Page 31 of Guardian
They were friends? That surprised me. The more I saw of Maggie, the more I could imagine her as a girl—bright-eyed, quick-witted, with a ready laugh. I imagined she wouldn’t have given him the time of day.
Suddenly I suspected why Mr. Ardle looked sprightlier a few days ago.
“Did he admire you?” I asked.
“Oh.” She gave a deprecating shrug. “For a time.”
Likely he worshipped you, I thought.
“Have you stopped by his shop?” I asked. “Let him know you’ve returned?”
She stepped over a crack in the pavement, wide enough to catch a heel. “Last week,” she said. “He’s the same as he ever was.” There was a note of satisfaction in her voice.
A woman like Maggie knew her own power to draw a man in. Indeed, Maggie had made efforts to charm me this afternoon—confiding about her past, showing an interest in mine, chuckling at my quips, praising my abilities. I could readily imagine how Mr. Ardle would feel, seeing the sparkle of delight in Maggie’s eyes at their meeting, hearing her laugh at a jest he attempted, absorbing the pleasant interest in her voice. She would know how to wrap him around her finger as easily as thread around a spool. But to what purpose? I’d be sorry to think she stirred his hopes, only to take advantage of him.
As for myself, I wondered the same. What was Maggie’s intention toward me? Did she merely want to secure my continued presence in the ring? Or to draw me into her special dodge? And had Maggie’s story of the horrors in Swan River been true? Every instinct I had told me it was genuine, but it had also seemed deployed with a purpose.
We neared Elephant and Castle, and I found myself thinking that Maggie’s intentions were rather like my money stash—the small purse a decoy for the larger one. Part of me admired her for surviving, but she wanted something more than ordinary thieving from me. I could feel it.
Chapter 11
When Maggie and I arrived in the goods room, none of the others had yet returned. Nell helped me change into my usual clothes, I emptied the thieving pockets, and Amelia recorded my poke, keeping her eyes on the ledger as I leaned over and initialed the margins. Today was Amelia’s last day here. I longed to ask her where she would go and what her plans were, but there was no chance. Leaving the three women together, I headed downstairs to the taproom. I made my way through the crowd to the bar, where I asked Pat for a glass of ale.
For this past week I had kept my qualms about Maggie to myself, for it seemed I was the only one who felt them. In the taproom and in our rooms, where we could have quiet conversations among ourselves, it seemed people were relieved, as Cathy said, that Maggie wasn’t changing the ring a whit. Bea reported that Maggie was full of praise and admiration for our cleverness, and with one week gone, it seemed all would be well.
I might have believed the chatter myself except that I hadn’t been able to have a minute alone with Amelia. At first, I thought it was simply because she was busy helping Maggie settle into her new role. But as the week passed, I sensed Amelia was avoiding me—and my questions—which told me something was amiss. With this her last night, I vowed to corner her, and I planted myself by the bar until Amelia appeared and asked for an ale. I maneuvered around old Connors to reach her.
“You’re leaving tomorrow, and we haven’t had a chance to talk,” I said.
She sipped from her pot, one hand on the metal handle, the other cupping the bottom. “I’ve been busy, Kit, and so have you.”
“Have you found a place to live?”
“Not yet. I’ll stay with a friend for a time while I look about for rooms.”
“Will you send me your address?” I persisted.
“When I know it, of course.”
“And what will you do?”
“I haven’t decided,” she said with a show of patience.
“Amelia.” I lowered my voice and rested my hand on her arm. “You’re not easy with this. I can tell. Why?”
Her expression softened with affection and something like regret. “It’s naught that concerns you, Kit.” She drank down her ale, set the pot on the bar. “Take care of yourself and Sarah—and Mary, too.” She put her hand to my cheek—her fingers were cold from the ale—then, to my surprise, stepped forward to kiss my forehead, swift and feather light. She murmured, “I’ll write soon,” and was gone before I could reply.
I might have stood there swallowing ale and my sudden loneliness except that James appeared at my side, curving his arm around my waist with a wide grin, and I felt a stab of surprise and disappointment. Had he forgotten my worry about Sarah? Did he not know about Amelia leaving? I gave him a look that told him I wasn’t in the mood for teasing.
“Oh, come on, Kitten,” he wheedled. He leaned over, his voice a murmuring singsong close to my ear that would have looked like flirting to anyone looking. “Have a drink with me.”
I caught my breath. “Kitten” was our old warning, a signal that the badger scheme was going awry, a sign to retreat. Or that someone was watching, and we needed to slip into character. Mindful that he might have news about Sarah, I fell in with it.
I rolled my eyes in laughing protest. “Aye, fine. Then you’re buying.”
He grinned in triumph. “Aye, then.” He picked up two glasses of ale and lifted one toward an empty table near the loudest group of card players, and I led the way to it. Clearly, he’d chosen this table for cover. I took the chair that put my back to the wall and my face toward the room, so he could speak without anyone seeing his lips.
“So you’re only pretending to flirt with me now?” I said, dimpling and looking amused for the benefit of anyone watching.
