He met my obvious fury with a wink, then spurred his horse to a gallop, disappearing into the driving rain.
2
The mail coach lurched forward before I’d taken my seat, but the driver seemed tentative, holding the horses to a slow clip. The mood inside the carriage was dismal. I took a steady breath and tried to discover where we were, despite the fog, but time seemed lost.
The anxious morning faded to late afternoon, and my desire to reach Plattsdale grew with each irritated sigh from the other women. They stared me down as if the highway robbery were somehow my fault.
However, just as I had given up all hope of the nightmare ride ever ending, the twisting shadows parted, revealing a sign tipping in the wind—the Boar’s Head Inn. Plattsdale.
The coach veered right, scattering gravel along the narrow road, then rolled to an agonizing stop. A man’s call pierced the heavy silence like a bell rung a bit too loud. There was a shuffle in the yard, but no one in the coach moved. I could read the questions on the other women’s faces. Were we safe at last?
I glanced at my soggy gown and reticule, smudged by the robbers’ dirty hands. What would become of me? The carriage’s wooden bench squeaked beneath the sour-faced woman as she patted what was left of her coiffure. Her maid watched in silent amusement, but I looked away—chilled, hungry, and tired. Every bone in my body ached, but nothing would induce me to speak, not even to ask if I could share Thompkins’s room for the night.
My cold fingers sought the bracelet on my arm, the one I received on my last birthday. Something might have to be traded for a room, but not the bracelet—not my only link to the past. If at all possible, I would travel on to Croft Towers at once, regardless of how I ached for a clean set of clothes and a soft bed.
The coach swayed as the driver swung down from the box and opened the door. The two women clawed their way from my presence, tripping over my feet, and neither looked back for me. As I feared, the offer for a room wasn’t renewed.
Just as well. I didn’t need their help. I didn’t need anybody’s. I’d done well enough on my own so far.
One of the ostlers peeked around the side of the coach. “Still here, eh?” He took a quick glance over his shoulder to the coaching house door. “Where to now, miss?”
Startled by his gruff voice, I rose to my feet. “Is-is there a man here from Croft Towers?” I tried not to sound as desperate as I felt.
A look of relief washed across the man’s face as he nodded and extended his hand to help me down. I gladly took it—clammy though it was—and followed his lead across the yard, hopeful my luck had finally turned.
The sudden thunder of horses’ hooves sounded like a wind gust out of the rain, and I paused beneath the inn’s narrow awning. The ostler turned as well. Three uniformed dragoons burst into the yard, their dark-blue jackets barely distinguishable from the gray drizzle. In a flash they were but a couple yards from where we stood. A few shouts and some boys rushed by me. I watched as the officers dismounted and relinquished their horses. Had they heard about the robbery somehow? I turned, hoping to ask the ostler, but he spun away in a huff. Apparently he had no intention of addressing them.
He hurried me through the door, but something about the way he hesitated as we walked into the receiving room, the way his cold eyes flitted about and landed on me, I knew he’d not meant to bring me inside. I tucked a loose hair behind my ear and tried to shake off the chill he’d caused with only a glance. He thought me a common urchin. Of course, I looked like one, which made it sting all the more.
The man wrinkled his nose, his eyes saying, Don’t you dare sit on the settee as wet as you are. But he only cleared his throat. “I’ll go fetch John from the taproom.” With a sideways glance, he added, “Don’t get too settled. I won’t be but a moment.”
If I had been Lady Sybil with an abigail and an entourage, I would have been ushered to a private parlor to rest. But as plain, boring, unchaperoned Sybil Delafield, I was left to stand and drip in the entryway.
I wandered the dimly lit room, imagining how a cup of tea would feel going down my throat. I glanced out a pair of dirty windows and stepped nearer to the fireplace. So this was Plattsdale—my new home.
There wasn’t much to see outside, nor in the dingy inn. A few worn pieces of furniture, some rotten boards, the blackened fireplace. The scent of ale and musk permeated the door to the taproom. Of course, I had to admit, anything was preferable to the cramped mail coach. My knees echoed their agreement.
