Chapter Nineteen
The next morning Arabella’s left arm was almost too stiff to move. Her wrist was ringed with bruises where Lady Bicknell’s fingers had dug in. She couldn’t put any weight on her ankle; it was swollen to twice its normal size.
“Should I send for the physician?” Polly asked anxiously.
Arabella shook her head. “I need my writing materials. Can you please get them?”
Sitting up in bed with a tray on her knees, she wrote Tom’s last message, drew the black cat for the last time. Then she wrapped the message, Lady Bicknell’s drafted blackmail note, and the banknotes in brown paper and tied the package with string. “Can you take this around to Helen Dysart, please? Don’t let anyone recognize you.”
Polly departed, wearing a veiled hat.
Left alone, Arabella hugged her knees. Th
