“Salt?”
“Of course.” He got out some change from his pockets and paid generously.
The boy looked at the coins in his hand, grinned, then promptly closed his fist, just as if the metal was about to fly out of his hand. “Thanks.”
Reid nodded, then bit into the pretzel, enjoying the bite of the yeasty concoction. Then he started walking. To where, he didn’t know.
But for the first time, it didn’t really matter.
Rosalind had just finished freshening up when there was a light knock at her bedroom door.
Curious as to who it could be, she opened the door slightly and peered out. It was Mr. Watterson.
“You have a caller, Miss Rosalind.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s a Miss Carstairs, miss.”
Rosalind swallowed. “I’m afraid I have no—”
“I’ll escort her downstairs, Watterson,” Reid’s mother interrupted smoothly as she walked down the hall.
“Rosalind, Eloisa Carstairs is one of my son’s good friends. She has come to pay a call. She’s hoping that she might be able to help you in your search for your sister.”
Rosalind had no idea why a lady would make such an offer—or how she knew about her sister. But she was curious to find out. Quickly, she followed Mrs. Armstrong down the winding staircase, still feeling terribly conspicuous for going down the main stairs instead of the servants’.
When she entered the drawing room, she saw an exquisitely dressed young lady perched on the edge of a settee. She was fine-boned and elegant-looking. She looked up and smiled softly as Rosalind followed Mrs. Armstrong into the room. “Good afternoon,” she said by way of greeting.
“This is Eloisa Carstairs,” Mrs. Armstrong said with a smile. “Eloisa, may I present Rosalind Pettit, our guest.”
Rosalind felt her cheeks heat. “How do you do, ma’am. I’m only here because of the generosity of the Armstrongs.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Reid stopped by to see me this afternoon and told me about your situation.”
“He did?”
“Yes. And don’t fret. He wasn’t gossiping. Rather, he thought that I might be able to help you in some way. Like Reid, I know a great many people in our circle.” Looking beyond Rosalind, she added, “I’ve also known the Sloane family for many years. We were once friends, Veronica and I.”
Rosalind felt her eyes widen. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Luckily, Mrs. Armstrong took control of the conversation. “Tell us a bit about your sister, Rosalind.”
She racked her brain, but she couldn’t think of anything new to say about Miranda that Reid and his mother didn’t already know. “I’m sorry, I’ve told you all I know about her job and what I’ve discovered about her last days there.”
“No, dear. I don’t want to hear about your sleuthing,” Mrs. Armstrong said. “Rather, I want to hear about her. What is she like?”
Eloisa leaned forward. “Did she do her chores without complaint? What did she like? What didn’t she like? Were you close?”
“Miranda is truly beautiful. She isn’t ethereal like you, Miss Carstairs, but she is striking. In many ways I’m a poor copy of her. Her hair is brighter, her eyes bluer, her figure more filled out. And she is impetuous.” Her voice warmed as she thought about the person Miranda is . . . or was. “Miranda was always hatching a plan and was always a bit foolhardy. My mother depended on me to be her voice of reason.”
“And were you?”
“I’m ashamed to admit that I was not. Truthfully? Her ideas always sounded like a lot more fun than mine. More often than not, I was as much her devoted follower as any of my brothers.”
“So you were close?”
“We got along and were close in the way sisters always are. But in many ways we were not close. I’m a bit too much of a worrywart for her.”
Suddenly, the memories poured forth. “Once she wanted to rush through our chores so we could go to the swimming hole with the family next to ours. But I was afraid we’d get in trouble.” She shook her head in wonder, her eyes brimming with tears as the moment rushed forth, bringing with it both laughter and sadness.
She tried to stem the flow, but it was as if all the pressure from the past weeks was too much to contain. Or perhaps it was really the fact that she didn’t need to bear the weight by herself any longer.
She could afford to feel instead of plan. She could afford to remember instead of plot.
The realization only made the tears fall harder, followed by a choking sob.
“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Armstrong murmured, moving to her side. From out of nowhere, she produced a handkerchief and folded it into Rosalind’s hand. And that act of kindness only made the tears fall still harder. Before she knew it, Eloisa was sitting on her other side, her slim hand gently patting Rosalind’s back.