Sadly, Mr. Coates shook his head. “He wasn’t injured, miss. But apparently the sight of his crewmen dying in such a horrible way did something to his mind. My reports say that Mr. McKenna doesn’t speak, and he’s confined to an invalid’s chair.”

Maggie stood up slowly, her heart pounding. If she’d thought it would get her to his side faster, she would have swum out to meet his ship. “When will Mr. McKenna be arriving?” she asked.

“Probably on Friday, though ships’ schedules are sometimes quite difficult to predict—”

Friday. Maggie’s life would begin again on Friday. “I must tell Elisabeth,” she muttered, starting to leave the parlor without so much as a fare-thee-well for Mr. Coates.

He stopped her with an anxious, “Miss Chamberlin, there are some matters that need immediate attention, and since Mr. McKenna is unavailable—”

Maggie turned slowly to face her caller. “I don’t see how I can be of help, Mr. Coates.”

For the first time, Maggie noticed that the man was carrying a case of some sort. “There are papers that need signing, Miss Chamberlin, and Mr. McKenna did leave word that in case of extreme emergency, your signature was to be accepted in place of his own.”

Maggie’s mouth dropped open. Few men allowed their wives any say at all in their business affairs, and yet Reeve had trusted his fiancée with the sweeping power of his own name. Staggered, Maggie reached out for the newel post on the banister and held on until her knees felt steady again.

“V-very well,” she said shakily, “take the papers into the study, please, and I’ll look at them in a moment. Before I do anything else, I have to tell a little girl some very good news.”

Simon Coates smiled and nodded his head, and Maggie went carefully up the stairs to the room where Elisabeth slept so fitfully, her thumb still in her mouth.

Gently, Maggie pulled the little thumb free and whispered, “Elisabeth?”

Dark, thick lashes fluttered open. “Mama,” Elisabeth said firmly.

Maggie gathered the child close, her eyes brimming with tears again. But this time they were tears of joy. “Elisabeth, your papa isn’t dead at all—it was a mistake. He’s coming home to us this very Friday!”

Elisabeth gave a gleeful shout and hurled her arms around Maggie’s neck. “Papa!” She laughed.

Drawn by the uproar, Cora dashed into the room, wringing her hands. “What on earth—”

“Reeve is alive!” Maggie cried, spinning around once, clutching Elisabeth, for the sheer, miraculous rapture of it. “He’s alive and he’s coming home!”

“Oh, miss,” Cora breathed, her plump cheeks flushed, “that’s wonderful.”