Page 41 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

In hot pursuit.

Anne picked up her skirts, quickening her step.

She told herself to stop being foolish. There was absolutely nothing to worry about, and yet worry nagged at her.

It had begun shortly after Beatrice left The Mermaid’s Tale, but she had shaken it off.

They’d had a sudden influx of visitors, and she’d been kept busy settling everyone in and overseeing the lunchtime crowd.

Then Major Hancock and Captain Dearborn had insisted she sit down and share tea and cakes with them, and they were both such dear creatures and looked so hopeful, she’d had not the heart to refuse.

Yet all the while a little niggle of uncertainty ate away at her peace of mind.

She told herself Beatrice Honeywell was a good and sensible girl who would never put herself, her reputation, or her family’s peace of mind at risk. And yet… and yet, Miss Anne Harding had also been good and sensible and look how that had turned out.

Ah well, better safe than sorry.

As she approached the vicarage, she inwardly cursed at the sight of Clara Halfpenny heading the same way. She had obviously taken a shortcut through Maypole Meadow and looked equally dismayed when she saw Anne approaching.

“Good day to you, Miss Halfpenny. I’ve just come to pay a call upon Miss Beatrice.”

“Oh,” Clara said, tugging nervously at the ends of her gloves. “So have I.”

“And who is this fine fellow?” Anne asked, crouching down to stroke the soft ears of the scruffy pup who followed Clara like a little lamb.

“Mr Bennet,” Clara said, and then blushed. “B-Benny,” she added, biting her lip.

Anne smiled. “I am pleased to meet you, sir,” she said formally, before standing straight again. She pushed open the gate. “Shall we?”

Clara nodded, avoiding her gaze, and scurried past her, the dog at her heels.

Anne knocked at the door, for Clara seemed content to stand there all day studying the toes of her worn shoes. A moment later, Polly answered.

“Good day, Mrs Adamson, Miss Halfpenny. Do come through.” She led them into the parlour. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll run and fetch Miss Isabelle.”

“Oh, but we wish to speak to Miss Honeywell,” Anne objected, before the girl could hurry off.

“Miss Bea is feeling poorly,” Polly confided. “She’s having a little nap. But I’ll fetch Miss Izzy for you.”

“Oh, dear,” Clara murmured, looking increasingly agitated.

Anne gave her a sharp look, wondering what she knew, and Clara visibly shrank.

“Have you seen Beatrice today?” she asked, the niggle of suspicion growing.

“N-Not since this morning,” Clara stammered, paling.

Anne wondered how the girl could go from beetroot red to parchment white in such a short space of time. It was quite remarkable.

“You saw her this morning, and yet you are calling upon her again now. Why?”

With hindsight, Anne realised she ought to have gentled her voice and sounded more coaxing, for her usual forthright manner only made Clara look ready to bolt from the room.

“W-Why?” Clara repeated, quite obviously wracking her brain for a suitable excuse.

“Dammit!”

Clara jumped, wide-eyed with shock.

“I beg your pardon,” Anne said, though she was more impatient than contrite. “I fear our friend may have got herself into something of a scrape.”

“Oh. Oh, dear. Oh….” Clara pressed her hands to her cheeks.

“You must tell me what you know,” Anne said urgently. “We may not have much time.”

Clara shook her head vigorously, a sudden streak of stubbornness making itself known.

Anne almost growled in frustration. “Now is not the time to discover your backbone, Miss Halfpenny.”

Clara swallowed, regarding Anne like the veriest ogre. Anne took a deep breath and was about to try another tack when the door opened.

“Anne and Clara! How lovely,” Izzy said, smiling warmly at them. “Polly is bringing tea and—”

“Never mind the tea, where’s Beatrice?” Anne demanded.

Izzy blinked at her. “In her room. She’s feeling—”

“Rather under the weather, yes, we know. Are you quite certain she’s in her room?”

“What?” Izzy looked startled. “Yes, of course. I looked in on her and she was asleep.”

“When? When was that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Around one, I suppose.”

Anne moaned. “Oh, lord. That was… nearly three hours ago!”

“Anne, whatever is the matter? You’re not making a bit of—” Izzy began and then paled as something occurred to her. She looked from Anne to Clara and back again. “Wait here,” she said, and hurried from the room.

It was barely two minutes before Izzy ran back into the room, closing the door and leaning against it. “She’s not there,” she said, sounding breathless as she held out a note in a trembling hand. “I’m too frightened to read it.”

Anne came forward and snatched it from her, scanning the words.

Dearest Izzy,

I’m so sorry to put you in this position, but if all goes well, I shall be home again tomorrow and no one any the wiser. Please keep my secret, dearest. I shall be quite safe, for I am dressed as a boy so no one shall look twice at me.

Please don’t be cross, Izzy. I love him, and I realise now that you were right.

I must tell him I am Sally, for you see, it seems he loves me too.

I don’t know how, when we have had so little time together, but Papa said it was like that for him and Mama, and now I understand.

Sometimes everything falls into place when you least expect it, and you realise all the uneven pieces of yourself perfectly match all the uneven pieces of someone else.

Together, you make a whole. I can’t let that go, Izzy.

Not without trying. He might well hate me and never wish to see me again, or he might be so wonderful as to forgive me for what I did.

