Finally, at eleven o’clock, the courier arrived. Father appeared from the storeroom at the sound of the bell and the courier handed him the letter. Father cut open the envelope with the penknife he keeps in his desk in the storeroom and glanced over the note.

I asked if it was from Mr. Carrington, although I knew full well that it was.

Father nodded.

“It’s smaller than last week’s order,” he said with a frown and began assembling the items on the list. To my surprise, they were more feminine in nature—perfume, hair conditioner, cosmetics, etc. I was confused at first and then had a wonderful thought. He was clearly buying them as a present for me! (I could not have been more mistaken, as what follows will tell.)

I placed the items in the bicycle basket and pedaled to the Nightingale House.

This time, I took care that I was presentable after the ride, making sure no hair was out of place and smoothed out my clothes. I pulled the chain next to the door and heard footsteps. I was prepared to meet him with my own wicked little smile.

The door opened and it was his wife.

She regarded me as if I was a stray cat.

“May I help you?”

I stammered like a fool but finally said, “I have a delivery from the pharmacy.”

Thankfully, Thomas hurried in from the living room to save me.

“Ah, here it is.”

I can’t be sure, but I thought I saw Mrs. Carrington recoil from him as he approached.

“I meant to tell you. I ordered some supplies from the pharmacy in case you had forgotten anything in Boston.” He took the items from my arms and gave me a glance that told me to play along. “This is the girl from the pharmacy.”

Mrs. Carrington said it was nice to meet me. Thomas pointed out that we had met before at my birthday party, which caused her to be embarrassed and worried.

“You bought me that lovely journal,” I offered, trying to be helpful.

“Of course, of course,” she said, shaking her head. “Forgive me. These past few days have been a whirlwind.”

I told her I was sorry to hear about her mother. “I hope she’s feeling better.”

“Thank you, she is feeling a little better … but … how did you know about my mother’s health?”

Thomas came to my rescue, again. “I dropped by the pharmacy to pick up a few things while you were away and we had a brief conversation. She thanked me for the journal. I told her the gift was your idea, which led to her asking about you.”

I thought the excuse was perfectly clever.