Page 3

The morning stage swept out of the courtyard, the cries of the ostler mingling with the rumble of carriage wheels on the hard-packed macadam road.

Sara didn’t look up from her cauldron of bubbling linens.

In the weeks since she’d started at Cooper’s Inn, she’d grown used to the bustle of the courtyard, even found it comforting.

Often the best place to hide was in plain sight.

“You seen the new girl?” Henry leaned against the woodpile, chewing on the hunk of dark bread Sara had slipped into her pocket at breakfast. Since she’d mended his clothes, he was a frequent visitor to her corner of the yard.

Sara nodded. She’d spied the child, following behind the Cooper girls like a sober shadow. “Who is she?”

“Takes lessons with Cressida and Sophronia.” He looked up, gauging Sara’s interest. “Always coming to the stables to see the horses. Not that I blame her.” He gave a theatrical shudder. “Imagine being cooped up with the Goblin all day.”

“Henry, you shouldn’t say that.” She repressed a smile.

“I’m sure Miss Giblin is a fine teacher.

” She scanned Henry’s face. For all his bravado, he lived a lonely life, with only the disdainful grooms and taciturn Rawley for company.

“If she likes horses so much, perhaps she could be a friend for you.”

Henry snorted. “Not likely. Her father’s some kind of fancy law man. A bar... barter...”

“Barrister.” Sara looked down, stirring the clothes with forceful strokes of the washing paddle. She felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the girl. Lawyers didn’t make the best fathers.

Henry’s head shot up at her sharp tone. “Aye, that’s the word. How do you—?”

She had no intention of satisfying Henry’s curiosity. “Best get back to the stable before Mrs. Cooper comes to inspect the laundry.”

The warning was enough to send him scurrying back to his post. Sara fished out a steaming shirt and dropped it in the basin.

She knelt, scrubbing the soiled collar and cuffs against the washboard, the acrid scent of lye burning her nose.

Losing herself in the rhythmic movement, it was several moments before an unfamiliar sound penetrated her concentration.

Her hands stilled. It was coming from the shed.

A child. Sobbing?

Perhaps Miss Sophronia Cooper had been denied a sweetmeat. Sara resumed her scrubbing, but soon put that idea to rest. The Cooper girls snatched treats from the kitchens or played tag in the drying lines of laundry, but they never took refuge here.

Sara sighed and wrung out the shirt, placing it in the rinse water before rising. She had no trouble keeping her distance from adults, but a child in difficulty was another story. Stepping inside the shed, she gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom.

It was the girl Henry had told her about, huddled next to a barrel of flour, her shoulders shaking with deep, wrenching sobs. Sara took a step closer and crouched in front of her.

“Whatever is the matter?”

The girl paid her no notice. Sara slid to the ground beside her, leaning back against the rough wooden wall and drawing her knees up to her chest.

“Sometimes it helps to talk about it,” Sara said, after a while. “I’m Sara. The laundress.”

The girl sucked in a shuddering breath and peeked out at Sara between her fingers. Her face was thin and pointed, and her hair stood up in all directions where it had come loose from its braids.

“Evangeline! Evangeline Kinney, you come back to the schoolroom this instant.”

Sara recognized the high-pitched, nasal tones of the governess echoing across the courtyard.

The girl tensed, the fine lace trim on her gown brushing Sara’s arm.

A wealthy girl. Sara grimaced. Riches didn’t bring happiness.

She didn’t need this little one to remind her of that.

The girl turned to Sara, her brown eyes wide.

“Please don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

Sara hesitated. Mrs. Cooper would probably fire her on sight if she thought she’d come between the girl and her governess. Yet the pull of those dark, sad eyes was hard to resist.

“All right,” Sara finally answered. The girl’s shoulders relaxed. “But you think about what I said. There’s nothing so bad that doesn’t get better by talking it through.” Sara almost laughed at the platitude. Maybe she should learn to take her own advice. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

Sara rose and returned to the boiling kettle of sheets, wondering what would make the girl weep with such abandon.

Her muscles tensed, remembering the girl’s eyes, stormy with grief and fear.

Water sloshed out of the pot and hissed on the hot rocks, calling Sara’s attention back to her work.

She stared at the boiling laundry and tried to put the child out of her mind.

The little girl wasn’t her business, and there was precious little a washerwoman could do to help.

“Are you cooking the clothes?”

