The wench had to vanish, and she had to take her niece and her mongrel dog with her. The sooner the better. The only problem to resolve was how to have it happen with clean hands so Roxanne could never be blamed.
Roxanne would ultimately be shed of her. Of that fact, she had no doubt at all.
Joanna walked down the lane toward her cottage. She was lonely and at loose ends. Clara was at school, and Jacob had gone to London. It was foolish to mope, but she didn’t like him being so far away. Nor did she like it that he wasn’t around to surprise her. She’d gotten accustomed to having him bluster in unexpectedly.
Suddenly up ahead, a man was standing by the path that led through the woods to her gate. It was obvious he was waiting for her, and she halted and studied him. He was dressed like a bank clerk or maybe a secretary to an important gentleman—brown suit, bowler hat, spectacles—and he seemed harmless enough.
“Miss James?” he asked. “Joanna James?”
“Yes, I’m Miss James.”
He hurried over to her, removed his cap, and bowed. “I am Mr. Howard Periwinkle. I’m a newspaper reporter for the London Times.”
“My goodness, what a thrilling remark. I always thought it would be so exciting to write for a living. You love your work, don’t you? I can see that you do.”
“Well, yes. Yes, I do love it.”
“You’re quite a distance from the city, but you’re not lost. What brings you to my neighborhood?”
“I was looking for you.”
“For me! My goodness again. I’m flattered. What is it you need from me?”
“I’ve been searching for you,” he told her. “Aren’t you a Mystery Girl of the Caribbean? You were in a shipwreck when you were little. You survived with your two companions, Libby and Caroline.”
“Yes, I was a Mystery Girl. You sought me out over that? How very odd.”
“The three of you are famous.”
She chuckled. “We are famous? I find that very hard to believe.”
“No one has ever stopped talking about you.”
She knew he was correct, but she pretended he wasn’t. “You’re pulling my leg. I’m convinced of it.”
“No, no, it’s true! Why, Libby is in London right now, appearing on the stage to gushing audiences. She regales them with stories about the tragedy.”
She knew about Libby too, knew she was famous on the stage, but she said, “You’re joking.”
“No. People were agog when you were returned to England years ago, and they still are.”
“I had no idea,” she lied.
“It’s the reason I’m here—because it’s the twentieth anniversary.”
“So it is. The time has passed so quickly.”
“My newspaper would like to print a retrospective about the three of you.”
“What kind of retrospective?”
“We’d like to draft a few articles about how your lives unfolded after you were claimed by your relatives.”
“Who would be interested in that?”
“Everyone?”
“I doubt that very much.”
“I guess I’ve failed to explain how popular you’ve been.”
“Mr . . . Periwinkle, is it? I can’t think that popular is a word I would use to describe my life.”
“How was it then? Was it scary? Was it horrid? Were your relatives cruel? Did they mistreat you? Our readers are eager to know how you’ve fared.”
“Again, sir, I doubt that very much.”
She was about to continue on, so he hastily added, “We’d like to arrange a reunion too. For you, Libby, and Caroline. Would you like that? Would you like to see them?”
It was an electrifying suggestion. She’d constantly yearned to communicate with them, and she was haunted by how they’d been immediately separated upon their arrival in England.
Her Aunt Pru had understood how devastating the split had been, and they’d incessantly worried about Libby and Caro. They’d occasionally checked the cards for both girls, so they’d been aware they were suffering, and they’d wished there had been a way to help them.
Pru had tracked down Caro’s family. She’d written to them, asking if she and Joanna could visit, but she’d received such a nasty reply from Caro’s grandfather that she hadn’t pestered him again.
Libby had traveled with performing troupes, so it had been trickier to locate her. They’d attempted to see her on the stage once when she’d been advertised at an area theater, but when they’d attended the matinee, Libby hadn’t been there. They’d inquired about her after the show and had been apprised that she’d traipsed off to a bigger engagement.
After that, she’d never appeared anywhere near to where they’d resided, so there hadn’t been a second opportunity.
A reunion? What a splendid notion! Perhaps Mr. Periwinkle could organize what Joanna had never managed.
“I would like that,” she said, “and if you could arrange it, I would be happy to participate. I’ve missed them so much.”
“I’ve heard that you were closer than sisters.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“And that you were ripped apart, without having a chance to say goodbye.”
“It was a trying situation. The authorities weren’t sure of what was best for us. They had difficult decisions to make, and I shouldn’t judge them.”
“Would you like to confide in me about those terrible days? How was it difficult?”
She sighed. “That, Mr. Periwinkle, is none of your business at all.”
Deeming the conversation to be over, she circled around him.
She wouldn’t dredge up the past. It left her sad and anxious, and she didn’t want him delving into details about her father or why she and her mother had been on the ship to Jamaica in the first place. Why stir that controversy?
“I’ll write you,” he called to her. “As soon as I’ve conferred with Libby and Caroline, I’ll contact you about the plans for the reunion.”
“I shall be waiting on pins and needles until then,” she called back.
She kept on to her cottage. Once she went inside, she proceeded directly to her workroom, with Libby and Caro front and center in her mind.
They’d had painful lives. She, Joanna, was the
