by Blythe Baker
“You know nothing of hardship,” he said in simple explanation. “It is not meant as an insult. Merely an observation. Your family has managed to hold onto their wealth and position in the world, while the fortunes of my family have declined. You have never been desperate enough to do what I have done.”
“An honorable man does not use his circumstances as a reason to commit a crime. Especially against a woman,” I said. “It is not as though you are starving and you’ve stolen a loaf of bread. You lost your money in some sort of gamble and now you cannot pay it back. It seems to me the only person you have to blame is yourself.”
Even in the darkness, I could see that Sherborne’s face was turning red. I was offending him. I knew the safe thing to do would be to calm him down, gain some distance, and run, but I couldn’t find the fear necessary for such actions inside of myself. Sherborne Sharp, though larger and more powerful than me, did not frighten me.
“Your accusation may be correct,” he said with an air of forced calm. “But perhaps I see your interruption as a sign from God that thievery was a mistake. How can you know that is untrue? It would be a shame if I were punished forever for a crime I only considered but never committed. I ask for the opportunity to correct what I’ve done and live a better life. If you tell, no one will ever trust me again.”
“And they shouldn’t.”
“I have been trustworthy to this point,” he said. “One mistake does not make me a demon. Have you never made a mistake?”
“You expect me to believe this is your first time stealing anything?” His calm demeanor when I’d caught him in the act was enough to tell me that wasn’t true. Sherborne had done this before. He had probably been caught before, as well. And just like he was doing now, he had convinced everyone before to keep his secret to themselves, allowing him to carry on sneaking around and thieving from unsuspecting people who called him friend.
And yet, something he had said touched on an inner vulnerability of mine, a weakness he could not possibly have known about. My own brother had been imprisoned for a crime, in his case a far worse one than anything Sherborne had done. And while in prison, he had died violently. Sherborne’s comment had been right, I couldn’t be entirely sure he did not mean to mend his ways. I could suspect, but how far was I prepared to condemn him on a suspicion?
I stalled for time in which to make up my mind, asking, “Does Alastair know?”
He shook his head. “Do you think his mother would allow me in the castle if she guessed?”
“I asked if Alastair knew,” I corrected. “I know his mother doesn’t. She already doesn’t like you. Finding out you were a thief would certainly have put a stop to your friendship with her son long ago.”
His forehead wrinkled at the information that Lady Drummond didn’t care for him, but it couldn’t have been news to him. For all of her smiles, Lady Drummond was particularly reserved when it came to Sherborne Sharp. I’d noticed that immediately on meeting the both of them.
“Alastair doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way,” he said. “He is a good friend of mine, and I don’t want to ruin that relationship because of one error.”
“If he was a good friend, you wouldn’t steal from his family’s guests.” I had nothing more to say to Sherborne Sharp, and there was nothing else he could say to me to convince me he wasn’t a habitual thief. Sensing our conversation was at an end, I turned to leave. This time, Sherborne made no move to stop me. Until we heard footsteps on the stone stairs.
The voices of the other guests carried up the stairway and down the hall. I could hear Lady Drummond explaining the schedule for the next day and Lord Drummond discussing the architecture of the castle with Samuel Rigby. Everyone was coming upstairs for the evening.
Sherborne surely realized that not only was his secret moments away from being revealed, but there would be no opportunity for him to escape. If everyone had stayed in the sitting room, I would have had to go all the way downstairs to tell the Drummonds about the guest they had allowed into their home, giving Sherborne the opportunity to run out the front door. As it was, though, he would be trapped in my mother’s room with nowhere to turn.
Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my arm again. He did not squeeze hard or jerk me around. It was a soft, pleading touch. “I will leave here first thing in the morning. Before the sun comes up. Do not tell anyone what you saw tonight, and I swear I will leave.”
I hesitated, the memory of Edward’s face flashing through my mind. It made no sense. This man had nothing in common with my brother, beyond the fact they had both been caught in the middle of a crime. There was no rational reason to allow Sherborne to get away with what he had attempted.
“Please, Alice,” Sherborne said, letting go of my wrist. He was begging me at the same time he was letting me go, allowing me to make my choice.
He turned his face towards the window, the right side of him illuminated by the moonlight. If I didn’t know what I knew about him, I would almost find him handsome. Now, however, he looked like trouble.
The voices in the hallway grew louder, and I knew I did not have long to decide. If I waited too long, my mother would walk into her room to find the two of us alone together. There were not many explanations for Sherborne to be in my mother’s room, let alone in the company of her daughter. So, before I could second guess myself, I grabbed Sherborne’s arm, opened the door, and pulled him into the hallway behind me. The moment we stepped into the hall, the party rounded the corner, Lady Drummond in the lead.
“There you two are,” she said, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “We missed you.”
“I came for my mother’s shawl,” I explained, though my hands were empty.
“But she ran into me, and I distracted her,” Sherborne added quickly. He glanced down at me nervously, wondering how much I would add to his version of events. Would I tell them of his thievery?
I smiled. “He is such good company that I suppose I lost track of time.”
