Page 9 of Aurelia

“Give it back to her.”

“We jest wanted to check it for secrets. What if she’s sellin’ things to the Frenchies?”

Sir Gideon gave him an exasperated look. “You fool! Give it back to her. Now.”

The boy scowled. “Here’s yer bag.” He hurled the satchel hard enough that the woman had to step back or risk getting hit in the head with it.

Sir Gideon’s jaw tightened. “Lord Crewe will hear about this, Barry.”

The name Crewe seemed to inject a chill into the air and several of the boys began to slink away.

“We din’t mean nuthin’,” Barry whined.

Sir Gideon ignored him. “All of you—get out of here.”

The boys scattered.

Aurelia turned to the other woman, who was going through her bag.”

“Is anything missing?” Aurelia asked.

Miss Clifford heaved a sigh of relief. “Thankfully, no.”

“You should come to the inn and I will see to the cut on your face,” Aurelia said.

“Thank you for your help Miss—”

“Burton.”

The other woman’s eyes widened. “Oh. You are Lord Crewe’s lady artist.”

“I am,” she said, amused that everyone in the county appeared to know who she was.

“You were very brave to help me.” She smiled, but the expression was tinged with weariness.

“I could hardly walk away.”

Miss Clifford gave a bitter laugh. “Most other people would.” She turned toward Sir Gideon, who’d dismounted and walked his horse closer. “Thank you, Sir Gideon. I feel as if you are always rescuing one of us.”

“I am terribly sorry that you and your sisters have needed so much rescuing since moving to our area. I must apologize for the ugliness you have all faced.”

Miss Clifford gave him a tired smile. “My sisters have already left for London, so it will only be me in need of rescuing for the foreseeable future.” She nodded at them. “Thank you both. I’m afraid that I must get back to work.” She inclined her head and then hurried out of the shallow rock shelter and out of Aurelia’s sight.

Aurelia turned to Sir Gideon. “What in the world was that all about?”

“Miss Clifford is one of the daughters of Randolph de Clyfford, the last Earl of Daventry.”

It took a few seconds for Aurelia to place the name. “Goodness! The one who—”

“Yes, the one who stood accused of treason and took his own life rather than face his punishment,” Sir Gideon finished for her, his expression one of distaste.

“I thought Daventry’s seat was in Lincolnshire?”

“When he was attained, all that property went back to the Crown. His daughters changed the spelling of their last name to distance themselves from their father and came all the way up here to seek shelter with Miss Pomeroy—their former governess—but a few months ago she suddenly took ill, so now they are alone. It sounds like only Miss Larissa Clifford has stayed. I daresay they have all gone off to find whatever work they can, the poor things. They certainly had a rough time of it in Balcrewe, I’m ashamed to say.”

The story of the treasonous Earl of Daventry had been on the front page of every newspaper for months. Lord Daventry had sold secrets to the French and the evidence against him had been damning. His wife had died of an overdose of laudanum a few days before her husband had hanged himself in his gaol cell.

The newspapers had made much of Daventry’s five daughters, who had been turned out of their family home with little more than the clothing on their backs.