A Search for Refuge

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  “I cook.”

  Of all the things he’d have guessed she would say, cooking was the last one he expected. “You cook?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, perhaps I can get you to bring me nuncheon one day.”

  She blushed but said nothing. He didn’t really expect her to. The idea had been planted in both their minds, spoken without any real thought behind the words, but now the idea of a pretty young woman stopping by the office to brighten his day and share a light meal with him was too enticing by far.

  He needed to get out of here and think about what he was really doing.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow, Mrs. Fortescue. And here’s fair warning that I intend to weasel out of you your favorite type of pie.” He settled his hat on his head and tipped the brim. Then he turned and strode out of the store before she could say anything.

  Chapter Four

  Margaretta ran the goose-feather duster around the jars of spices with a practiced swish. She wasn’t an expert at cleaning by any means, but in the past week and a half she’d learned a thing or two about effectively dusting the shelves.

  She’d also learned how stubborn charming old women could be. No matter what she asked, Mrs. Lancaster wasn’t telling her a thing about whether or not she’d met Katherine. Margaretta wasn’t getting very far on her own, either. The current postmaster for the town had taken up his post only six months ago. Even if he had the memory of an elephant, he wasn’t going to remember a girl posting a letter before he took the job. She also couldn’t risk strolling through too many public areas because while Margaretta was looking for Katherine, someone else was looking for her.

  More swishes of the duster accompanied her self-pitying sigh and sideways glance toward the front of the store.

  He was late.

  No matter how good she got at dusting, it was never going to be a chore she particularly loved. It seemed to pass much faster when Mr. Banfield stopped by to chat though, which he’d gotten into the habit of doing every day, just as the morning rush of customers subsided. It was why she’d altered her cleaning routine to save the back shelves for his arrival.

  But today he hadn’t come, and the sun had already passed its peak in the sky.

  “Margaretta, dear,” Mrs. Lancaster called from the front of the empty store. “I’ve something I need your help with.”

  Margaretta stored the duster back in the cabinet before going to the front of the store. Whatever the old woman needed, Margaretta was happy to do, or at least attempt to do. She’d been an utter blessing from the Lord.

  A short laugh escaped through Margaretta’s smiling lips as she shook her head. She was even beginning to sound like the old woman, thanking the Lord for things in the middle of the week. The truth was, though, that Margaretta didn’t know what she’d do without the woman and everything she’d done for Margaretta. If that wasn’t the definition of a blessing, she didn’t know what was.

  “Ah, there you are. I’ve got a delivery for you to make.” Mrs. Lancaster set a small basket, filled to the top and covered with white muslin, on top of the counter.

  Margaretta took the handle with a bit of trepidation but found that while it was heavy, it was manageable. “I’m afraid I don’t know my way around town. I haven’t ventured much past the store and the church yet.”

  The church had been another one of those places Margaretta had been hoping to catch a glimpse of Katherine. She’d spent more time inspecting the rows of people than listening to the rector the past two Sundays. No familiar blonde runaways had been in attendance.

  Mrs. Lancaster waved a hand in the air. “It’s not far. Just a bit down High Street.”

  “I’ll need better directions than that.” Margaretta smiled. She took a deep breath and plunged on, hoping she could catch Mrs. Lancaster off guard and get a bit more information to help in her search. She was convinced the old lady knew something or she would have simply told Margaretta that she didn’t know Katherine FitzGilbert. “Perhaps you need me to go by wherever Katherine stayed when she came through town?”

  A pudgy, wrinkled hand waved through the air. “We’ve plenty of time to discuss this search of yours later. Right now we’ve got a quiet moment, so it’s the best time to make a delivery. Just turn right and head down High Street. You can’t miss Mr. Banfield’s office. It’s got a big window looking out over the street.”

  “Mr. Banfield?” Margaretta choked. What could possibly need delivering to him? He’d been in the store every day for the past ten days. Except of course for Sundays and then they’d seen him at church.

  “That’s correct. He was supposed to come in and get it this morning, but something must be keeping him. I don’t mind going out of my way for one of my best customers.”

  Or sending Margaretta out of her way, as the case may be. “I know what you’re doing.”

  Mrs. Lancaster’s grin was infectious. “Good. Then you won’t mess it up. Off with you now.”

  Margaretta laughed as she put on her pelisse and tucked the basket against her hip before setting off on her journey. Who needed subtlety when they had Mrs. Lancaster’s charm?

  His office was easy to find, and Margaretta enjoyed the short walk through town. She’d seen the market twice now from the window above Mrs. Lancaster’s shop and both times had been an assault on all of her senses. The quietness of the rest of the week appealed to her more. It was an odd blend of feeling like the city and the country at the same time.

  She took one last deep breath of fresh air before pushing her way into Mr. Banfield’s office.

  He was bent over his desk, the quill flying across the paper in tight, neat writing. She waited until he’d paused to clear her throat to catch his attention.

  The bewildered expression on his face was darling. He looked from her to the window to the clock on his mantle. “Oh! I’m late.” A blush rode his cheekbones. “Well, not late because I didn’t have an appointment, but—”

  “Mrs. Lancaster sent you this.” Margaretta offered him the basket.

