Free The Scandalous Sisterhood of Prickwillow Place by Julie Berry Page A

“May I come in?”
    Poor Stout Alice suffered agonies over the outrageous boldness circumstance now forced upon her. She slipped her arm through his and led him back along the front garden walk. “Why go indoors on such a fine morning as this? Surely whatever business brings you here can be transacted outdoors, can it not?”
    Leland Murphy regarded Alice with a look that might have been terror, or loathing. Perhaps both, mingled. She couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, he remained frozen in that gaze for far too long. His elbow, Alice observed, quavered, no doubt with revulsion.
    They stood there. Leland pondered the roof tiles, and Stout Alice examined the hedge. “I have papers for Mrs. Plackett,” the youth finally managed to say.
    How Stout Alice’s heart fractured into shards of mortification! Whatever hope she’d ever cherished of forging a closer acquaintance with Mr. Leland Murphy evaporated. The perspiration beading on his cheeks was proof of his distaste for her. This should come as no surprise. Was she not, this very morning, cast in the role of sixty-two year old woman? What charms could she hold for a dashing and eligible young man like Mr. Murphy, whose arm even now she brazenly clutched?
    “Excuse me.” He cleared his throat noisily. “Perhaps you did not hear me. I said I had papers for Mrs. Plackett.”
    “Of course,” Alice murmured. “I apologize. Why don’t you give them to me, and I will deliver them to her personally?” If all her hopes were dashed, Stout Alice would at the very least not abandon her mission. Her stoutness of person in no way eclipsed her stoutness of heart.
    Mr. Murphy’s Adam’s apple bobbed in anxious agitation. “I’m instructed to hand-deliver them to her only,” he said. “Mr. Wilkins was quite strict on that point. These are important papers.”
    “I comprehend you,” Stout Alice said. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Plackett has been unwell since last evening. She is resting now and cannot under any account be disturbed.”
    “Then I shall have to return.” Creases of worry appeared on the junior law clerk’s forehead. “Mr. Wilkins will be displeased with me.”
    Alice, ever the actress, set her shattered hopes aside and gazed directly into Mr. Leland Murphy’s eyes. “You can trust me, Mr. Murphy,” she said. “I will spare you Mr. Wilkins’s displeasure, and any need to make a second trip. I will make sure that these papers go directly to her private desk, and that she is notified as soon as she wakes.” At the Day of Judgment , she added inwardly , and not a moment before .
    She reached out her hand for the papers. Mr. Murphy’s hand trembled in indecision.
    Just then a footstep sounded further up the road. Alice looked up to see Amanda Barnes, their daily domestic woman, walking slowly toward the house. It wouldn’t do for her to see Alice here like this, but more to the point, here was the true threat to the girls’ attempts to bury the bodies. If Amanda Barnes entered the house, it wouldn’t be two minutes before she looked out a kitchen window and saw the burial in progress.
    Oh, the exquisite pain in Stout Alice’s broad heart! She must wrench herself away from Mr. Murphy, ending their first and final conversation, prevail upon him to give her the papers, forever sully his image of her as a well-mannered young lady, and evict him in twenty seconds’ time so she could face the imminent domestic servant threat.
    “Trust me, Mr. Murphy,” she repeated, her voice tremulous with intensity.
    As one under a darkly magical spell, Leland Murphy drew forth his hand and slowly surrendered the papers.
    “Thank you.” Alice curtseyed. “I must go. I will deliver the papers immediately, and I must greet our daily woman.” She turned to f lee from Mr. Murphy’s side, where her presence was causing him so much awkwardness.
    “Miss Alice.” Leland Murphy’s voice had a strangled quality to it as he spoke her name.
    “Yes?” She paused, fully