Penelope devoured half of the meal and wrapped the rest in newspaper to save for later.
The seamstress had no work for her the next day, so Penelope inquired at the fishmongerâs and the tavern. The owners of both establishments declined her offer, and Penelope soon found herself wishing that it were the proper season for herring fishing. She imagined sheâd be quite good at scaling fish with a sharp knife, especially if she imagined the fish was Simon Wilkie.
Penelope returned to the inn, where Mr. Harvey was standing behind the counter. She found an odd sort of comfort in the fact that the innkeeper was always there .
Not unlike her father. She always knew where to find him.
âMr. Harvey, I need your help.â
She tried not to sound desperate, but of course she did because, frankly, she was . And her heart pounded with fear that Mr. Harvey would cast her onto the street once he learned that she had very little money and even less hope that her portmanteau would ever arrive.
Mr. Harvey studied her with his pale eyes, his pen poised above his ledger. âWhat sort of help?â
âIâ¦I have only a few shillings, sir, and Iâve little hope of ever seeing my portmanteau again. And I must get to Inverness. Do you know of a way I might be able to find transport there?â
He frowned. âYe dinna think ye can leave without paying yer bill?â
Penelope swallowed. âEr, I assure you I will send payment as soon asââ
Mr. Harvey barked out a laugh. âI assure ye , lass, that Iâll send the constable after ye if ye so much as try ta leave Wick without paying me what ye owe. Which amounts taââhe checked his ledgerââtwelve shillings, thrupenny.â
Penelopeâs heart went on its downward spiral again. âI donât suppose there is a telegraph office in Wick?â
âThe closest telegraph office is in Inverness.â
Of course it was. And yet she couldnât send a telegraph if she couldnât even get there. She tightened her hands on the three shillings in her pocket, then put them on the counter.
âThatâs all I have to pay for the room at the moment, Mr. Harvey. I need to send a telegraph to my father in London. If I donât, Iâm afraid youâll have to turn me over to the authorities. Perhaps theyâll at least contact my father on my behalf, though I admit to rather dreading the notion of being arrested.â
As if that wouldnât give Henry Darlington more of an apoplectic fit than he was already experiencing.
Mr. Harvey looked at the three tarnished coins, then back to Penelope. He sighed and put his pen down.
âTuesdays and Thursdays, the mail coach goes through from Thurso back ta Inverness. Ifân ye want to send a message, Iâll convey it ta the driver and ask that he bring it to the telegraph office upon his arrival.â
âOh, thatâs terribly kind of you. I donât suppose I could accompanyâ¦â Penelopeâs voice died as she saw his mouth tighten. âNo, of course not. Thursday.â
She hoped that meant he would allow her to stay for the next two days, at least. Perhaps by then she could earn enough money actually to send a telegraph begging her father for help. As discouraging as that would be, Penelope simply had no idea what else to do.
Chapter Three
P enelope swept the last of the dust from the floor and set the broom aside. She rested her hands on her hips as she surveyed the dining room, which looked more inviting now that sheâd mended the curtains, dusted, rearranged the tables and chairs, and put a bowl of apples and pears on the sideboard. She had also convinced Mr. Harvey to procure a few boughs of holly and ivy, which she had arranged around the front counter. In return for her assistance, heâd agreed to pay to have her telegraph sent.
âI thought ye dinna like Christmas,â he said, peering at her with those narrow