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“I cannot think what made him change his mind about going,” she murmured. “He told me quite clearly that I—that we—would not see him again.”

But Mrs. Barstow was too pleased by this turn of events to question or criticize.

“How delightful! And how very kind of him to offer to teach you boys, even if only for a fortnight or two. Did he say he thought of staying at the Tree Inn? Lord Dere did say once that any houseguests of ours were welcome at Perryfield, and I suppose we could ask…”

“He’s staying at the rectory,” replied her son. “Dr. Rearden likes him as well as we do and insisted on it.”

“Well, isn’t that kind of the new curate? I look forward to meeting him as well. And even if Mr. Langworthy only stays a little longer, that will give him time to meet the Deres, and surely he will be able to dine at Iffley Cottage now.”

“Yes, yes,” crowed Gordon. “And don’t forget Della will want to meet him too, because he was Sebastian’s especial friend. Why, even Jane might come from St. Lawrence.”

“You’re right about that,” Mrs. Barstow said, a hand flying to her bosom. “I will write to them directly after dinner. Oh, isn’t it lovely that things could turn out this way?”

The general family elation lasted through their meal, and if anyone noticed Sarah said not a word throughout, they attributed it to too much excitement. Mr. Langworthy’s postscript had been forgotten, moreover, by everyone at the table.

Everyone except Sarah.

It was not until Bash was laid down for his afternoon nap that she could retreat to her little room unaccompanied and unremarked, and by that time the note might have been a volcanic rock in her pocket, growing hotter and heavier by the minute.

The weather had cleared, allowing winter sunlight to penetrate the window, and she sat on the corner of the bed where it fell brightest.

Being unsealed, the note required only a twist to unfold, and the moment she did so, out bounced a silver coin, rolling along the coverlet to fall ringing to the floor. That explained the weight!

Perplexed, Sarah bent to retrieve the crown and set it on the dressing table.

Then her eyes dropped to the page enclosing it, and though it was only the second specimen of Horace Langworthy’s hand she had seen, she recognized its characteristics already: hasty, forceful, the letters of each word not always connected.

“‘Madam,’” she read under her breath, “‘Have no fear that I write to renew my repulsive attentions. Rather I do so to inform you that my stay in Iffley will now extend an indeterminate length. Moreover, having heard your family referred to as “paupers” for whom Lord Dere “looks out,” and remembering the solemn trust placed in me, I enclose this donation to your maintenance. Yours, etc., H.L.’”

“ Paupers ”?

And he enclosed a “ donation ” toward her maintenance? One equivalent to five piddling shillings?

Sarah hardly knew whether to laugh or to march straight over to the rectory to fling the coin in his face.

What in the world sort of person was this Horace Langworthy?

The coin could not have been given in any sincere wish to do good; rather, it must have served simply as the excuse to send this message, warning her of his change of plans.

But why should his plans change? Why should he remain in Iffley for who knew how long, instead of taking himself straight off, as he had assured her he would?

There was no point in wondering about his reasons, though wonder she did.

One thing was certain: if she was to meet him again and perhaps repeatedly, she must master herself, inure herself.

She could not again lose her temper and behave as she had that morning.

It was almost unbelievable now, when she thought of her fit of anger.

What did it matter if she had never liked him, or if his manner of carrying out his obligation was offensively flippant?

He had nevertheless carried it out, at least as regarded the letter of the law.

Added to this, he had been Sebastian’s boon companion.

Whether he would have been the friend Sarah chose for her husband did not matter; the friendship had existed in any case.

Could she not, now, let bygones be bygones and show herself gracious for a fortnight or two?

I will , Sarah vowed. If it kills me.

Picking up the silver crown again, she tapped it on the surface of the dressing table. What to do with this “donation,” however?

She was almost certain now that it had not been given in earnest. Had she and little Bash truly been “paupers,” five shillings would not have sustained them even a week.

The coin was simply a makeweight and another example of his general lack of respect.

He sent it to vex her. But to hurl it back at him would only make him think himself justified in acting as he did.

No, she decided. Two could play at this game. The only way to vex a vexer was not to be vexed. Let him find all his weapons blunted in his hands, and he would soon leave off. And when he did, her own displeasure with him might fade.

They could not be spouses, not even to please the mutually loved Sebastian Barstow, and it was doubtful they could even grow to like each other. But perhaps, for Sebastian’s sake, they might learn to see what he had seen in each of them and even, just possibly, to appreciate it.