  He took it apprehensively but broke into a wide smile after he pulled back the muslin. “Hungry?”

  “What?” Margaretta’s eyebrows pulled together until she looked into the basket to find a variety of fresh foodstuffs, including a loaf of the apple bread she’d made last night and a fruit tart left over from this morning. “I could eat.”

  That was almost a joke. She could always eat these days.

  Still, it was nice to sit at the small table Nash led her to and dig into the basket with a handsome companion.

  Not that she thought him handsome. Oh, very well, she thought him handsome. Who wouldn’t with that shock of dark hair that didn’t seem to want to lay right and blue eyes framing a strong, straight nose? Of course she found him handsome, but she didn’t think it meant anything.

  “And what has you working so diligently this morning, Mr. Banfield?”

  He held up a section of apple bread. “Did you make this? It’s amazing.” He shoved another morsel into his mouth. “If you’re going to be delivering me freshly made tarts and bread, you might as well call me Nash.”

  She looked around the office to keep from having to look directly at him. A blush was already threatening, and it would take over her complexion if her gaze remained locked with his. Bookshelves lined one entire wall while stacks of newspapers and magazines covered every other available surface. Obviously he kept abreast of news far beyond the borders of Marlborough. “I’ve never been in a solicitor’s office.”

  “I would think not. It’s not the normal domain of gently reared females.”

  He was fishing for information again, but she let it pass. She couldn’t really blame him. The curiosity hadn’t seemed rooted in any malice since her first day in town. That didn’t mean she answered, though. Even if she found herself wanting to.

  “It’s an interesting look into your life.”

  Nash looked around with her. “What do you mean? It’s mostly books and papers.�
��

  She turned back to him, wondering if her smile looked playful. Part of her felt like an imp, but the other part of her was really and truly curious to know what went on behind those serious blue eyes and shaggy dark hair. “You’ve a partner desk but no partner. That seems a rather poignant bit of symbolism.”

  He snorted a laugh and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “I assure you that it’s not. It’s simple practicality. The partner desk has more drawers.”

  The words were spoken lightly, but he still shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders as if his jacket was suddenly uncomfortable. Had she hit the nail a little too close to the head? Was he alone in this world by something other than choice? A feeling of dread licked through her stomach before she could stop herself from wondering. Did he have a woman in his life who had left him heartbroken?

  Not that Margaretta was in any sort of condition to mend it, if that was the case, but still. She hated to think of Nash hurting.

  “You won’t answer if I ask about your friend.”

  It was a statement, not a question but Margaretta nodded anyway. Katherine had disappeared in the midst of devastating rumor and scandal, the kind that ruined a girl’s future. The letter Margaretta had gotten was essentially a good-bye. An assurance that Katherine had left of her own volition and was safe but wouldn’t be returning.

  Margaretta hoped that meant Katherine had figured out how to have her baby and protect both of them while she was at it. She’d also managed to stay hidden for eight months. Margaretta needed to know how she’d done both of these things.

  Nash broke off another piece of apple loaf. “What about your husband?”

  Margaretta’s eyes opened wide. “What do you want to know?”

  It was quiet for a few moments, Nash not meeting her eye. “Did you love him?”

  They were getting too close. She was only in this town for a little while, and for the time she was here, she was essentially in hiding. Any sort of relationship with this man, even friendship, was unwise.

  She murmured something about getting back to Mrs. Lancaster and rose from the table, leaving him to do whatever he wished with the remaining food.

  Still, she stopped at the door and looked back at him.

  He was watching her with softness around his eyes. Accepting what she was willing to give him without pushing for more. How had they come so far so quickly? Was a half hour of conversation here and there enough to make two people closer in such a short time?

  It was. She knew it was because it had happened. Was happening. And since she wasn’t willing to give him anything else, she gifted him the one thing she could. “Nash,” she swallowed and licked her lips, “you can call me Margaretta. And no, I didn’t love him.”

  And then she left.

  Not knowing what else to do, Margaretta took the next two weeks to try to venture into the more public areas of Marlborough. She scurried along the edges of the market, looking at every vendor and shopper, heart pounding that she’d find someone she knew, but it wouldn’t be the right someone. The trepidation she expected to feel at her continued lack of success never came. It was easy to forget, in her cozy rooms and quaint little village, that a real sense of urgency was needed.

  The fact that Mr. Banfield didn’t miss a single visit over those two weeks didn’t hurt. Nash. Margaretta kept waiting for him to push more at the door she’d opened and ask about her husband, her family, but he never did. Instead their discussions had grown more playful and personal, the illusion of privacy the back shelves gave them lending itself to long stretches of uninterrupted conversation.

  They swapped childhood stories, though Margaretta was careful to never mention the leather shop or horses. They talked about the Sunday service. They even got into a rather heated, good-natured debate on whether or not the new style of longer, looser trousers for men would become acceptable formal evening wear.

  And he watched her. She knew he did because she couldn’t stop herself from watching him, too. For a woman who had been comfortably settled with the idea of having her father arrange a marriage for her, the giddiness that ran through her when she heard Nash greeting Mrs. Lancaster was both foreign and exciting.

