Free Moon Love by Joan Smith

revealing their plans. Felix loved to boast. “Can you at least tell me where you will be going?”
    “I fear not.” He looked over his shoulder and all around. “Not a word to anyone.”
    She continued pestering him until she was convinced he didn’t know what Ravencroft had in mind. But she knew it was Ravencroft he was meeting, and she was fairly sure Ravencroft would be searching for Bransom’s body.
    Felix spent part of the afternoon examining old maps in Ashworth’s study. At four o’clock, he changed into evening clothes and left the house. As soon as he was out the door, Amy went to see what maps he had been examining. The scattering of red x’s on a map of the parish told her where he imagined Bransom might be buried. She was a little surprised to see he had chosen his locations so well. Perhaps Ravencroft had coached him. As they were the areas she had already searched, however, she knew there was no body there.
    She was happy to see he had not marked the coal yard. If Ravencroft was depending on Felix’s expertise of the neighborhood to help him, he would have a fruitless night.
    Amy ate alone in the morning parlor, nursing her plans and worries. When she had no company, she spent the evening in that same cozy room, where the fire had already taken the chill off the air and the tea pot was handy on the table nearby. The journals were left on a table before the grate, with a stuffed armchair on either side. A sewing basket, a tin of mints and a novel left face-down on the table indicated this was where Amy passed her idle hours. Since her papa’s illness, this had become her sanctuary. The saloon was too huge and too grand to be comfortable for one.
    This evening, she did not pick up the journal or her sewing basket, which held a new flannel nightshirt she was stitching for her papa. Her hands were idle, but her mind raced feverishly. She was uneasy that Ravencroft was making no effort to find Alphonse’s partner, the man who was distributing the paper money in England. It must be someone who handled large quantities of cash. She mentally ran over the list. Mr. Hardy, the shipbuilder, had seventy men in his employ, each receiving a weekly pay packet in cash.
    But it was paper money that was coming in, and she knew the workers were paid in coin because Betty’s beau worked there, and his first move upon receiving his pay was to run to Bratty Hall and hand one half of it over to Betty, who was saving it for their marriage.
    The proprietors of the Greenman and the Rose and Thistle were other possibilities. A good deal of money changed hands at an inn. Bransom had been staying at the Greenman. Perhaps he had stumbled across some clue there. She had never cared for Edward Reilly, the proprietor, in the least. A leering way he had about him. Then of course there was the bank. They handled more money than anyone else.
    It was hard to imagine the manager, Mr. Fairmont, who had his pew near the front of the church and was an Alderman besides, being involved in anything so devious. Mrs. Fairmont was active in parish matters and always invited Amy to her parties. Would any of his employees have enough authority to handle the large sums involved without Mr. Fairmont’s supervision?
    Darkness had fallen by the time she finished dinner, but she was not in a hurry to leave the Hall. There would be traffic at the coal yard in the early hours of evening. If she waited until quite late, the men would be in the tavern, or too drunk to notice her. At ten o’clock she went abovestairs to say goodnight to her papa, and to tell Tombey she was taking a sleeping draft as she was having trouble sleeping. This would ensure that he did not call her if her papa had one of his spells. Tombey knew what to do better than she did herself.
    At eleven o’clock, George came tapping at the door of the morning parlor, as arranged in advance. He had changed out of livery into a dark jacket and buckskins, and looked quite dashing. Amy had