The front door swung open, and the dragoons from the yard sauntered inside on a gust of wind, none betraying the slightest surprise at finding me alone, dripping in the front room. I suppose even if they had been surprised, they were too well bred to acknowledge it. The tallest officer removed his shako and shook off the rain. I don’t know what I expected a cavalryman to look like, but this gentleman didn’t fit my romantic notions. A long nose poked out from a thin face with what I could only describe as a hard stare. He nodded. “Good day.”
I expect I had been glaring, which is why he felt the need to address me. Only now I wished I hadn’t called attention to myself. Granted, I had witnessed the robbery firsthand. They would probably want to speak with me. I cleared my voice. “Are you here about the highwaymen?”
“Pardon?”
“The robbery of the mail coach?”
One of the other dragoons joined him and spoke in a whisper. “The boys in the yard were just telling me about an incident on the line.”
The first dragoon nodded, then turned back to face me. “I’m sorry, miss, but we’re here on business from the Prince Regent. We haven’t time to investigate petty theft. You’ll need to take up your grievance with the local magistrate.”
“I see.” I tried to make my voice sound light, but I doubted I hid my irritation well. My cheeks always seemed to betray me at the worst moments. The officer was probably right to dismiss me, but the smug look on his face didn’t make me feel any better.
Luckily, the ostler’s return saved me from blurting out anything I might regret. Strangely enough though, he looked more irritated than I felt. He ogled my soaked gown for the second time. He spared a nervous glance for the officers, then whispered to me, “You’ll have to come now, miss. The driver from the Towers is in quite a rush.”
“Now?”
“Yes, right now.” He thrust his stubby finger at the door, then pushed his spectacles up his nose.
So, no tea or time to dry off. I opened my mouth to protest, but he ushered me back into the dismal rain, across the yard, and onto the seat of an antiquated landau before I could make a peep. I should have known he’d want the wet, unchaperoned girl out of sight of his guests.
I craved more than anything to remind him about the robbers with pistols, the rain and the cold, and the wretched future of a young lady with no family and no connections. But I shut my mouth and watched him seal the door without another word.
The Chalcroft landau rattled to a halt. Beyond the rain-soaked window I saw little but an eerie sky. I told myself not to panic.
The carriage door screeched open to reveal a lanky footman, who stumbled backward at the sight of me. My shaky hand sought the remains of my drenched coiffure, and I forced a measured breath before grasping my reticule.
The wide-eyed young man seemed to recover and extended an umbrella over the carriage’s narrow opening. “Miss Delafield, is it?”
“Yes.” I forced a tepid smile before descending the steps, my wet frock clinging to my legs, the chill wind whipping at my skirt. I’d planned such a different arrival, one meant to impress. One I’d hoped would afford me the answers I’d come for.
The footman led me across a gravel drive and into the lurking shadow of my new home—Croft Towers. The aged structure rose up out of the misty twilight like an old king dressed in black, surveying his kingdom with a cautious eye. My chest tightened.
“This way, miss.” The footman shuffled forward then stopped. “We’d planned for you
to come in the front, but considering your, uh, present state, perhaps it’s best—”
“Nonsense, James.” A tall man with a heavy build held the front door wide, his face weathered with age, his eyes shrewd. A smile appeared for a moment, then vanished into a stern chin. “You may address me as Hodge. I am butler here at the Towers.”
I nodded. “Pleased to meet you. Miss Delafield—Mrs. Chalcroft’s new companion.”
“I’m well aware why you are here. It was I who sent the carriage.” He motioned me through the door. “Come inside, and I will figure out what is to be done with you.”
I crossed the threshold into a dim marble entryway. To the side, a small candelabrum winked in the wind. The wavering light did little to compete with the overwhelming gloom of thick crossbeams and paneled walls.
Hodge frowned. “Would you be so good as to wait here?”
I nodded, wrapping my arms around my middle, a terrible empty feeling settling into my stomach. Hodge ambled off at a brisk pace, and all too quickly I found myself alone. Alone with my thoughts and doubts.
