Silken Secrets by Joan Smith

was given to distract his mind from Vulch’s perfidy, which might yet endanger the dinner party. She waited with bated breath to hear what he would say and was surprised to hear a tinny laugh issue from his throat.
    “Maybe that will convince the old wether I’m innocent. I wish I had been here to see Codey’s face.”
    “Mrs. Plummer was perfectly uncivil to him, I’m happy to say. Did you convince the roofer to fix the roof on tick?” she remembered to ask.
    “Eh? What’s that? Oh, the roof. No, he wasn’t home. I’ll see him tomorrow. No hurry.”
    Mary Anne happily hastened to the desk to write up the acceptance to the Vulches’ dinner party. She had her new shawl to wear. She hadn’t thought to mention that to Bess.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    While his niece arranged her toilette, Lord Edwin went haring off after Fitch to notify him of developments.
    “They’ve been and searched the house,” Lord Edwin said, smiling. “That’s pretty good evidence they have no idea where the silk is. We should have easy sailing tonight. I’m dining with old Vulture, but shall get away early to give you a hand with the loading.”
    Fitch was undeceived as to what form the “help” would take. “Nay, stay as late as you like, and sop up a tot of his brandy for me whilst you’re there. I’ll not be leaving till midnight. I’ll load her up while Codey has his nightly draught at the tavern.”
    “I wish I could go to Folkestone with you, Fitch, but someone must be here in case of trouble at this end. Remember, now, you sleep on the boat and get to McNally’s Drapery Shop first thing in the morning to let him know the cargo’s in. I’ll be over later in the morning to collect payment.”
    “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Fitch grinned.
    Above stairs, Miss Judson decided that while Joseph did not merit her new silk shawl, Mr. Robertson did, especially as he might not still be in Dymchurch to see it at the assembly. She also wore her best blue silk gown and made a very pretty picture as she took stock of herself at her dim minor before going below.
    The sight of his niece flaunting the ill-gotten shawl threw Lord Edwin into a pelter when she came down. Very likely Vulch knew the Frenchies’ habit of including one worked piece of silk as a sample. To see his niece wrapped in that obviously new shawl would rekindle his suspicions.
    “Do you like it, Uncle?” she asked, and made a pirouette to show off the embroidered back of the shawl.
    “Licked to a splinter. Very pretty, my dear,” he said, but in a strangled voice. Egad, how could he get the thing off her back without raising suspicion? “But you’ll want your wrap for the trip, eh? Just carry the shawl and put it on when you arrive.”
    “It’s not that chilly. I’ll be fine in the carriage,” she replied.
    “It smells like a storm brewing, and we’re taking the gig,” he improvised hastily. “Fitch has some—some work to do while we’re away and isn’t free to drive us. Since we’ll be in the open carriage, I wish you would wear your wrap.”
    “Couldn’t Jem drive us? My hair will be blown to pieces.”
    “Jem is busy,” Lord Edwin said firmly.
    “What is Fitch doing?”
    “He’s hammering some boards up in the attic ceiling. Just get your wrap and let us be off. Give me your shawl. I’ll carry it for you.”
    Mary Anne thought she would be warm enough in the gig, but to protect her toilette from dust, she agreed to wear her wrap. Her uncle removed the shawl and sent her upstairs. “I’ll be awaiting you in the gig,” he called after her. Then he took the shawl into the saloon and hid it under the sofa cushions.
    She was desolate to discover, when they reached Vulches’, that Uncle had forgotten the shawl at home. But the delightful accents of Mr. Robertson coming from the saloon soon put it out of her mind. She went on trembling knees to make her curtsy to the assembled crowd. She noticed that Bess was at Mr. Robertson’s elbow.
    That, she