled gratefully at the older woman. “Thank you. I don’t think I could eat anything, truthfully. But the thought of sleep is appealing. Hopefully everything will seem better tomorrow morning.”
The group broke up, starting up the stairs toward their rooms. Marianne, too, started out of the room, but Winny caught her arm. “Stay for a bit, Mary.”
Marianne looked around at her questioningly.
“I—there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What?” Fear clutched at Marianne’s heart. “Is it Rosalind? She’s not sick, is she?”
“No. No. Nothing like that. It’s just…well, I got a letter today. From Ruth Applegate. You remember her, don’t you? She were—was—a scullery maid at the Hall.”
Marianne frowned. In referring to the Hall, Marianne knew that Winny meant the Quartermaines’ house, where they had both worked. The look on her friend’s face disturbed her. “Yes, I remember. You were good friends with her. What’s the matter? Did something happen to her?”
“No. She knows that I went to live with you. She wrote to warn you. There’s been a man at the Hall asking about you. She thinks a Bow Street Runner is after you.”
CHAPTER THREE
“A BOW STREET RUNNER!” MARIANNE GASPED. “Sweet Lord, I thought it couldn’t get any worse.”
Winny reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, which she unfolded to reveal a pencilled scrawl. “It’s very difficult to read. Ruth never learned to read and write very well. What she said, I think, was, ‘There was a man—two men at—’I think she means different ‘—times. They was asking about Mary C. But nobody knows about her, and I didn’t tell. I thought I should warn you. Bow Street Runners’.”
“Could we have been found out? Has someone—but no. No one I’ve met the past few years would know I was Mary Chilton or that I worked for the Quartermaines.”
Winny nodded. “I know. It’s got to be someone from the past.”
“But who? Why?”
“Do you—do you think it could be your family?” Winny asked tentatively, voicing every orphan’s dream. “If they went to St. Anselm’s, they’d have told them you’d gone on to the Hall.”
“After all this time?” Marianne suppressed the little spurt of hope that had leapt up in her at Winny’s words. It was foolish to think that there was family who wanted her after so many years. “I haven’t any family, or they would have looked for me years ago. It’s been over twenty years.”
“Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe you were stolen from them.”
Marianne smiled. “That’s a child’s dream. I used to tell myself that that was what had happened, that my parents were still alive, still wanted me, that a wicked person had taken me from them. But that’s nonsense. It’s the stuff of dramas. Why would someone steal a child and then drop it at an orphanage? Besides, she said ‘warn.’ There must have been something sinister about the man.”
“Well,