UNSTAINED HANDS

“Lady Darby is in there!”

I stiffened as a gasp ran through the crowd behind the hedge. It appeared my efforts to go unnoticed had failed.

“Did they finally catch her in the act?” the woman asked.

“The butcher’s wife,” another one muttered.

I tightened my arms around my body, swallowing the fear and anger that gathered at the back of my throat at hearing the old refrain.

“You know that is absolute nonsense!” my sister exclaimed, joining the group behind the hedgerow.

“Not this time,” Lady Westlock declared with decided relish. “She’s been caught red-handed. First one at the scene, wasn’t she?”

“That is enough!” My sister, Alana, burst through the men blocking her access to the alcove. She marched to my side and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “I will not listen to any more of this ridiculousness.”

“You cannot protect her forever,” Mrs. Smythe snapped as we passed. “She must answer for her actions.”

Angry that once again I was to be subjected to more gossip, ridicule, and vicious name-calling, I lifted my hands and blinked innocently. “Look, my lady. No red.”

She spluttered, and several of the other ladies gasped in indignation, fanning their faces as if they might swoon. A few of the men chuckled nervously.

My sister pulled me harder through the crowd, wrenching my shoulder in her rush to distance us from the mob while they were all distracted. She shook her head. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Sorry,” I murmured, even though we both knew that I wasn’t.