Page 58 of A Rare Find

“Ask the next skeleton. Ask them what good it did, holding on to that last shilling.”

They caught up to the twins on the high street.

“Here it is!” declared Matilda, craning her neck at the sign. “The bun-house! Established 1668.” Hilda had her hands on the window and was staring through the glass at the buns, expression worshipful.

Georgie opened the door for Elf. “After you.”

Matilda and Hilda squealed as one and darted inside.

Elf sighed. A moment later, she was sliding her shilling across the counter.

Georgie waited outside a little longer. Thornton had very good shops, considering it wasn’t London, or Bath, or even Derby. They used to visit them with the Janes, and eat buns at this bun-house, and fritter the days, lounging and parading, showing off, as Elf would have it, for everyone and no one.

They were about to turn, to enter the bun-house, when they glimpsed, across the street, an enormous bonnet laden with artificial fruits. Its owner was just disappearing into the milliner’s.

They recognized that bonnet.

Or not that particular bonnet. Five years had gone by, after all. Rather, they recognized the ratio of berries to buckram.

“Mrs. Alderwalsey!” They dashed after her, between the passing carts and horsemen.

Within the hour, Mrs. Alderwalsey’s carriage was crammed with wayfarers, Matilda on Georgie’s lap, Hilda on Elf’s, each twin piled in turn with Mrs. Alderwalsey’s parcels.

“I was sorry to hear that your father died,” Mrs. Alderwalsey said to Georgie, as the carriage bumped out of Thornton. “It’s inevitable, of course, but one always hopes to put it off. For oneself, at least.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Georgie, politely.

“On occasion,” she continued, “one does wish to hasten the demise of another.”

Georgie hesitated. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Mrs. Roberts bought the last of the fine spotted muslin.” It might have been a non sequitur, but then again, perhaps not. You never knew with Mrs. Alderwalsey. She was in her upper seventies, wealthy, ubiquitous, and slightly terrifying. “I was forced to get the jaconet.” She unwrapped a parcel. “Try the texture.”

Georgie stretched around Matilda and touched the fabric. “Perfect for a gown.”

“Do you think so?” Mrs. Alderwalsey thinned her lips. “I don’t. It won’t wash well. I’m going to cut it into handkerchiefs.” She addressed Elf. “You are in need of a new gown, in a better style. Tell Harold I said so. I won’t speak to him myself. I haven’t spoken to him since he shouted those scurrilous insults. How did he describe that incident to you, I wonder?”

“There are so many.” Elf sounded regretful. “I wouldn’t know which.”

“It was the year before last. At Sir Hugh’s. A meeting of the St. Alcmund’s restoration committee.”

“Oh, yes. That one.” Elf nodded. “He has strong feelings about the preservation of historic buildings.”

“I await his apology.”

“I’m sorry,” said Elf.

“His apology. He owes an apology to Susan as well. She wrote that he severed their connection in the least civil terms.”

Elf covered Hilda’s ears, so Georgie did the same to Matilda.

“Aunt Susan wrote to you?”

“Of course she wrote to me. I am her godmother. She asks about your hair. Straight as a pin, I see. And your hands. Show me.” Mrs. Alderwalsey leaned forward and seized one of the requested appendages, tugging off Elf’s glove. Instead of exclaiming in horror at the calluses, she thumbed Elf’s palm with surprising gentleness.

“You are very like Caroline.” Her voice was gentler too. “Hers is a demise I would have deferred if I could, even if it meant compacting with the devil.” She returned Elf’s hand and glove. Her eyes had a damp sheen.

Georgie removed their hands from Matilda’s ears. They hadn’t realized Mrs. Alderwalsey and Elf’s grandmother were so close.