How the Scot Was Won by Caroline Linden

12

The robbery clarified more than Agnes’s feelings for Felix.

It also reminded her of how much she loved her shop. Seeing it torn to pieces was like a bucket of cold water to the face. Papa would have been furious, and devastated. Agnes was ashamed that she had lost sight of that, between the trip to Stormont Palace and her emotional tumult. And when Drew suggested they simply sell the shop, so they could go with him to England, something inside her seemed to fracture.

Drew was not going to sell her shop. She would repair it and restore it, better than ever, and when Mama gave in and left Edinburgh with Drew and her sisters, Agnes was going to take it over—as Papa would have wanted. She threw herself into it, nudging Mama to make changes, even spending her savings on new displays for the window and new glass in the cabinet doors.

It took her some time to realize that between that effort and Felix’s attentions, she’d been neglecting Ilsa. Mama had agreed that she could stay with Ilsa for a month; when that ended, Agnes went home without arguing to stay longer. Ilsa would probably be glad, she’d told herself, to have more privacy to conduct her own romance with Drew, which no one bothered to deny anymore. Mama had invited Ilsa to dine with them and received her like an honored guest.

But Agnes hadn’t considered that her brother had been out of town a great deal, first on his secret mission and then back to his regiment near Inverness. Agnes and her sisters still walked with Ilsa from time to time, but they saw her far less often. And even when she did talk with her friend, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Ilsa about Felix.

She didn’t know why; embarrassment at how it had gone wrong at the Assembly Rooms, perhaps, and a vague fear that her current happiness wouldn’t last. At times it still felt like a dream that might abruptly end if she told anyone she was in love. She had never had a suitor before and had no idea how to act. Felix hadn’t proposed again, or even told her he loved her. How stupid she would feel, if she told people and then his interest faded.

A customer jolted her out of that.

Betsy Steuart was one of their best customers, wife of a prosperous jeweler, and was one of the first to return to the shop to select her silks over tea and cakes. Mama usually received her, but Agnes persuaded Mama she could do it. She was ready for Mrs. Steuart with fresh tea and several carefully chosen bolts of silk.

“Have you heard the latest rumors, Miss St. James? Surely you must.”

Agnes smiled politely. Every client probed for information about the thieves, certain that the victims knew more than anyone. “Not a bit, Mrs. Steuart.”

“But Captain St. James—“

“He’s not told us anything, and now he’s away from town.” Agnes spread out a beautiful primrose silk, printed with scarlet poppies. “This has just arrived, and would suit your coloring perfectly—“

“I hear there will be an arrest soon, and it will set the entire town on its ear.”

Agnes was sick of the thieves. “I hope so. Now, if you prefer a green, we have this celadon china silk—“

Mrs. Steuart was all but falling off the edge of her seat. “They say it will be Deacon Fletcher!”

Agnes froze. “What?”

Mrs. Steuart’s round, pretty face was eager with expectation. “They say he’s involved with these robberies,” she whispered loudly.

Her heart almost stopped. Ilsa’s father! “Impossible…”

Mrs. Steuart blinked. “Is it? Why, it would be remarkable, and very shocking. A deacon and town councilor! Who could be less likely to smash in doors and rob honest people? But that is what they’re saying…”

Agnes swallowed. It couldn’t be true. “We mustn’t accuse anyone without evidence. Now, about this print…” She forcibly steered Mrs. Steuart back to the silks unfurled across the table.

When the woman finally left, she ran downstairs. “Mama, I must leave,” she gasped. “Immediately.”

Her mother took one look at her face and nodded.

Almost running back toward the High Street, she met Felix on the bridge. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Ilsa,” Agnes gulped. “I have to see Ilsa.”

He didn’t ask why, just turned around and kept pace with her. “Have you heard?” she asked as they went. “About her father?”

“Aye,” he said after a pause. “I hope it’s not true.”

“You knew!” She stopped in her tracks. “And didn’t tell me?”

He stepped closer and took her hand. “I only heard it a few days ago, as a vague guess, no accusation at all. And I sent a man straight up to Fort George with the news, just in case,” he added as she opened her mouth.

