“If only dear Geor-Gerald were still alive,” her mother said. “This would never have happened.” Abigail looked sharply at Mrs. Browning, but she didn’t seem to have caught her mother’s slip. Her pinched eyes were too busy assessing the damage to the parlor. Likely racking up gossip tidbits. “Try to stay calm, ma’am,” the constable said. “We’ll get the miscreants. What time did you leave this evening?” “Gerald would never have allowed this. He was always so brave and competent.” If her mother wasn’t careful, she would slip again. And in front of Mrs. Browning that would be truly disastrous. Abigail tightened her fingers into fists. She had warned her mother not to come to London. She touched her mother’s arm. “Come, Mother; let me take you to your room. I think the good constable can get everything he needs from Worston.” The butler gave her a tight nod.
