Strong and courageous? Yes, and calm. Be calm, Delia. She listened to the preacher, trying to keep her mind from flitting back to Giff. Her breathing eased in a moment, and she was able to think a little more clearly. She reviewed what Giff had said. He meant to confront Piers, but he had preparations to make. What these might be, Delia had no notion. But it did not matter. It gave her a little time.
He must not be seen in Weymouth by those horrid creatures. They’d been kept at bay by the presence of the militia, but these were gone now.
Then her first task must be to get them back. Which meant sending for Captain Rhoades. A sliver of apprehensive excitement shot through her at the thought of going against Giff’s express prohibition. But she must not waste time wondering how he would react. She was doing it for him, after all.
Next, she must find out all she could about this wretched Piers. How could she have neglected to do so before? She’d meant to question Aunt Gertrude, had she not? Had she done so? No, she’d wasted her energies worrying about being spied upon, about whether to send to Stepleton, and dreaming of Giff when she ought to have been working on his behalf. Really, she was as careless as he. Well, not quite that, because no one could be as reckless and stupid as Giff when it came to doing what any fool could see must put him in danger of his life. Well, she was not going to emulate him. She would act with caution and purpose.
Thus determined, she fended off Miss Watkinson’s enquiry about her tardy arrival once the sermon was finally over. She had no time to waste on that nonsense.
“My aunt did not care to venture forth in this weather, and I had to see her settled before I left.”
“She is not indisposed, I trust?”
The eager note did not escape Delia and she recalled Lady Matterson’s instructions, though they seemed far from important now. “Not at all. She can’t abide the rain, you must know.”
Miss Watkinson seemed intent upon accompanying her as they turned towards the Assembly Rooms. “Oh, I understand how she feels. Though I think the sun is peeping through, do not you?”
Delia gave a cursory glance at the overcast sky. “It will have to clear fully before my aunt will venture out today, I fear.”
It occurred to her that she might with advantage use Miss Watkinson’s besetting sin. She considered herself an authority, did she not? Then let her prove herself.
“You must know the area round about very well, Miss Watkinson?”
The woman simpered. “Indeed, Miss Burloyne. I flatter myself I have few rivals in an intimate knowledge of the environs of Weymouth.”
“And its inhabitants too, I imagine,” pursued Delia, adopting the sycophantic note that used to be her stock in trade with gentlemen before she learned better.
“Oh, my dear, there is scarcely anyone I don’t know in these parts.” Miss Watkinson’s round cheeks coloured a little as she dropped her voice. “I don’t like to boast of it, but even His Majesty has given me a nod once or twice when walking upon the Esplanade. I’ve seen it from the corner of my eye, for naturally I would not dream of the presumption of looking at him directly.”
Amused, despite her avowed mission, Delia made sure to look impressed. “You are honoured indeed, Miss Watkinson.” But she must deflect the creature’s attention. “I suppose the gentry living in the vicinity don’t come to stay here, or do they?”
“Not if they are close enough to make a daily excursion of it, but indeed it would be difficult to make the most of the amenities if one did not stay in the town. An early morning swim, for example.”
“Of course, yes. I had not thought. Then I dare say we may expect Lord Baunton to arrive at any moment,” Delia ventured, holding her breath.
Miss Watkinson’s steps slowed as she turned to gaze into Delia’s face.
“Lord Baunton? If you mean Piers Gaunt, he is not Lord Baunton, for all he has possession of Waldiche Keep.”
A pitter-patter started up in Delia’s bosom and she hoped she was not blushing. “Is that his home? Is it far? I’d heard him mentioned as living close by.”
“Close by? No, indeed. Waldiche village is some way to the west along the coast, you must know.” The creature’s avid eyes raked Delia’s face. “Have you an interest there, Miss Burloyne?”
“Good heavens, no! The name came into my head, that is all. In what connection I heard it I cannot remember.”
The woman’s curious gaze intensified and Delia could only be glad they had almost reached the Assembly Rooms. As she stepped up to the door, however, Miss Watkinson slipped a hand through her arm and leaned in close, whispering. “Do not take it amiss if I give you a hint, Miss Burloyne.”
Pausing in the vestibule, Delia looked round at Miss Watkinson’s enlarged features all too close to her own, the eyes full of meaning. “Hint?” Her heart was behaving like a wayward clock. “What do you mean?”
Miss Watkinson cast a quick glance at the stream of gentry coming through, chattering in their twos and threes. “Let us slip into the ladies’ retiring room, my dear Miss Burloyne.”
Delia was urged willy-nilly up the stairs and into the room set aside for the ladies, with its bench of conveniences, a long mirror and a dressing table. Miss Watkinson lifted her skirts and sat herself down on the bench over one of the holes containing an inset chamber pot.
Delia remained standing, pretending, for the benefit of the hovering attendant, to prink her hair in the mirror. Miss Watkinson did not hesitate to resume their discourse since they were the only ladies present.
“Do you know anything of Mr Gaunt, Miss Burloyne?”
Delia did not turn, as she could see the woman’s reflection perfectly well in the mirror. “Nothing at all, Miss Watkinson. Was there something you wished to tell me about him?”