All right. He had taken it seriously. “What did you tell Drew?”

“I knew nothing to tell. I only warned him there were rumors.”

They had reached Ilsa’s house. Felix stopped at the step. “Give Mrs. Ramsay my regards.”

Agnes smiled, her heart brimming with warmth. “Thank you. I will.”

“Shall I wait?”

She shook her head and rapped at the familiar door.

But there was no need for him to wait. Mr. MacLeod, Ilsa’s butler, said she was not at home. Agnes bit her lip but nodded.

Something flickered over Felix’s face when she came back down. “Won’t she see you?”

“She’s out.”

His gaze jumped to the sitting room windows above them.

“She’s likely sitting in a coffeehouse with Sorcha White or walking on the hill with Robert,” said Agnes, feeling guilty and a bit jealous, which made her feel guiltier. She used to be the friend Ilsa walked with and sat in coffeehouses with. “I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Aye,” said Felix. “Do.”

But when tomorrow came, things were even worse.

A knock sounded on the door as they were finishing breakfast. Agnes ran down to answer and found Felix. “I cannot stay,” he said when she invited him inside. “I wanted to tell you Deacon Fletcher left town at dawn. The sheriff’s men are at Mrs. Ramsay’s house.”

“What?”

Felix held up one hand. “To see if she knows where her father went, nothing else.”

“I have to go!”

He caught her as she started to run upstairs. “It’s only questioning. They won’t arrest her.”

Agnes gripped his fingers. “But we have to help.”

He wrapped his other hand around hers. “She will need her friends. Otherwise, there’s naught we can do.”

She blinked rapidly. “Naught!”

“They’ll only ask questions,” he said in the same calm, forceful voice. “She’ll tell them she knows nothing. They haven’t even arrested Fletcher.”

“But what if she does know something?” Agnes burst out.

Felix tensed. “Do you believe so?”

“No, but she’s devoted to her father. She won’t tell the sheriff anything if they intend to arrest him.”

He turned and stared into the distance, his jaw tight. Agnes shook his arm. “What can we do?”

“Be her loyal friend,” he said after a pause. “If she needs help, she’ll want a lawyer.”

Agne recoiled. “You think they will arrest her.”

He put up one hand. “I don’t see why they would, unless they’ve got evidence she was involved.”

“She wasn’t! But the gossips will think so. Oh, Felix, she suffered so much from the evil gossip last year. There must be something…”

“Advise her to do nothing to arouse the sheriff’s suspicions. If he believes she knows nothing, he’ll leave her be.”

“She should sit quietly at home and insist she knows nothing of her father’s criminal activities?” Agnes demanded. “She shouldn’t protest his innocence, only hers?”

He gave her a look of apology. “If she wants to stay clear of trouble, yes.”

Agnes knew her friend. Ilsa adored her father; she would never sit by quietly and watch him be condemned. And Agnes understood that. If someone had accused her papa of such a terrible thing, she wouldn’t sit quietly at home, either. “Drew would do something.”

Felix’s brows drew together. “Then he’ll do it when he returns.”

“That may be too late!”

He took a deep breath and cupped her cheek. “If I know him, he’ll find the fastest horse in Fort George and race back to Edinburgh. He’ll be here soon.”

Agnes turned her face away and said nothing.

Felix raised her hand and kissed her white knuckles. “Trust me, love. I’ll come back if I learn more.”

He left, and Agnes slammed the door. Wait. There’s nothing you can do. Tell your friend to say nothing as her family is torn to shreds by cruel and vicious gossip.

Felix didn’t understand. His family had never suffered a sudden fall from grace, as hers had. He had never had to endure the pitying looks, the way friends suddenly vanished, the shame of being unwelcome where you had once been at home.

There had been nothing to say or do against that when it had been her family, reeling from Papa’s death and struggling to adapt to their new poverty. Perhaps she couldn’t do much for Ilsa, but she could let her friend know she was not alone—and never would be. Agnes ran back up the stairs to fetch her hat, determined not to be turned away this time.