Sara started. There were still traces of tears on the girl’s cheeks, but her voice was clear, her eyes fixed on the boiling cauldron with unabashed curiosity.

The girl approached and Sara held up a restraining hand. “Watch out, or you’ll get burned. The water splashes up.” She stopped but continued to watch Sara’s movements with interest. “Haven’t you ever seen anyone do laundry before?” Of course, she hadn’t. Neither had Sara, at her age.

The girl shook her head. “Can I stir it?”

“Certainly not.” Mrs. Cooper would be horrified if she saw the little girl doing Sara’s work.

“Oh.” The girl’s shoulders drooped, and Sara was sorry she’d been so hasty. But what girl of nine or ten wanted to do laundry? At her age, Sara had been dressing her dolls and stitching samplers. When she wasn’t sneaking into her father’s library.

“It’s about time to get them out of the wash water anyway,” Sara continued. “Evangeline, is it?”

“Evie,” she said, her eyes following Sara’s movements. “What’s that for?” She pointed to a tub of cold water standing a few feet from the fire.

“It’s the rinse water.” Sara smiled. It was hard to resist the look of earnest interest on the girl’s face. It had been so long since anyone besides Granny noticed her at all, never mind asking a question or offering help.

Don’t get involved, Sara. She’s not your child. The pain hit, sharp and familiar. Her arms would always be empty. She should be over the sting by now.

Sara hefted the basket to her hip and pointed to the empty lines. “I’ve got to hang these out. Shouldn’t you return to your lessons?”

The smile faded from Evie’s face. “She said I’m naughty and deceitful.

” Evie straightened, a militant look in her eyes.

“I’m not. I don’t lie like Cressida and Sophronia.

” Sara could well believe that. Even buried in the laundry as she was, she’d heard enough of the Cooper girls’ mischief to make her wary of their pranks.

“Please, let me stay here with you. Just a little longer.”

Tears filled Evie’s eyes and Sara’s resolution to keep her distance washed away like the water over the cobblestones. She slid an arm around Evie’s shoulders, pulling her in so the girl’s head rested against her chest.

“I told you I’d listen if you need to talk. The offer still stands, you know.”

Evie clasped both arms around Sara’s waist in a hug so tight it threatened to cut off her breath.

After a few moments of silence, Evie started to speak, her voice muffled against the rough fabric of Sara’s apron.

“They make up stories about me. That I steal biscuits from the kitchens and break their toys.” She looked up, her eyes shooting sparks.

“I don’t. They do. But Miss Giblin never listens to me. ”

Sara swallowed. She knew what it felt like to be ignored. Unheard. She sighed. “No one listens to me, either.” She looked down at Evie and waggled her eyebrows. “Sometimes I tell them what I really think.”

“You do?” Evie looked at her in awe. “Even Mrs. Cooper?”

“Oh, not to her face. She’d never stand for that.” Sara winked. “I say it inside. To myself. Makes me feel better.” Sara looked down at Evie’s thoughtful face and smiled. “Come, there’s work to do. Would you pass me the pins while I get these on the line?”

Evie scooped up the bucket and skipped after her, the heartache of earlier seemingly forgotten. An hour slipped by in easy camaraderie as they worked together, Sara guiding Evie’s arms to pin the sheets to the line and laughing as Evie darted between the billowing linens.

“This must be what it’s like to float in the clouds, don’t you think?” Evie’s eyes were dreamy.

“Clouds would be a lot softer than Mrs. Cooper’s sheets.”

Evie giggled and Sara felt a pang at the bright smile on the girl’s face. She’d had flights of fancy like that herself, once upon a time. Her future had been full of promise, her imagination nourished by every novel she could get her hands on.

“Are you hungry?” Sara asked as they hung the last sheet. “It smells like Mrs. Cooper is about to serve the guests their supper.”

Evie’s slight frame tensed. “It’s time for supper already?”

“Likely.” Sara sniffed. “Beef pies, that’s my guess. What do you think?”

The girl ignored Sara’s question, busy smoothing her hair and straightening her dress. “I’ve got to go. Papa collects me on his way home.”

Before Sara could thank Evie for her help, the girl was gone, darting around the lines of laundry, and heading to the front of the inn.

Sara returned the empty basket to the shed, her thoughts full of the strange little girl. She seemed familiar, but not because they’d met before. Because she reminded Sara of herself at that age. Right down to her fear of her papa.