Of Manners and Murder by Anastasia Hastings

Author:Anastasia Hastings
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

But alas, I did not.

Two days after the criminal happenings in Hyde Park, I waited in the agreed place at the agreed time.

But Franklin did not come.

He did not come the next day, either. Or the day after that.

It wasn’t until the fourth day as I sat on the same park bench where only so recently Franklin had all but declared his love, that the terrible truth revealed itself to me.

Dear Franklin, who always thought of me first and who refused to let my mind be troubled, had been wounded more seriously in his heroic effort to save my purse than he revealed.

Even now, it was possible he was confined to his bed. Or incapacitated. He might even be …

I dared not let the dark thought invade my mind, and I shook myself to be rid of it and watched raindrops fly from my shoulders. I had been so lost in my reverie, I hadn’t realized it had started raining, and as I had left the house so hurriedly in an effort to get to the park, I had brought along neither a cloak nor an umbrella.

I pushed myself from the bench and dragged down the muddy pathway toward the road, my heart as heavy as my footsteps.

Two cabs passed me by, no doubt because the drivers looked me over and decided a woman so waterlogged was not a reliable fare. A third took pity on me and as we made our way back to St. John’s Wood, questions bounced along in my head to the rhythm of the horse’s hoofbeats.

What had happened to my dear Franklin?

How would I find out?

What could I do?

Who would help me?

The cab had already stopped in front of Parson’s Lodge when I jostled myself back to awareness. Though I am usually disinclined, as was my mother before me, to believe that any amount of thinking is good for a proper lady, I must say my moments of reflection had apparently had a positive result.

I had an idea!

I paid the driver and tore into the house, and ignoring Bunty’s exclamations of “Why, Miss Sephora, whatever has happened to you?” and “Miss Sephora, let me help you with those wet garments,” and “Miss Sephora, you know better than to be out in the rain,” I raced up the stairs and to the privacy of my bedchamber.

There was someone who could help.

For the first time in four days, I felt what might actually be hope, and as I peeled off my wet clothing, I hummed a merry tune.

One person would assist me in finding my dear Franklin. One person was capable of assuring me of his health and his continued love for me.

And I knew … I grabbed for my dressing gown and, once enfolded in it, I raced to sit at the desk near the window … I knew exactly how to get in touch with her.

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