Free Pistols at Dawn by Andrea Pickens Page B

eyes strayed, this time to the crumpled paper between the cat's paws. Just like the plaguey columns crossed out in black, her feelings were refusing to add up as they should this morning. It made no sense that—
    Eliza's odd musings were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "I promised to leave a bottle of my willowbark spirits at the village blacksmith for Mr. Grimsley. Do you wish for me to drop off Mr. Horely's ledger?" asked Meredith. "I shall be passing by his shop."
    "No, no." Eliza scrambled to her feet, grateful for an excuse to silence the disquieting ringing in her head. "I could use a bit of fresh air. I'll come with you." She tucked the book of accounts under her arm and went to fetch her bonnet.
    As she passed by Meredith, she couldn't help but note that the troubled look of the previous evening still lingered in her sister's eyes, underscored by smudges dark as coal. All thought of her own troubles faded in the face of such obvious distress.
    "Oh, Merry," she said, touching her arm. "Have the nightmares returned? Perhaps Buzzing Bess will have something you might take to lessen—"
    "No, it's not that," replied Meredith quickly. "I-I am more concerned with Mary than myself. Do you think we might her pay a visit?"
    Eliza shook her head. "While she will no doubt welcome your sympathy at some later date, right now I think she and her family would prefer to get through the horror with a modicum of privacy."
    Her sister's lower lip quivered just a bit. "I suppose you are right." She made to turn away but Eliza's hand held firm.
    "Is that all that is bothering you?"
    "I—I am trying to think if there is aught else we need to pick up for Mama. We are running low on clover honey and must not forget to stop by Bess's cottage for another jar. A generous dollop added to hot tea seems the most effective means of easing the cough."
    Eliza decided there was little point in challenging the halting explanation, but concern was still etched on her features as she followed her sister from the room. It took only a short while to make a quick survey of the pantry and take their leave from the elderly housekeeper, promising to return by teatime.
    After a short discussion concerning certain potions and poultices that had yet to be tried for their mother, their conversation seemed to trail off as if by mutual consent. By the time they reached the shortcut skirting a thick copse of trees, the only sounds were the soft scuffling of their steps and the plaintive hoot of an owl from deep within the shadows of the ancient oaks.
    Still in a pensive mood from her own mental ramblings, Eliza didn't mind the long lapses of silence. At the moment, however, it was her sister's strange behavior concerning one of the gentlemen from London that occupied her thoughts, rather than her own odd reaction.
    How was it that a sensible girl like Merry appeared so reluctant to acknowledge what terrible danger still lurked before her very nose? It was not as if she needed further proof of what such a villain was capable of, and yet she seemed stubbornly set on trusting intuition over incontrovertible evidence. Why, the man had confessed to the crime! How much more proof was necessary to convince her sister that the Black Cat's nephew was not a purring tabby?
    A leopard was more apt description, she decided, all gnashing fangs and tearing claws. Such an animal simply did not change his spots, however soft and cuddly he may appear when not on the prowl.
    Eliza thinned her lips to a wry grimace. She was becoming rather proficient at dispensing well-used aphorisms. Perhaps it would be wise to remember her own supposedly sage advice.
    A last little sigh signaled her decision to broach the subject with Meredith, no matter that it promised to be a difficult one. But before she could speak, a sharp bark sounded from among the bushes.
    "Why, Ajax!" exclaimed Meredith as a hound bounded up to her side and began nosing in some impatience at her hand. "I shall be