Derrick nodded, his brown hair falling over his brow. “If anyone could, it would be Harriet. By the way, Mr. Gower was talking about the captain.”

Elviria’s heart thumped an extra beat. “What did he say?”

“He asked questions. A lot of them. I answered as best as I could, but I don’t think he believes—” Derrick cast a glance at the bed and, finding the patient’s gaze fixed upon him, clamped his mouth closed.

“Oh dear,” Elviria said. “I don’t like that.”

“Neither did I,” Derrick said. He pushed himself from the doorframe. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.”

Elviria watched her youngest son lope off. She had no doubt that he’d soon be lost in a book. She wished she could get lost in a book…or a deep, dark forest, for that matter.

There were times when life was just difficult. Elviria tried to contain the lump in her throat but couldn’t quite do it. The lie that was Captain John Frakenham had served its purpose and kept the bank at bay for months, but it was apparent that the reprieve was almost over. Soon the bank would demand proof of the good captain’s existence; and then where would they be?

Every year before this, the Wards had banked their efforts on corn. But with the prices falling so sharply, they’d had no recourse but to find another source of income. Harriet had studied various projects, contemplating everything from wheat to horses. They’d been handicapped by both the need to turn a quick profit and their limited investment capital.

So it was that Harriet, after much consideration, had purchased a large number of sheep. Her instincts had been correct—there was a huge demand for wool this year, and if they could just get the sheep shorn and the wool to Birmingham in time for the annual Wool Market, the payment would be made.

The patient cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, but could I trouble you for a drink of water?”

Elviria realized guiltily that she’d been ignoring their poor guest. “Of course!” She crossed to the washstand and poured some water into one of the glasses. She took it to their patient and handed it to him. “There!”

He took a sip, his dark gaze on her face. After a moment, he said quietly, “I take it that Mr. Gower is a frequent visitor.”

It was obvious he’d read the distress on her face. Elviria colored. “Mr. Gower comes to visit far more than we’d like. He’s a banker, and we owe a dreadful amount of money, and—” She caught herself and put a hand to her forehead. “I’m so sorry! You don’t want to hear of our problems. It’s nothing, really.”

He paused, his blue eyes narrowing. “It can’t be nothing. You are all too upset.”

Elviria took the empty glass and returned it to the washstand. She shouldn’t tell him. But somehow it was a relief to utter all the worries that kept her awake nights. “My husband took out a mortgage on Garrett Park, thinking to repay it the very next year. But he grew ill and died. We were left with the payments. Every year Harriet manages to raise the funds, but this year, we haven’t had time to shear the sheep. And then poor Stephen’s leg—”