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right for her to bring that halfwit here among normal people. Bad luck, it is.’
    â€˜She didn’t seem half-witted to me,’ Honoria retorted, her temper stirred by the man’s harshness to the child.
    He gave her a dismissive look. ‘Meaning no disrespect, miss, but you’re a stranger here, and probably ought not to talk on things you don’t know nothing about.’
    Truly angry now, Honoria was about to return a sharp remark when she heard her aunt’s voice from just behind her. ‘Ah, here you are, my dear. Come, let me present you to my good friend, His Eminence Bishop Richards, and the vicar, Father Gryffd.’
    Dread tightened her chest as Honoria turned to face them. When Miss Foxe continued, ‘Gentlemen, my kinswoman—’ she found herself blurting ‘—Miss Foxe. Miss Marie Foxe,’ she added, in deference to her aunt as an elder Miss Foxe.
    As ashamed as she might be of the desperation that had produced the lie, her feelings of relief were stronger. Until she figured out what to do with her life, she’d just as lief the bishop—and the rest of Sennlack—were not aware of her true surname, in case some word of the scandal made it here from London. And with the nature of that scandal making the name Honoria sound too much like mockery to her ears, she’d might as well make the falsehood complete by using a middle name.
    To Honoria’s relief, after only a slight rise of her eyebrows, Aunt Foxe fell in with the deception. ‘My niece is presently on an…extended visit.’
    â€˜Welcome, Miss Foxe,’ the bishop said. ‘Sennlack may be only a small village, but I’m sure your aunt will make you quite comfortable. The views from the coastal walk are breathtaking, her gardens lovely, and Foxeden Manor boasts a fine library.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir. I’m sure my stay will be most enjoyable.’
    â€˜Shall we tempt you to Exeter for the summer festival, Miss Foxe?’ the bishop addressed her aunt. As the two began discussing this event, Honoria turned her attention to the vicar.
    â€˜Father, who is that little girl walking off with her mother?’ she asked, pointing down the lane.
    As if somehow knowing she was being discussed, the child paused at the bend in the road to look back and wave. With a defiant glance in the direction of the innkeeper’s son, Honoria waved back.
    â€˜Eva Steavens,’ the vicar replied. ‘And her mother, Mrs Steavens, a recent widow. Her husband and the child’s father, a fisherman, was lost at sea last winter.’
    â€˜Poor child—and poor wife,’ Honoria murmured. ‘Does the girl never speak?’
    â€˜Not that I know,’ Father Gryffd replied.
    â€˜That still doesn’t make her a halfwit—no matter what some people might think,’ Honoria asserted.
    â€˜No, indeed,’ the vicar agreed. ‘But many of the folk hereabouts are superstitious. It’s her eyes, I suppose, and that crooked smile. Fearing what they do not understand, some think it the devil’s mark and avoid her. Especially…’ he hesitated, as if searching for the correct word ‘…watermen like John Kessel, who shooed her away. It seems she gave a pretty rock or some such trifle to a friend of his, the captain of one of the local, um, fishing boats, just before he set off on a voyage. There was a storm; the ship was lost at sea with all hands. Kessel believes she possesses the evil eye and brought his friend ill luck.’
    â€˜That’s ridiculous,’ Honoria said flatly.
    The vicar nodded. ‘Indeed, but the sea is a hard mistress. One can understand that those who ply her depths would wish to avoid anything they think might increase her dangers.’
    Unable to disagree with that argument, Honoria said instead, ‘Is the child a halfwit?’
    â€˜â€™Tis difficult to know for sure when one is unable to speak with