Page 9 of Set in Stone

Thinking about it in her bedchamber yesterday evening after Mama had finally finished gloating and had gone to bed, she had realized that the rumors of her sizeable dowry explained why Mr. Medlock had been so pleasant to her.

“How silly you are, Arianna,” she had lectured herself. “Surely you must know by now that you are not attractive to men? If they pay you attention, it is your dowry they see.”

But the depths of her disappointment showed she had truly believed Mr. Medlock was different.

She had had a restless night and awakened early to a dismal rainy day. It reflected her mood perfectly but meant a walk was out of the question. Brownlee, who had accompanied her on her morning walks every fine day, would be pleased.

“Stop being a wretched grouch, Arianna Westbrook,” she commanded. “Get up. Wash. Get dressed. Go find a cup of tea, and perhaps a book.” She had finished the three she had brought with her.

Mrs. Peabody was able to supply the tea—plus toast and an egg—but not the book. Or, at least, not one that was new to Arianna. “You could always try our little bookshop,” said that good lady. “I expect they will have something to please you.”

Arianna hadn’t noticed a bookshop, but Mrs. Peabody explained it was in the front room of a cottage a few doors down, and so, after she had finished her breakfast, Arianna put on her bonnet and cape, took the umbrella Mrs. Peabody offered her, and stepped out. Mama would be cross if she knew Arianna had gone out without Brownlee, but Mama was fast asleep, and Arianna would be back long before she was up.

The bookshop was astoundingly good for such a small village. The proprietor, a man called Newell, welcomed her and invited her to look around. “If you need anything in particular,” he said, “ask and I will help you find it.”

It was the kind of bookshop that was full of surprises, and Arianna lost track of time as she moved along the shelves, opening books almost at random, reading pages and skimming contents, selecting one and then finding another she wanted more—her allowance being limited.

She was somewhere at the back of the shop, fully absorbed when she heard voices on the other side of the shelf she was currently browsing.

“I tell you, they must have found it. They’ve made no effort to go out again today.”

The voice was familiar. Surely it was Mr. Mills?

The person who answered sounded far less cultured, speaking as he did with the sing-song rhythm, elongated vowels, and lost ‘t’ sounds of the Suffolk countryman.

“We’ve missed our chance, then,” he said.

“Not necessarily. They have not yet left Fenwick,” argued Mr. Mills. “If we attack them before they can get out of the inlet…”

“No,” replied the other. “Against fifteen of them? Even if we got out of it with our lives, we’d have the Excise down on us.”

“They’ll keep the treasure—whatever it is—with them,” said Mr. Mills. “Have you got someone who could burgle their room at the inn?”

“Do it yourself,” said his coconspirator. “Get whatever it is they found, and we’ll give you passage to the continent. If you can afford it.”

“Fat lot of use you are,” grumbled Mr. Mills.

The Suffolk man must have been grinning, for Arianna could hear the amusement in his voice. “I’m the man with a boat,” he replied. “If you want passage to the continent and no record, you need a smuggler. And around here, that means me.”

Mr. Mills sounded disgruntled as he replied. “After the Johnson bitch, it’s leave the country or marry the Westbrook chit. I could stomach her for the money she brings, but her mother is pure poison. No, if I can get my hands on that treasure, I won’t need the girl.”

“Here comes Newell. I’m off. We sail two nights from now, Mills. If you want passage, be there after dusk.”

Arianna remained hidden at the back of the shop, listening as the shop doorbell rang, and then footsteps near the internal door. The smuggler leaving, and Mr. Newell arriving? Yes, for she could hear the owner telling Mr. Mills that he had found the book Mills had asked for.

He must have shown it to Mr. Mills, for the nasty man said abruptly, “That’s not the one. You have nothing I need.” With that rude assertion he clumped away to the door. The bell rang again as the door opened and shut. Mills was gone. Arianna waited for another few minutes, listening to see if anyone else was in the shop. Only after a long silence did she emerge from the back.

Newell looked up and frowned. “Is there something wrong, Miss? Did that man bother you?”

“He did not even know I was here,” Arianna assured him. “I should like to purchase these books, Mr. Newell. And would you be interested in purchasing the three I brought to Fenwick with me?”

They had a brief discussion about the books, and the familiar topic soothed Arianna’s remaining alarm. Would Mr. Newell carry a message for her to Mr. Medlock? But a moment’s thought convinced Arianna that it wasn’t a risk worth taking. He seemed like a nice man, but even so, he might feel compelled to disclose any correspondence to Arianna’s mama “for your own good, Miss,” which had been what Arianna’s governesses had said whenever they told Mama something they knew would make her angry.

The habit of keeping her own counsel was hard won. She would need to find a way to speak to Mr. Medlock, and one that did not make her mother suspicious.

But first, she needed to return to the rooming house. By now, Mama must be awake, and Arianna had better be in her room when Mama sent Brownlee to check on her.

Seven