dull horror at her own thoughts.
She was the only one who knew the truth about Maggie. The only one. And if she never told a soul...
She heard the shop door open and shut. A swift instinct, driven by a sharp protectiveness, made her slap the photograph facedown on the desk.
"I didn't mean to startle you," said Viola Hathaway, setting a big wicker basket on the library table. "It's just me."
"Where is Maggie?" Lucy asked. Wing beats of panic rose in her chest. "Mother, where is she?"
"Don't get your bloomers in a bunch, dear. She and Silky have had their lunch, and they are fast asleep on the parlor sofa." Viola had a peculiar gift—under any circumstances whatsoever, she was able to conjure up a pot of tea, complete with cream and sugar. From her basket, she took the chipped old Wedgwood pot, a linen napkin and a stack of cups and saucers, laying the table with the finesse of a duchess. "I declare, letting that child ride around town on that monstrous bicycle is a hazard. She is always so exhausted after such an outing."
Lucy chose not to bicker with her mother, not today. Despite all that had befallen her since the death of the Colonel, Viola still clung to antiquated ideas about what a girl should and should not do. Bicycling was definitely a "should-not" in her code of etiquette. Lucy wanted to sink behind the counter and disappear. She wanted to take Maggie and run away, and never come back.
No, she thought, that was the coward's way out.
The little brass bell over the door chimed again. Lucy wanted to scream with frustration, but Viola hastened to open the door. "Come in, come in," she said in a bright chirp. "I'm so glad you could join us."
Lucy was surprised to see Patience Gloriana Washington along with two women she'd known since finishing school—Deborah Silver and Kathleen Kennedy. Deborah, now five years married and the mother of two, was as blond and beautiful as ever. Flame-haired Kathleen had produced a set of twins and two others during her four-year marriage to the roguish Dylan Kennedy. Only Phoebe Palmer was missing from the alumni of Miss Boylan's. Years earlier, she'd set her sights on marrying an English lord, and she'd held out for the real thing. Finally her wish had come true. She had wed Lord de Grey, heir to a British duke. She now lived in his ancestral home on a windswept moor in the north of England.
"I thought you might need a bit of tea and sympathy," Viola explained as Lucy greeted her friends, "after what happened at the bank this morning."
Lucy blanched. "What do you know about that?"
Her mother waved a hand, then offered everyone a seat around the scrubbed oak display table. With practiced grace, she poured the tea. "I am not as ignorant as you think I am, Lucy. And besides that, I am your mother. I took one look at your face at lunchtime and knew things had gone ill for you at the bank. So I sent a message 'round to Patience, Kathleen and Deborah. Friends are so essential in times of trouble."
Patience added three lumps from the sugar loaf to her tea. "What happened at the bank, girl?"
"Tell them, dear," Viola said gently. "Unburden yourself."
Lucy was speechless. She had no idea how her mother had learned about Randolph Higgins.
When she said nothing, Viola spoke for her. "I'm very much afraid," she announced, "that Lucy's request for the loan extension was refused by the bank. The Firebrand will have to close."
"Oh, sweet Lord in heaven, no," Kathleen said. "This is your dream, Lucy.
You can't give it up."
"Closing down is a terrible idea," Deborah added, "not to mention unnecessary. I shall personally lend you—"
"Never mind." Lucy held up a hand, not knowing whether to laugh or weep. Of course her mother couldn't have guessed. "Something did happen at the bank, but it wasn't about the loan." Her financial concerns seemed so petty, given the issue that weighed on her mind now.
"Then why the long face?" Patience asked.
Lucy took a deep breath. For a few moments,
She was the only one who knew the truth about Maggie. The only one. And if she never told a soul...
She heard the shop door open and shut. A swift instinct, driven by a sharp protectiveness, made her slap the photograph facedown on the desk.
"I didn't mean to startle you," said Viola Hathaway, setting a big wicker basket on the library table. "It's just me."
"Where is Maggie?" Lucy asked. Wing beats of panic rose in her chest. "Mother, where is she?"
"Don't get your bloomers in a bunch, dear. She and Silky have had their lunch, and they are fast asleep on the parlor sofa." Viola had a peculiar gift—under any circumstances whatsoever, she was able to conjure up a pot of tea, complete with cream and sugar. From her basket, she took the chipped old Wedgwood pot, a linen napkin and a stack of cups and saucers, laying the table with the finesse of a duchess. "I declare, letting that child ride around town on that monstrous bicycle is a hazard. She is always so exhausted after such an outing."
Lucy chose not to bicker with her mother, not today. Despite all that had befallen her since the death of the Colonel, Viola still clung to antiquated ideas about what a girl should and should not do. Bicycling was definitely a "should-not" in her code of etiquette. Lucy wanted to sink behind the counter and disappear. She wanted to take Maggie and run away, and never come back.
No, she thought, that was the coward's way out.
The little brass bell over the door chimed again. Lucy wanted to scream with frustration, but Viola hastened to open the door. "Come in, come in," she said in a bright chirp. "I'm so glad you could join us."
Lucy was surprised to see Patience Gloriana Washington along with two women she'd known since finishing school—Deborah Silver and Kathleen Kennedy. Deborah, now five years married and the mother of two, was as blond and beautiful as ever. Flame-haired Kathleen had produced a set of twins and two others during her four-year marriage to the roguish Dylan Kennedy. Only Phoebe Palmer was missing from the alumni of Miss Boylan's. Years earlier, she'd set her sights on marrying an English lord, and she'd held out for the real thing. Finally her wish had come true. She had wed Lord de Grey, heir to a British duke. She now lived in his ancestral home on a windswept moor in the north of England.
"I thought you might need a bit of tea and sympathy," Viola explained as Lucy greeted her friends, "after what happened at the bank this morning."
Lucy blanched. "What do you know about that?"
Her mother waved a hand, then offered everyone a seat around the scrubbed oak display table. With practiced grace, she poured the tea. "I am not as ignorant as you think I am, Lucy. And besides that, I am your mother. I took one look at your face at lunchtime and knew things had gone ill for you at the bank. So I sent a message 'round to Patience, Kathleen and Deborah. Friends are so essential in times of trouble."
Patience added three lumps from the sugar loaf to her tea. "What happened at the bank, girl?"
"Tell them, dear," Viola said gently. "Unburden yourself."
Lucy was speechless. She had no idea how her mother had learned about Randolph Higgins.
When she said nothing, Viola spoke for her. "I'm very much afraid," she announced, "that Lucy's request for the loan extension was refused by the bank. The Firebrand will have to close."
"Oh, sweet Lord in heaven, no," Kathleen said. "This is your dream, Lucy.
You can't give it up."
"Closing down is a terrible idea," Deborah added, "not to mention unnecessary. I shall personally lend you—"
"Never mind." Lucy held up a hand, not knowing whether to laugh or weep. Of course her mother couldn't have guessed. "Something did happen at the bank, but it wasn't about the loan." Her financial concerns seemed so petty, given the issue that weighed on her mind now.
"Then why the long face?" Patience asked.
Lucy took a deep breath. For a few moments,
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