Abigail was returning from the poorhouse, having delivered donations left at the church, when she met Colonel Duncan waiting at the alley that led to the rectory. She hid a frown. It seemed the colonel, who she was starting to despise, managed to appear wherever she was.
Where have you been off to, Mrs. St. Clair?” he asked, as if he had the right to know everything she did.
“I brought some clothes to the poorhouse,” she replied. “Why are you lurking in crooked alleys?”
His eyes widened, startled by her question—or that she had the gall to ask it. “A quick walk to meet one of my captains. Nothing more.”
As they turned down the alley toward the rectory, Abigail wondered if they had met by chance or plan. Duncan was cunning, and he normally had a reason for every move he made.
“Solomon’
