Amanda's Story

Letters and Baskets

The Haywood's ball was lavishly done, from the champagne to the flowers. I had not realized Sophia was determined to outshine Portia until I saw her steal away a gentleman who had Portia's eye. But with a tap of her fan and a giggle, she had the next dance instead.

This was, of course, just a moment between my dances. I danced two with Sir Kestwick, two with Lord Albans (though Ellen would glare at me so), and one with a Lieutenant Blackhouse. But the cut of his uniform reminded me of Devyn, and I felt melancholy the rest of the evening.

I do wish Devyn would write. Could you convey the enclosed note to him? I trust you will find a way. If he replies, send it with your reply. 

Ever so much love, Phoebe.

Amanda had enjoyed the letter until she reached the last paragraph. Now she sent it skittering across the writing desk and onto the floor. Marian looked up from her sewing in the corner.

"Are you upset?"

"Yes. No. I just..." Amanda got up and retrieved the letter, folding it neatly. "Phoebe writes of her partners at the ball, and I recalled my last ball."

Marian shook her head. "I thought you said you'd gotten over your jealousy while at the Cressy's."

"This is not jealousy."

"What then?"

Amanda shrugged. "I haven't any idea." She pulled her shawl off a hook on the wall and left before Marian could ask any more questions.

She went from room to room, searching for Rachel. If someone knew how to send a letter and not be noticed, it would be her. Rachel wasn't in the morning room or sitting room, however. Amanda thought to change into her boots and go to the stables, for two new foals had been born since Easter, and Rachel loved to check on them. She was turning toward the back door when she heard a sniffle in the study.

Amanda knocked and entered, looking around. Father was out, his desk empty. Turning to the far corner, she spied Rachel curled up on a chair, a letter drooping from her hand.

"It seems we Pearce girls are in receipt of terrible letters today," Amanda said. She pulled a chair closer to Rachel's, sat down, then leaned her elbows on her knees. She took Rachel's hand. "Tell me."

"You won't want to know."

"I will. I have a favor to ask of you afterward, anyway."

Rachel frowned, wiping a tear away from her eye. "Beauchamps has been busy, going between York and Nottingham, and sometimes further. But in his last assignment, he went to Lincolnshire. He was at last able to ask some questions of the sheriff there."

Amanda nodded, though her chest constricted and her breathing slowed. "Please, continue. Something sinister occurred that day, when Da— when the carriage accident happened, I know it." Amanda found she could not say Dabney's name, so "the accident" would have to do. She nudged Rachel's arm to draw her attention back to the letter.

"He writes that he found a man, already in gaol for poaching, who had worked at the coaching inn that day. He forced him to share this news—" Rachel lifted the letter, then found the place with her finger. "'The miscreant had been paid ten shillings to set out ahead of the phaeton. When Dabney and his steward came into view, he was to toss a beam through the spokes of the wheel. I don't know if I was more angry at the low morals of this creature or the willingness to work for so little. In the end, I gathered a description of the man who paid him—of course, he left a false name—but the description matches Du Roche. It's not much help.'" Rachel looked up, a crease forming between her eyes. "We still have no connection between Du Roche and the accident, besides this man's word. Yet in the meantime, our horses go unsold and while our neighbors sell theirs. It's a cruel fate for us, innocent of any wrongdoing."