My mother pushed her way to the front of the group to stand next to Lady Drummond. They wore matching expressions of suspicion. “I began to wonder whether you were coming back at all,” Mama said.
“Sorry. I’m glad to see you didn’t freeze without your shawl. That would have been a weight on my conscience.”
Sherborne let out a breathy laugh that, knowing what I knew, sounded more relieved than anything else. I was going to keep his secret, and he knew it.
Alastair saw Vivian Barry to her room at the end of the hall and then came to join our group outside my mother’s door. “You left in the middle of the story, Sherborne.”
“I’ve heard it before,” he said. “We all have. Too many times to count. I’ve spent many days in this castle since I was a boy, and I’ve never seen the weeping woman.”
“That is because it is only a story,” I pointed out coolly.
“Yes.” Sherborne nodded. “But there are those among us who claim to have seen her spirit.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You are joking.”
Sherborne tipped his head toward Alastair.
“Mr. Drummond,” I said, surprised. “I would not have taken you to be a superstitious man.”
“And you would be right. I am not one. But I have seen the weeping woman with my own eyes.”
“I’ve told you before. That was only your reflection in the mirror, Alastair,” Gordon said as he passed by his brother, slapping him on the shoulder.
Alastair smiled, but his top lip curled back in frustration, and he kept his eyes on Gordon until he disappeared into his own room. When he turned back to me, his expression was lighter, though I could tell he was still on the defense. “I have never been one to believe in ghosts or spirits or tales of this kind, but I cannot deny my own eyes. I saw the weeping woman standing in a window late one night. I was walking across the grass, and when I looked up, there she was.” He pointed to the end of the hallway at the window that looked out in the direction of the stables. “I turn
ed away for a moment, and when I looked back, she was gone.”
“Are you certain it was not your mother or a servant?” I asked.
He nodded. “Positive. I had never seen the woman before.”
“And he has never seen her since,” Sherborne said with a roll of his eyes. “No one has.”
Lady Drummond reached out and laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Alastair does not really believe in the spirit, Alice. He is only trying to scare you on your first evening in the castle.”
Alastair’s attention turned to his mother sharply, his lips tightening into a thin line, and then he turned back to me with a vacant smile on his face. He did not speak, but I could see the dissenting thoughts running through his mind. If I had to guess, I would have said Alastair truly believed he’d seen the woman’s spirit, but his mother did not want him embarrassing her or himself in front of their guests—especially in front of me, since I was the woman she hoped would one day be his bride.
“I don’t know who could be scared in a place like this,” my mother said. “The castle truly is lovely. Much cozier than I expected, if I’m being honest.”
“We have done our best to make it a welcoming place,” Lady Drummond said. “I hope you will both sleep well.”
My mother said goodbye to the rest of the party still in the hallway, squeezed my hand, and then went into her own room. Alastair offered to walk me to mine. As we left, Sherborne caught my eye one last time. I thought I noticed something of a head nod or a wink of acknowledgement, but I turned away before I could be sure. I still didn’t know I wouldn’t tell my mother about the whole ordeal in the morning. Even if Sherborne Sharp left like he promised, I might decide to tell Lady Drummond so she could keep him out of her house and away from her valuables.
Or, I might keep it to myself. I was undecided.
“Your room, my lady,” Alastair said, bowing low as though we had been transported back to the time the castle was built. “I look forward to spending the day with you tomorrow.”
A line of maids brushed past us carrying extra blankets, delivering them to each room. One girl, pale with red hair and splotches of freckles, handed me a blanket, her hand trembling around the fabric for only a moment, before she dropped it into my hands and hurried to the next room. Alastair did not acknowledge her, his attention trained on me.
I smiled at him and slipped into my room, pressing the door closed silently. Yes, a good night’s rest was what I needed to settle my own thoughts. I’d know how to handle everything in the morning.
7
I woke from a dream I couldn’t remember, the icy chill of it slipping away as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. The sun was not yet up.
It might have been another nightmare about Edward. Or perhaps Samuel Rigby’s tales had left me unsettled. Either way, I sat up in bed and reached down for the spare blanket the maid had left for me. The fire burned low in the fireplace, but I was still shivering. I’d gone to bed in my thickest nightgown and stockings, but it wasn’t enough to ease the chill. I couldn’t imagine living in Druiminn Castle all the time. Lady Drummond must have grown accustomed to not feeling her fingertips. I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and rolled to my side, but as I did, I heard a thump in the hallway.
I opened my eyes again, peering straight ahead into the darkness, willing my ears to hear better. I waited for the sound of footsteps—a maid or a guest moving down the hallway towards their room—but nothing came. I had nearly convinced myself it was simply a log shifting in the fireplace when I heard another thud followed by a gurgled scream.
My feet were on the cold floor before I could even think about it. It would have been wise to search for a weapon, like a poker from the fireplace, but I was too surprised to act wisely. Instead, I ran immediately into the hallway with no understanding of what I would find on the other side.
The lamps along the hall had been extinguished when the guests went to bed, so the corridor was dripping in an inky darkness. I stood in my doorway, scanning and listening. Moments later, there was another crash. This time, it was louder and nearer than the first noise. It came from my left, and when I looked in that direction, I saw a clay bowl go rolling across the floor towards me as though someone had knocked over the decorative table on which it had rested.
