Die I Will Not by S. K. Rizzolo Page A

getting himself involved in low shams. And she thought Penelope worried too much about what she called a bit of fiddle-faddle in the papers that may or may not be based in sober truth. Still, Maggie promised to redouble her vigilance over Sarah and the other children.
    The lamplight played over her freckled countenance, striking fire on her red head, as she added her bit to the conversation. “Today I went to the baker’s shop to buy some of them buns the children like for their tea, you know, mum. When I went in, the lady as owns the shop was not so friendly as usual—” Color stained her cheeks.
    â€œYou thought it was because we had not paid the bill.”
    â€œThat’s just it, mum. Mrs. Vane said to ask when it might be convenient for you to make all tidy. I said I would, frowning her down like, but then she said as how a man come around asking about you and the master. Wanting to know how long you’ve lived in the neighborhood, do you settle your accounts, do the neighbors think well of you, that sort of thing. She said it like I should know what it meant, and maybe like I was trying to hide our wickedness. She wrinkled up her mouth like she was aiming to spew her guts.”
    Her mimicry of Mrs. Vane was so uncannily like the original that Penelope had to laugh, and yet there was little enough to laugh about in this additional sign of a formless menace lurking in the background of her life.
    Grinning in response, Maggie picked up her needle and resumed her story. “I told Mrs. Vane that Mr. Jeremy is to paint the portrait of a Duke. I said His Grace’s people are inquiring into our way of life to make sure we’re respectable.”
    â€œDid she believe you?”
    â€œOh indeed, mum. I’m sure she did, for I pretended I couldn’t tell her the Duke’s name, as he was too high in the instep to have his private affairs spoken of. I told her all about how he is to be married to a great heiress and wants a portrait in honor of the occasion. I said if he likes Mr. Jeremy’s work, he’d likely commission another of the bride. She swallowed it!”
    Penelope went to the mantelpiece and shook out some coins from a box she kept there. “Will you take this money to Mrs. Vane in the morning?”
    â€œDon’t be giving that sourpuss all our rhino, mum,” Maggie warned, though she took the coins and stored them in a little bag hanging at her waist.
    â€œDid Mrs. Vane say anything more about this man? Young or old? Well dressed and polite or rough and low?”
    â€œWell-spoken, about thirty or thereabouts, plainly but decently dressed.”
    â€œBe on your guard for anything out of the ordinary, Maggie.”
    The two women lapsed into silence. Penelope was thinking about how much she had come to value Maggie’s companionship. An Irishwoman whose husband only showed his face when he wanted to appropriate her hard-earned funds, Maggie fended for herself with her two young children. She often fervently expressed her gratitude for her position as Sarah’s nursemaid, but, in truth, the obligation was mostly on Penelope’s side. Being in Maggie’s company was often a relief, for it was never necessary to pretend with her. She understood what it meant to live with uncertainty, and treated the children and her mistress with humor and kindness. Penelope admired her ability to take the world as she found it.
    Trying to gather her scattered thoughts, Penelope took up her pen. She had been rereading some of her father’s works and taking notes with the idea of perhaps writing his biography, though she was finding it enormously difficult to concentrate. When she realized she had read the same passage for the third time, she allowed her mind to return to Mary Leach. Penelope was curious about this woman who had cut herself off from her family and her career as an author to live a more conventional married life. At least her husband had