Darcy hadn’t stopped nattering at her since she showed up on her doorstep early this morning. She hadn’t been sure what to expect—maybe a sisterly hug, maybe some care and concern? maybe fewer questions? She had barely had time to take her bonnet off, to the tune of Darcy’s sharp intake of breath, when the nanny/maid showed up. Darcy tucked her son into a stroller and sent them off to the park. Manda supposed she was embarrassed to have the boy’s sitter seeing her battered face. As soon as the squeaky-wheeled stroller rolled out the door, the interrogation began and soon had Manda crying buckets. “How could you be so stupid? Don’t you know those fiddle-playing bums drift from town to town preying on pretty girls? And your running away? Don’t you know that just raises suspicion?” Well, no, Manda didn’t have a clue. How could she? And what made Darcy so high-and-mighty? Her husband was in prison, after all. But Manda knew the difference. Darcy could take care of herself and even her little boy while Manda was at the mercy of anybody who would take her in.
