She went upstairs to her mother’s rooms and spent a quarter hour helping Mrs. Ellsworth with the arrangement of her pillows—which were not fluffed enough and then were lofted too high, and with the blankets, which were too hot and then too cold—when she heard the front door close.

“Who do you suppose that is?” Mrs. Ellsworth queried.

“I am sure I do not know. It might be the Dunkirks departing, or Mr. Vincent.”

“Well, go at once and look. My nerves cannot abide not knowing.”

Jane went to the window and, seeing the figures on horseback ride down the front and sweep back to Robinsford Abbey said, “It was Mr. and Miss Dunkirk on their way to Robinsford Abbey.” Which meant that Melody was now alone with Mr. Vincent. Well, Jane need not rescue Melody from that quarter: he may torture her with silence and his brusque nature, but he would not do anything to inspire any real danger of impropriety from Melody. So Jane stayed by her mother’s side adjusting all the small comforts needed to ease her fretting. She had just begun to read to her from William Meinhold’s Sidonia the Sorceress: The Supposed Destroyer of the Whole Reigning Ducal House of Pomerania when the distant sound of the front door opening and shutting interrupted her recital.

“Who is that?” Mrs. Ellsworth demanded.

“Mr. Vincent departing, I should expect,” Jane said.

Her mother plucked at the blanket fretfully and craned her neck toward the window as though by artful twisting of her head she might see out it. Jane put aside the book without waiting for her mother to ask a second time. She looked out the window, fully expecting that Mr. Vincent would be striding across the lawn, but saw no one.

“Well?” her mother demanded querulously from the bed. “Who is it? Was it Mr. Vincent?”

“No. Someone must have arrived, but I do not know who it could be.” Jane returned to her book, intent on resuming where she had left off, with Sidonia in danger from a bear, but her mother was not willing to let the matter rest.

“Oh, I do hope it is not Lady FitzCameron. Perhaps I should prepare myself in case it is. It would not do to receive her in bed. Now, if it were Mrs. Marchand, it would be quite a different story because Joy is always so generous and so understanding of my neuralgia. She would be quite, quite willing to see me in the state that I am in, especially after the fright over poor Melody.”

“First, Mother, I am certain that it is not Lady FitzCameron, for her carriage is not at the door. Second, you have no reason to be still afraid for poor Melody, as we went for a walk in the shrubbery this morning and she gave every sign of having affected a full recovery.”

“Oh! I do wish I had been consulted. I would have told her not to go walking under any circumstances. A fall such as hers can have grave consequences later, without any warning. Mark my words, she will be plagued with health troubles for the rest of her life.”