“Hello?” I called, my voice shaking.
The door across from mine opened, and I flinched before Charles Barry appeared. His blonde hair was sticking in every direction, his eyes half-closed. “What is the disturbance?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I heard a commotion and came out to—”
Before I could finish the sentence, a figure appeared, stepping forward like a shadow peeling itself from the other shadows.
Charles’ eyes widened, and he pulled back into his room until all I could see was the glow of his eyes in the darkness.
“Hello?” I called again, too scared to retreat. “Who are you?””
The figure took a few more stumbling steps forward, and I realized it was a man, hunched forward at the waist. His arms were drawn towards his middle, his head bowed. A rasping wheeze like wind through a loose shutter filled the corridor.
“Are you hurt?” Charles asked from the relative safety of his room.
I wanted to tell him to move into the hall and address the threat so I would not have to, but it was clear that wouldn’t happen. So, I took two steps forward. “Please announce yourself. Who are you?”
Suddenly, the man looked up. My eyes had adjusted sufficiently to the darkness that I recognized Alastair Drummond at once. His hair was pasted to his forehead with sweat, his square jaw clenched in a grimace.
“Alastair?” I took another step forward, but then my eyes slid down his tall frame, and I saw the bloom of a dark stain across the front of his shirt, a blade sticking out from the center.
I screamed less out of fear and more out of a need to get other people into the hallway. Alastair was hurt—badly—and I didn’t know what to do. Charles Barry had made it clear he wouldn’t be of any use, either.
“Mama!” I screamed over my shoulder, backing away from Alastair and towards my mother’s room. “Mama!”
Her door opened, and she was at my side in an instant. “What is it, Alice?”
Before I could answer the question, my mother put her arm around my middle and pulled me behind her, placing herself between me and Alastair. She gasped when she saw him. “Alastair?”
The youngest Drummond son fell to his knees, his hands wrapped around the hilt of the blade in his stomach. It looked like he was trying to pull it free from his abdomen, but the hilt was slick with blood, and he couldn’t get a grip.
My mother moved towards the young man at once, and I followed behind her. Alastair wobbled forward, and we both caught him before he could fall on his stomach, further burying the blade into his body.
“We need to lay him back,” Mama said firmly.
Clumsily and without the help of Charles Barry, who was frozen in his doorway, we laid Alastair on his back just as Gordon Drummond arrived. He shoved my mother aside and knelt next to his brother. Already a puddle of blood was growing beneath Alastair. I could see by the paleness in his face that he was not doing well.
“What happened?” Gordon asked desperately.
I didn’t know if he was directing the question at me or Alastair, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t know and Alastair didn’t seem capable of saying. His lips moved around words, but no sound came out except for a ragged wheezing noise.
Gordon got to his feet. “We need to send for a doctor.”
“I’ll go,” Charles said quickly, running from his room and down the hall before Gordon could take a step.
“Tell one of the servants to drive out for the doctor,” my mother called after him. “There is no telephone here.” Even in the midst of all this, it struck me to be impressed by her presence of mind.
A light at the end of the hall came on. Lady Drummond carried a flickering lamp, not ye
t aware of what the commotion was, not knowing her son was dying in the middle of the floor. The light was faint and distant, but it did a lot to illuminate the scene.
“He has been stabbed all over,” Gordon said, leaning away and shaking his head. He was looking pale, as well.
“Who has been stabbed?” Lady Drummond asked, rushing forward to set her lamp on a small table near the wall. As soon as she saw the scene, her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. The only reason she didn’t fall on her face was because my mother leaped forward to steady her. “Alastair.”
He stirred at the sound of his mother’s voice, but he didn’t open his eyes.
Gordon laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder—one of the only places not covered in blood—and Alastair’s mouth began to move again.
“What is he saying?” Lady Drummond asked. Her voice was thick and wobbly. “Who did this?”
Gordon leaned forward, his ear to Alastair’s mouth, but I didn’t hear the exchange between the brothers because the rest of the party seemed to arrive in the next moment. Vivian Barry came out of her room—the one next to Charles’—and pressed her hand to her lips. Samuel Rigby appeared beside her. They whispered back and forth to one another, shaking their heads and looking bewildered, but they didn’t move forward to help. Lord Drummond arrived with his pistol in hand as if expecting a duel. He was the one to call for maids to bring towels and water. Charles Barry came back a few minutes later, assuring Lady Drummond he had sent a servant out to fetch a doctor, but it would be awhile before anyone arrived.
My mother, maintaining a cool air of capability, did her best to put pressure on Alastair’s wounds, but it seemed apparent to everyone that there was nothing that could be done.
“What is going on?”
Everyone turned to see Sherborne Sharp walking down the hall. His dark hair was mussed on one side, creases from his pillow on his cheek, but his eyes were wide and alert. He tilted his head to the side, trying to peer around the crowd to the source of the commotion. When he saw Alastair on the floor, he released a choking sound. “What happened?”
