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Grinning, Frances reared back and put a hand to her bosom in her best Mrs.-Dere imitation.

“There are standards to be maintained, Uncle! I know you were taken in by Mr. Langworthy, just as Dr. Rearden was, but I had my suspicions all along. Even his reasons for coming struck me as flimsy: to ensure Mrs. Sebastian and her son were well? How concerned could he have been, if he waited so long to come? No, mark my words. He came when he had no more funds and no more excuse for not carrying out his friend’s request. And we were his dupes—all of us—providing shelter and employment and amusement! ”

Then Frances bowed a little and held up placating palms in the baron’s fashion. “Now, now, Alice, you are distraught. Mr. Langworthy was an unexceptionable houseguest and teacher and was in no way responsible for the unsatisfactory servants sent by the Angel Inn.”

“Oh, no?” (Again in Mrs. Dere’s manner.) “Then if nothing has been stolen from this house, how can we possibly make sense of that fable we were told? That nonsensical fable about a stolen ring, which, come to think of it—why would Wrigley admit to such a thing? What motive would he have for explaining away Mr. Langworthy’s conduct?

What possible reason did Mr. Langworthy have, to pretend to injure himself at the ball, and why should he be walking with Wrigley to Oxford, much less wrestling with him in public? ”

Flouncing down in the chair beside her mother’s, Frances threw up her hands.

“Well, now we know Mrs. Dere was right. Mr. Langworthy did have a connection to Wrigley, though I am not going to tell her about it if you aren’t.

And she was right about the stolen-ring business being a Banbury tale, for that matter, since Mr. Langworthy told you that himself, Sarah.

Goodness! What will happen now? Mr. Langworthy is gone, and so are Wrigley and Blodgett, so maybe it will all die away.

There remain only us and Dr. Rearden to punish for whatever just happened, and the curate must fend for himself.

It used up every cent of credit I gained through two years of flattering and managing her, I fear, to persuade her to forgive us Barstows for even knowing Mr. Langworthy. ”

Sarah was rubbing her forehead with both hands by this point. “Did she come to no final conclusions, then?”

Frances and her mother exchanged glances, which told Sarah that she had, but not conclusions which could be discussed before Gordon and Maria.

Nor did those two show any signs of wanting to take themselves off, it all being too exciting to be missed.

Gordon, in fact, mourned Mr. Langworthy’s departure all the more, surrounded as it was with such a swirl of rumor.

Even when Mrs. Barstow suggested Frances and Sarah assist her with plucking capons and sorting through the remaining pippins and pomwaters, Gordon and Maria showed unwonted eagerness to help.

I will steal Frances away on a long walk this afternoon, Sarah plotted.

But her ruse proved unnecessary, in that, when the Barstows were still at work in the kitchen, feathers flying and Gordon and Maria juggling and rolling the spoiled apples in races, Irving appeared, cap in hand.

“Mrs. Markham Dere is here, asking if you would like to go for a drive with her, Mrs. Sebastian.”

“I?” wondered Sarah. Though they all stared at this unprecedented request, she hastily untied her apron and followed him out, snatching up her cloak.

The day had grown windy, and Sarah had to clap her bonnet to her head when she went out the front gate to where Mrs. Dere sat in her cart, Chauncey the pony standing patiently.

On any other occasion Sarah would have suggested they return indoors, but nothing would stop her now from learning what Mrs. Dere had to say of Mr. Langworthy.

Nor did the good woman beat about the bush.

With a chuck to Chauncey they were away down Church Lane, gathering what speed the pony could, so that when they passed the Tree Inn and Mrs. Lamb came scurrying out in hopes of an informative exchange, Mrs. Dere merely lifted her whip in greeting and rattled by.

“I am glad you agreed to come out with me, Mrs. Sebastian,” Mrs. Dere began, “because you were not of the party which called this morning.”

“No.” Sarah thought about lying—about pleading Bash’s recent cold as an excuse—but she held her tongue.

“But I will assume you know at least as much as your family did of recent events.”

“Yes.” She had to say it twice because of the noise of the wind and the cart, and her monosyllables did not seem to please her companion. They gave Sarah time to make a decision, however, and she made it.

“It was probably just as well that I remained behind, Mrs. Dere,” she said, raising her voice to be heard, “because Mr. Langworthy called at the cottage to take leave of us. If I had been at Perryfield, there would have been no one to receive him.”

Having left the inquisitive postmistress behind, Mrs. Dere allowed Chauncey to slow to a plod, slow enough that Sarah could see the earliest snowdrops and crocuses pushing up through the bare patches in Iffley Meadow, and slow enough that Mrs. Dare could turn to study her without danger of putting them in a ditch.

“Mrs. Sebastian,” she said, her sculpted features a trifle stonier than usual, “tell me plainly: did you stay behind in hopes of seeing Mr. Langworthy alone?”

Sarah drew a sharp breath. “No!”

“I rejoice to hear it because, as you will remember, I did caution you against fostering particular hopes or feelings for the man, penniless and without prospects as he was, and now he has proven far more problematic than even we could have guessed by his circumstances.”

