Cressida slowed to a walk, holding one hand against the stitch in her side. She was still staring after him when she reached Tom. “What did he want, Tom?”
Tom looked troubled. “He said he’s come to look for the sergeant. Asked if I had anything to offer, any suggestion to make.”
“Yes, that’s about what he told us.”
“Hmmph,” was Tom’s only reply.
Uncertain, Cressida looked down the road where Major Hayes had disappeared. “Callie thinks it is the answer to our prayers. Lord Hastings sent him, it seems.” She turned back to Tom. “I wonder why he was sent to us. One might think coming back from the dead would require all a man’s attention, even if he weren’t a suspected traitor.”
Tom shrugged. He had gone back to the gate and had a nail between his teeth as he hefted a rail into place.
“What did you tell him?” Cressida knew she was pestering him but couldn’t stop herself.
Hammer in hand, Tom stabbed the nail into the rail. “Nothing,” he mumbled.
“Well, of course you had nothing to tell, since we don’t know anything. I don’t know what on earth he’s going to do that we haven’t thought of.” Tom began hammering the nail, sharp blows that shook the gate. Cressida sighed. “All right. Thank you, Tom.”
The sound of his hammering followed her back to the house. Cressida was still worrying over the major’s visit when she almost ran head-on into her grandmother.
“Granny,” she exclaimed, stopping short. “What are you doing downstairs?”
Granny beamed up at her, wobbling a bit on her feet even though she clutched her cane. “Did I hear a gentleman’s voice in the house, dear?”
Cressida’s face heated, to her disgust. “Yes, Granny.” She hesitated; mention of Papa was often enough to upset Granny to no end, and send her into a fretful decline. But not explaining the major’s true purpose would let Granny think the intolerable—which her next question confirmed.
“Was he here to see you, or your sister?” Granny had such a twinkling smile.
“Er—both, really.” There was no way around the truth. Cressida put one arm around her grandmother’s frail shoulders and gently steered her toward the sitting room. Granny had become so thin lately, her skin like worn cotton over her bones. “Do you remember that I wrote to Lord Hastings, to see if Papa might have mentioned something about his plans?”
“You did?” Granny was trying to crane her neck and peer around Cressida’s arm, out the open front door. “Well, yes, your father had better come home soon, if there are young men coming to call. It wouldn’t do at all, dear, to consider a suitor without your father’s permission. Was he a handsome fellow?”
Cressida repressed a sigh. First Callie, now Granny. “He wasn’t a suitor. He came because Lord Hastings sent him to find Papa.”
The instant she spoke, she knew it had been the wrong way to say it. Granny’s smile turned into a frown in the blink of an eye, and she drew herself up to her full, diminutive height before turning on Cressida with her sternest voice. “Your father is not lost, young lady. I am sure he is off doing something very important—he must be, or he would have returned by now. He’ll be home any day, you wait and see. Such a good man, and a good father, too. Hasn’t he brought us to this lovely home? All those years away, he couldn’t wait to be home. And now you dare suggest he’s lost?”
This time she couldn’t hold back the sigh. “Of course not,” she replied, wishing Callie were here to soothe their grandmother. She had too much temper for the task. She wanted to burst out and ask Granny just where Papa was if he was so anxious to be home with them, and why he couldn’t have let them know where he was, or at the very least sent money. He must know they didn’t have enough to live on. But that would be enough to send Granny into a high-tempered scold, which would leave her winded and weaker than ever. “We were…worried about him. And we miss him so, just as you do. What if he were injured somewhere and had no way to send word to us?”
“He always finds a way,” said Granny firmly, letting Cressida help her into a wing chair near the window. Cressida grabbed a light throw from the settee, and knelt to tuck it over Granny’s feet and legs. It was still fiercely hot, but Granny was somehow always cold.
“I am sure he will,” she said. “Would you—?”
“Now this young man,” Granny interrupted her. “Who was he?”
“Not a suitor,” Cressida muttered.
“Was he handsome?”
She sat back on her heels and pushed the tendrils of damp hair from her forehead. “Handsome enough, I suppose.” God would forgive her that little lie.
“Oh, my dear!” Her grandmother giggled like a young girl, clapping her hands together. “How exciting! I remember when Mr. Turner, your grandfather, came to call on me. You must wear your best dress next time, Cressida dear, and try to do something with your hair…” She reached out to smooth Cressida’s wayward hair.
Cressida dodged. “I’ll try.” It was easier to agree to her grandmother’s fanciful suggestions and ideas than to argue any sort of sense to her. She would be very happy never to deal with Major Hayes again, just as she had long since despaired of taming her hair into anything like Callie’s smooth curls. Wear her best dress, indeed; for a man she had almost shot as a horse thief?
“Well, I do hope he’s a charming fellow, like your father. And