  But as time crept on and her stay in Mrs. Lancaster’s rooms extended into its second month, she felt uneasy. They’d been good weeks, if strange, and her days had fallen into a routine.

  They would wake early and eat breakfast before going down to the shop. Mrs. Lancaster never seemed to mind that Margaretta came down after her, choosing to wait and dress after the older woman had left the rooms. The mornings no longer left her middle feeling queasy, but it was requiring more artful arranging and fastening of her gowns to keep everything hidden.

  Then she spent the day cleaning and avoiding the customers until Nash came to visit. Afterward, she would straighten the shelves and come upstairs to prepare dinner.

  When Mrs. Lancaster closed the shop, she would come up and eat and then go for a long walk by herself. Margaretta offered to accompany her a few times, but Mrs. Lancaster always turned her down, saying a lone walk was good for digestion and reflection.

  Margaretta spent the evenings reading or trying out a new bread or tart recipe. She’d taken to making baskets for Nash to pick up when he came into the store.

  Then she would fall into the bed and not wake until the sun hit her eyes the next morning.

  At least, that had been the pattern until three days ago.

  Sleep had become an elusive friend, almost as difficult to find as Katherine was, and her body was feeling the loss.

  Margaretta lay in the bed, listening to the deep breathing from the bed beside her. The fits and lulls of momentary unconsciousness she managed to find at night couldn’t have accumulated to more than a couple of hours if they’d been strung together. The level of exhaustion she’d been feeling every day should have meant she slept blissfully each night, but the stillness of the night and the way the town actually quieted with the setting sun only gave her time to think about all of the things she pushed aside with the busyness of the day.

  More than a month in Marlborough and she was no closer to finding Katherine than she’d been on day one. But she hadn’t a clue what to do next. Mrs. Lancaster would talk about anything and everything under the sun except for Katherine. Whenever Margaretta raised the topic, it was brushed aside like the dust and dirt she’d gotten so good at cleaning.

  Who else could she ask, though? Aside from Nash, she knew no one in town, and had deliberately avoided more than passing greetings with them all. Asking Nash would mean having to answer all of the questions they’d been dancing around. As close as they’d gotten, she couldn’t ask for his help without expecting to give him some answers in return.

  So where did that leave her? She was running out of time.

  Margaretta pushed the covers down below her hips and pulled her nightgown tight across her middle. The false sense of security and comfort that hiding away with Mrs. Lancaster provided was shrinking, and Margaretta’s middle was starting to swell. It wasn’t much yet, certainly not anything a little slump and dress adjustment couldn’t hide, but it was difficult if not impossible to ignore anymore. How much longer before she would have to find a way to procure new dresses? How many more days could she linger before she had to find a more permanent place to hide? If Samuel found her, there’d be no denying her condition soon.

  Worries swirled in her head until she felt dizzy. She knew what Mrs. Lancaster would say, because she’d been listening to the woman prattle on for weeks. The shopkeeper would say that worries belonged to the Lord since He stayed up all night anyway.

  The thought brought a smile to Margaretta’s lips. A nice concept, letting someone else stay up and worry for you while you slept blissfully all night through.

  She glanced over at the other bed, and the woman whose shape she could barely make out in the moonlit room. Mrs. Lancaster always left the drapes open, stating that the sun was ever so much nicer to wake up to than h
aving Mrs. Berta Wheelhouse come round and tap on her window with that long stick of hers.

  People like Mrs. Wheelhouse probably existed in London, going around and waking people at the appointed times in return for a small fee. Margaretta had never had to concern herself with that, sleeping as late as she wished for most of her life. If there was a need to rise at a certain hour, one of the servants saw to waking her. She’d never thought to wonder how they woke on time.

  Right now, though, the room was dark, even with the open curtain, so the moon must have set, and the sun would soon start pinkening the sky. Then she would have to find a way to haul herself from this bed once more and go about cleaning the shop downstairs. Again. The chore was considerably more difficult than she’d expected it to be. Especially when she was fighting the desire to simply curl up in a ball in the corner and let the rest of the world carry on without her while she took a nap.

  As exhausted sleep finally smothered the constantly swirling concerns, Margaretta had one last fleeting wish that she could return to those lazy mornings and let this sleep last for hours.

  Chapter Five

  Bright sunshine made Margaretta wince the next time she tried to open her eyes. She sat up quickly in surprise, and instantly regretted it as the sudden movement sent her running for the chamber pot for the first time in more than a week. Once she could move comfortably again, she looked around the room.

  A shard of sunlight cut across the wall and onto Margaretta’s pillow from the bright beams edging around the dark green drape that had been pulled across the room’s little window.

  Rapid blinks were required to keep the sudden moisture in her eyes from turning into a bout of weeping. She’d been struggling with that a lot lately, had even had to claim to get dust in her eyes one or two times when the urge to cry had hit her while in the shop below. But this act of caring on Mrs. Lancaster’s part when Margaretta was feeling so alone and bereft was simply too much, and a few drops of emotion leaked from Margaretta’s eyes before she could contain herself.