“I do not see that that has been proven,” Sarah returned stiffly, holding her companion’s gaze, “whatever my feelings—or indeed anyone’s—toward Mr. Langworthy.”

Mrs. Dere gave an incredulous scoff. “Do you not? Then you require far more evidence than I, Mrs. Sebastian. That man pretended to have twisted his ankle, that he might speak privately with that impossible footboy Wrigley. He then lied about where they would be going and was discovered by Harker on the road to Oxford, where Harker witnessed some—activity—between them, which Wrigley tried to explain as an altercation over a stolen ring, an explanation Harker suspected was trumped up and which I too have come to believe was false. Therefore, I am now persuaded that, if the two men were not fighting, it must have been…contact of another sort.”

Sarah’s throat seemed to twisted into a knot as she listened, but she shook her head with vigor. Twice.

And here, glancing up and down to ensure no traffic would come upon them, Mrs. Dere drew Chauncey to a halt. “You disagree, Mrs. Sebastian. Perhaps when Mr. Langworthy called at Iffley Cottage, he provided his own version of the story?”

What could Sarah say or do? Mr. Langworthy had decidedly not provided his own version of the story! In fact, he had warned her that the story she would hear was patently untrue, just as Mrs. Dere and Harker supposed.

Again she shook her head, but this time it was a rueful motion. How could she defend him, when he would not defend himself?

Sarah’s dejection had the benefit of softening Mrs. Dere, however, the latter choosing to interpret it as an admission of reluctant agreement. Her features softened accordingly, and she went so far as to take hold of Sarah’s forearm and give it a comforting squeeze.

“If he provided no other explanation, Mrs. Sebastian, I begin to think I have guessed why that may be. Indeed, this is why I asked you to drive with me. I thought it better to share this word with you privately.”

To Sarah’s mingled amazement and dismay, Mrs. Dere blushed as she spoke.

Actually blushed! Why, Sarah could not think of a time she had seen the elegant, self-possessed mistress of Perryfield look this uncomfortable, and she did not like to see it now.

If only she could climb down from the pony cart and flee from whatever lay ahead!

It got worse.

Mrs. Dere reached and took Sarah’s two hands in both her own, exactly as Mr. Langworthy had hours earlier. Then, steeling herself, she plunged ahead.

“My dear Mrs. Sebastian, I suppose you heard that one other possibility for what Harker saw was that Mr. Langworthy and that wretched Wrigley were—were embracing . No—please—let me say what I need to say. Indeed, I only feel at liberty to speak to you on this matter because you have been a married woman and married, moreover, to a navy man. I do not know how much—if at all—Mr. Sebastian Barstow might have spoken to you of such matters, or whether you can possibly be still unaware of something—er—which has been mentioned in the public papers with some frequency, but there are certain things which might and do take place between men at sea which really cannot be talked about in polite society.”

Now Sarah’s own face was as scarlet as Mrs. Dere’s, and she wanted more than anything in the world to be far, far away in her little closet bedchamber, the coverlet pulled over her head.

Yes, she understood what Mrs. Dere hinted at, though a Sebastian Barstow who did not share the rougher aspects of crossing the equator with his wife had never, never come within a mile of this particular topic!

But she understood as well that what Mrs. Dere now ascribed to Horace Langworthy was no more true than the ridiculous tale of the stolen ring.

How could it be, the way Mary Pence nearly broke his heart?

Or the way he held Sarah’s hands and lifted them to his lips in farewell?

Of the latter proof—if it proved anything at all, and how could it, when Langworthy himself spoken only of friendship?—nothing could be said, but what could be said must , and Sarah roused herself to do so, urgency loosening her tongue and making her curt.

“I believe you are mistaken, madam. I have no better explanation to supply, but I do still believe you are mistaken. Entirely. If you will remember, he came to Iffley after being jilted by his intended bride. It was part of his delay in coming.”

Mrs. Dere did nothing so vulgar as snapping her fingers, but the toss of her head served the same purpose.

“That is what the baron said, as if anything could be deduced from it. Is it not equally possible that this is why she jilted him? Are engagements so commonplace to be thus tossed aside? You are welcome to your own opinions, Mrs. Sebastian, but I tell you again it is a good thing you heeded my warning. Iffley is well rid of such a person, and I would not be a bit surprised if, in coming days, we were to read something in the newspapers which vindicates me.”

If Sarah had never before seen Mrs. Dere blush, it was a day for firsts. Because neither had Mrs. Markham Dere ever seen quiet Mrs. Sebastian look so…obstinate.

Ah, well.

No one liked to be told she was wrong and another person was right. The important thing was that Mrs. Dere had spoken her mind for conscience’s sake and would be guiltless, whatever might come after. Mrs. Sebastian might not recognize it, but Alice Dere had been a true friend to her.

The mistress of Perryfield clicked her tongue to wake Chauncey.

“Come now, Mrs. Sebastian,” she said, smiling serenely, “let us get out of this wind. I will take you home.”