Impostor. The voice whispered from the recesses of my mind, the same one I’d heard this many weeks or more. The voice was followed by the sound of a casement clock, which ticked to life from somewhere in the darkness. Wind gusts surged against the heavy door, clambering for a way in; but the air inside the house remained motionless, heavy with dust. Unable to move or sit, the nagging chill I’d endured throughout the journey returned in full force.
A door slammed in the distance. Uneven footsteps trailed down a far-off hall. I turned, but no one entered the front room, and the steps dissolved into the pervasive darkness around me. A shiver crept up my arms. Standing as still as possible, I inspected the shadows, fighting off the unnatural feeling of being watched.
Ridiculous. I sloughed off the thought as a blur of white flickered across the alcove on the upper floor like an airy cloak or a wisp of long blond hair, moving unnaturally across the wall. My gaze darted to the landing, but I saw nothing else in the dim light.
At that moment the voices of two gentlemen wafted down the corridor on a draft from the opposite side of the room.
“ . . . the Royal Mail?”
“Hush. It was a blasted uncomfortable business, I’ll tell you . . .”
My hand flew to my throat and I leaned forward, straining to hear more, but the sounds faded into a murmur.
“Miss Delafield?”
My nerves snapped and I spun around, my pulse racing, my hands primed to defend myself.
It was Hodge, of course, wrapped in shadows. He lifted his candle and raised a bushy eyebrow.
Letting out a slow breath, I lowered my hands and offered a smile, the way a child does when saved from an overactive imagination.
He didn’t return the gesture. “Mrs. Chalcroft is in her room and is not to be disturbed this evening. She does, however, have some guests who would like a word with you in the drawing room.”
Guests? I cast a quick glance up the winding staircase then back to Hodge’s determined face. “I—”
He motioned ahead. “Please follow me, Miss Delafield.”
My legs felt heavy, my half boots sticky on the floor, but I trailed behind him like a numb puppy, hoping deep down somehow I’d dreamed up the entire uncomfortable arrival. But I hadn’t. It was all too real.
The drawing room stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house. White met my eyes from every angle—white walls, a white ceiling, white drapes, centered by a long, gilded sofa. Three shocked faces stared at me from various angles of the room. Hodge introduced me, then silently left the room.
A young man of medium build with dusky-blond hair and probing green eyes sauntered forward. “Miss Delafield, is it? I’ve just been told a fantastic story of your arrival by John Coachman. Highwaymen stopped the mail coach?”
I looked from one incredulous face to the next. “Yes. As you can see, I was forced to stand in the rain.” My voice shook a bit more than I would have liked.
The golden-haired woman on the sofa yawned. “We were expecting you hours ago. And someone a bit older. Do you believe her, Lucius?”
“I don’t know.” The man tilted his chin. “Surely you’ve come with some sort of papers backing up your claim.”
“Of course. I have—” I reached down to my pocket just as I remembered the dreadful truth. My letter from Mrs. Smith had been stolen by the highwayman.
The subsequent silence took on a life of its own, every eye turned my direction, scrutinizing what I would say next. Well, the letter was gone. Taken by the dark-haired robber, who’d found a way to ruin my entire day.
I took a deep breath. “The note I planned to present to Mrs. Chalcroft, from my mistress”—I looked from each questioning face to the next—“was stolen in the robbery. What I need—”
The gentleman cracked a smile. “What a fantastic story.”
The Grecian goddess who’d previously questioned me leaned back against the sofa, turning up her nose. “Too fantastic if you ask me.”
“Well, no one did ask you.” Another girl, who appeared no more than eighteen, made her way around the sofa to my side. “You must excuse my cousin. Waiting for dinner has never suited her.” She grasped my elbow. “My name is Miss Eve Ellis. My great-aunt is quite glad you agreed to be her companion and traveled all this way. Come and warm yourself at once. We don’t want you to catch an inflammation of the lung your first night here.” She spun back to face the room. “Can’t you all see she’s worn to death and soaked to the bone? Please, sit here. I shall tell Mrs. Knott to prepare a bath in your room.”