Either way, I must know, or I shall regret it forever.

Don’t worry for me. I’ll be fine. You’ll see.

With love from your dearest, Bea x

Clara, who had been reading over Anne’s shoulder, said a bad word that made Anne stare at her in wonder for a moment.

Clara blushed but looked unrepentant.

“I saw them kissing,” she blurted out. “In the garden.”

“Stonehaven, you devil!” Anne growled. “I’ll murder him.”

Izzy shook her head, laying a hand on Anne’s arm. “Bea would not have allowed it if she had been unwilling. I know she looks like butter wouldn’t melt, but she’s rather strong-minded when the mood takes her.”

“So I am discovering,” Anne replied tersely. “Well, this is a lovely pickle. Whatever are we to do?”

“The rev-reverend,” Clara said with surprising strength. “You must g-go with h-him to make all appear right and proper. If things go awry, he will m-marry them.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Anne said. “I know Stonehaven wishes to marry her. Leastways, he wishes to marry Sally.”

“W-Who is S-Sally?” Clara said, wide-eyed with confusion. “I thought he l-loved Bea?”

“He does, Clara. He just thinks Bea is Sally,” Izzy said, before waving her hand dismissively. “Never mind that now. We’ll explain on the way. I’ll run and fetch Papa. He’ll know what to do for the best.”

“On the w-way?” Clara squeaked, alarmed.

“He won’t be too angry, will he?” Anne asked, ignoring Clara’s horror as she remembered the awful scenes she had endured with her own father when her reputation had been destroyed.

“Papa? Angry?” Izzy repeated, looking puzzled by the concept. “Oh, I shouldn’t think so.”

With that, she ran from the room once more and Anne muttered with exasperation. She could not help but feel Reverend Honeywell might have been just a bit crosser and firmer with his daughters over the years, and perhaps then they would not be in this dreadful fix.

Anne glowered across the carriage at Reverend Honeywell.

He seemed entirely at ease and not in the least horrified that his beautiful daughter was gallivanting around the countryside dressed as a boy.

Though she liked and admired the reverend and had always considered him the wisest person she knew, she could not help but feel he had not grasped the gravity of the desperate situation into which Bea had plunged herself.

“Why are you not tearing your hair out?” she demanded, after two interminable hours of sitting on her hands and holding her tongue. It was not in her nature to be quiet and conciliatory, and the effort was killing her. “Why are you not determined to have Stonehaven’s head on a platter?”

“But Lord Stonehaven is not to blame,” he replied with a smile. “The heart wants what the heart wants,” he said with a wistful sigh.

Anne stared at him. “You knew!” she said, outraged. “You knew there was something between them and you… you did nothing!”

Izzy looked back and forth between them, riveted by the exchange.

“Not nothing , precisely,” the reverend said, with a touch of reproach.

“I avoided the garden and the terrace when they were getting to know each other. I couldn’t really do more than that, though I was sorely tempted,” he admitted dolefully.

“When one can see that two people are so very perfect for one another, it is dreadfully frustrating to have to let nature take its course when one wishes to speed the process along, but I have learned the hard way that it is the only thing to do.”

Anne gaped at him, entirely dumbfounded.

Honeywell returned a placid smile and reached over, patting her hand.

“There, there, Anne, dear. Don’t fret. You are a sweet creature and worry for Bea, and that does you credit, but she’s not half so fragile as you believe.

Indeed, I think this little adventure will do her the world of good.

She’s a tad too docile and quiet for my liking.

If she’s to marry a fellow like Stonehaven, she must learn to stand up for herself.

He’s a remarkable man, and so kind and forgiving under that rather stern exterior, but Bea needs to stand firm if she’s to get anywhere with him. ”

“Sally is bolder, Papa,” Izzy said. “She told me so. Indeed, I think she’s already learned how to deal with him.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” her father said with a nod of approval.

Anne threw up her hands and sat back against the squabs. “I give up,” she said with a sigh. “You’re all mad. I wish Clara were here. At least I might get some sense out of her.”

“Poor Clara, forced to live with her horrid aunt,” Izzy lamented. “I think coming would have done her the world of good too, but she was too afraid, and now she’s missing out on our adventure.”

Anne scowled, disliking their cross-country dash in pursuit of Beatrice Honeywell being described as an adventure. She only prayed it had a happy ending.

“Do not judge, pet,” the reverend said, his expression reproving.

Oh, now he objects, Anne thought crossly.

“But she is horrid, Papa,” Izzy said defiantly. “Even Bea said she was hard work, and she is the most patient person in the world. From her, that’s practically an accusation of devilry.”

“Isabelle Honeywell,” her father said with surprising severity. “What do you know of her aunt’s life? Do you know if she has lost loved ones, if her family ill-treated or abused her, if she is in a deal of pain, either physical or mental?”

“No, Papa,” Izzy said guiltily.

“Hmph, quite so. When we return, you will call upon Clara’s aunt every Sunday for the next month.”

“Oh, but Papa!” Izzy exclaimed, and then clamped her mouth shut upon seeing her father’s expression. “Yes, Papa,” she muttered.

Anne could not help but smile at the exchange. There were some things that the reverend was extremely strict about, it seemed.