I looked into Miss Ellis’s kind brown eyes and wanted to cry. I managed to say, “Thank you,” before sliding onto the offered chair beside the fireplace as she hurried out of the room.
The blond gentleman stood with an air of authority I’d not noticed before. “Evie’s right. What a cad I’ve been questioning you when you only just arrived—and in such a state.” An appealing smile spread across his face. “I think it absurd to stand on pretenses on such a night. Do you not agree, Miss Delafield?” He ran a finger through a tuft of curly hair above his ear. “I am Mr. Cantrell. Mrs. Chalcroft is my great-aunt, and if you would, allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Cantrell. Miss Ellis is our cousin, and Mr. Roth, that gentleman asleep at the back of the room, is as well.”
The beauty deigned to nod my direction but said nothing more, her eyes performing all the talking between us. As the new companion and an orphan, I was beneath her notice and unsure why her brother felt the need to introduce us at all, but I returned the gesture.
He sauntered over, leaning his shoulder against the mantel, his fingers fiddling with his quizzing glass. Then he settled his gaze on me with a kind of mocking interest as if he thought I might say something brilliant.
I should have attempted some sort of wit. I’d done so often enough for the girls at school. But in the sheltered life I led at Winterridge, I’d hardly spent two seconds in a gentleman’s company, let alone an attractive one. I hadn’t the foggiest idea what I was supposed to say.
Finding my mouth dry, I left the idle conversation to the others. Yet nothing could keep me from appraising Mr. Cantrell from the corner of my eye as he moved to stoke the fire. What he lacked in height, he more than made up for in poise. A sharp jaw and smooth features, handsome in a self-assured way few men can achieve without appearing arrogant.
The rising flames in the grate brought warmth to my legs in a rush, and I slid my feet beneath my chair, casting a quick glance at the door. Whatever could be taking Miss Ellis so long?
Mr. Cantrell’s voice startled me. “If it is not too upsetting, Miss Delafield, I’d love to hear the whole of your story.” He paused. “While we’re waiting for your room to be prepared, of course.”
A thoughtful expression rounded his face as the firelight danced across his discerning eyes. I don’t know why, but almost immediately I thought him a man who saw much and revealed little.
/>
I swallowed hard. “There’s not much to tell really.”
“On the contrary. You have an entire room itching to know the details.”
Miss Cantrell sat looking out the window, seemingly lost in thought as Mr. Roth snored from the back of the room.
Itching to know the details, indeed.
Mr. Cantrell, however, seemed earnest, so I licked my lips. “The day was quite dreary; the company intolerable.”
A wide smile spread across his face, and he took a seat at my side. “Please, do continue.”
“The ride had been uneventful until, well, a shot rang out and the coach stopped. Some men—”
“How many men?”
“Three, if I remember correctly.”
Mr. Cantrell leaned in, his voice dropping to an intimate level. “Could you see any of their faces?”
“No. They wore rags over their noses and mouths.”
“What about their hair, could you see that?”
“One man had dark hair. Yes, very dark hair. I remember well.” I didn’t even have to close my eyes to bring back the vivid memory of the robber who’d held me in the rain. A shiver snaked across my shoulders. How could I ever forget?
“And the others?”
I stiffened. “I-I don’t know.”
Mr. Cantrell took a deep breath. “It is important that you think, Miss Delafield—think!”
Goodness. I looked away, trying to visualize the other highwaymen in my mind. But all I could see was my blue-eyed captor staring me down. Were they short or tall? The man who held my wrist was tall. Yes, very tall. But the others . . . I had no idea. Had I even looked at them? “I’m sorry. I’m just not sure I remember.”
He seemed a bit irritated and stood, running his fingers through his hair. “And the mail. Did they search the mail?”
“Yes. Well, possibly.” I bit my lip. “That is, I’m not certain.”
“You’re not certain? What the blazes did they do if they didn’t search the mail?”
“I didn’t say the mail was untouched. Only, I didn’t actually see the robbers touch it. I was held off to one side. And it was raining heavily.”
In the Shadow of Croft Towers Page 2
