“He’s never been much of a military man, and even with a seat in the House of Lords, he cares little for England’s affairs. More importantly, he won’t have his heir dabbling in anything that even looks like trade. And with my sisters dependent on his good graces, you can imagine the difficulty there.”
He rounded the end of the sofa and passed a teacup into my hand. “Careful. It’s hot.”
“But if he were to understand your interest, your ideas . . .”
He held up his hand. “My dubious cousin is not a man to listen to anyone, least of all me. And without any cavalry experience . . .”
The hot tea felt like satin sliding down my throat, warming me from the inside out. I peeked at him over the rim of my cup. “Thank you. This is wonderful.”
He waved off the compliment. “Any gentleman would render aid to a lady in need.”
I thought of my arrival at the Towers, how cold and awkward it had been. How little anyone did to help me. “No, I don’t think they would.”
He leaned forward. “Now that you know of my dreams of a stud farm, I think it fitting that I should know more about you. What hopes does Miss Delafield keep hidden in her heart?”
I stalled for a moment, taking a long sip of tea. My dream was a secret one—to know the identity of my parents. I would never toss such a thing out lightly. Particularly to a man I wasn’t sure I could trust. But what dreams did I have beyond that? Had I allowed my search to consume me?
I stared into the dark corner of the room, the awful truth sinking in around me. “I’m not certain.”
Mr. Sinclair’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I find that difficult to believe. A woman of your ingenuity.”
We sat in relative silence for a moment before he rose and felt my gown. “I’m afraid it will take several more hours for your clothes to dry completely. Considering you’ve had time to warm up, these will have to make do. We must head back to the house before you are missed too terribly much.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “If you roll up the pants, you can hide them beneath your skirt, and I’ll lend you my coat till we are nearer the house. Do you think you can manage?”
I nodded, glad to make my escape. His words had hit a nerve. I helped him gather up my damp clothes and headed for the back room.
“Miss Delafield.”
I hesitated before turning at the doorway.
“You have a great many talents, far more than you realize. You could do much good in a world sadly in need of it. And someday, I’d like to ask you the same question again.” He twisted his cravat in his hands. “By then, I hope you’ll have an answer.”
13
Late the next day, Portia beckoned me to Mrs. Chalcroft’s bedside, tight-lipped about what could be wrong. Fearing the worst, I dashed through the bedchamber door, where I found her alone in bed, worrying her fingers across the eiderdown’s edge.
Her wide eyes shot to mine as I slowed my approach. “You must deliver another letter . . . today if at all possible.” Then she flicked her fingers in the air. “Bring me my quill and ink, and there’s paper in the escritoire there. I shall make do with this book to write on. Hurry. We shall have no time to read today. You must set out at once.”
I gathered the items as instructed and then cautiously sat back down, waiting for her to finish writing, hoping I might get a glimpse at the text. Anything to put my mind at ease.
“’Pon rep, Sybil . . .” She angled her chin. “What are you waiting for? Change into your riding habit immediately.”
I flew down the grand staircase, the letter Mrs. Chalcroft had penned clenched in my hand. I knew I’d have to be quick in order to make it to Reedwick and back before dark. The thought left me a bit breathless, but I forced myself not to think, only to move. Thank goodness I wouldn’t need a guide, as I’d spent a great deal of last week familiarizing myself with the area.
A deep voice met my arrival on the ground floor, breaking the heavy stillness of the entryway. “Off somewhere in a hurry?”
Startled, I jerked my hand behind my back.
Mr. Sinclair frowned, his gaze tracking my arm to where it disappeared behind my skirt.
Drat. I couldn’t have made a bigger mistake if I’d tried. Why hadn’t I tucked the letter in my pelisse, or my reticule, for that matter?
He raised his eyebrows. “I see you’ve fully recovered from your little escapade in the brook.”
I cast a quick glance around the empty room. “Yes. I’m feeling much better, thank you. But you led me to believe our adventure would not be drawing room conversation.”
“Quite right.” He smiled and leaned forward. “But we are not in the drawing room, are we?”
“I suppose not.”
I glanced at the casement clock against the wall. I had no time to argue so I skirted around him for the door, the letter pressed to the folds of my habit.
“And Mrs. Chalcroft, is she well?” He matched my stride to the door, extending his arm at the last second.
I took a deep breath then ducked beneath the sleeve of his jacket. “Yes. Mrs. Chalcroft is recovering from her spell as well as can be expected.” I grasped the door handle. “But I’ll have to speak more with you later as I have a great deal to do this afternoon. Miss Ellis might be a better person to ask. Now, if you will excuse me.”
Mr. Sinclair leaned his shoulder into the door with a thump, his face mere inches from mine. “Certainly, as soon as you show me whatever it is you’re hiding, partner.”
He had seen it. I swiped a stray hair from my cheek. “It’s nothing you would be interested in. Now let me pass. I’m in a hurry.”
A smile crept across his face. “Nothing I would be interested in, hmm? You’ve used those words before if I remember correctly, and that time I found myself vastly interested.”
I allowed him a peek at the outside of the note before smashing it in my reticule. “It’s a letter, a private letter. Hence, not for your eyes, sir. Now—”
“Why don’t you just drop the letter in the platter with the other mail and allow me to accompany you into the drawing room?” He pointed to the rococo table against the wall. “I have something I wish to—”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Assuredly.”
“Well, I do thank you for your insight, but I have been asked to deliver this particular letter myself.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, so it is a secret letter?”
“I said nothing of the kind.” I pushed against his arm. “Listen. If I’m to reach Reedwick this afternoon, you better get out of my way. You’ve wasted nigh on ten minutes with this useless banter.”
“To Reedwick? At this hour? You have me interested.” He rubbed his chin. “Allow me to fetch my riding boots and crop, and I’ll meet you in the stables in no less than five minutes.”
Goodness, all I needed was Mr. Sinclair following me around like a puppy, taking note of all I did. Though a splash of warmth filled my cheeks, I hadn’t forgotten what he’d said in the woods. I gripped my reticule, a darker thought dawning. Did Mr. Sinclair have another reason for wanting to accompany me?
I forced my voice to sound light. “You are kind, Mr. Sinclair. But I shall do well enough on my own this time. No escort required.” I opened the door.
He caught hold of my arm, whispering this time. “If you think I would allow a lady to ride out alone with the possibility she could be benighted on the road after dark, you don’t know me at all.”
“You forget, Mr. Sinclair. I’m only the companion. I do as I’m told. And I don’t care how you protest.” I paused as the musty scent of the gamekeeper’s cottage tinted the air between us. “Riding to Reedwick today alone is just what I’m going to do.”
Footsteps echoed along the back hallway, growing louder as the person approached.
He released my arm in a flash, running his fingers through his hair as he backed away.
Within seconds, Miss Ellis burst into the front room. “Mr. Sinclair, t
here you are. I have been waiting an age.” She looked first at me then back at Mr. Sinclair. “And Miss Delafield. Are you going out?”
Miss Ellis stopped abruptly at the other end of the rug, slowly crossing her arms. “You promised, remember? I’ve got the chessboard all set up.”
Mr. Sinclair moved to open the door wide, leaning down to my ear. “You win this time, partner, but if you’re not back before dark, I ride out for Reedwick. Understand?”
I nodded then rushed through the door before he could think of another way to stop me.
Sunday evening brought a change to Reedwick I’d not expected. No happy sellers marking the square, no horses or drays busy with the work of the day. Other than the tavern, the sleepy town rested as I should have been.
A few candles flickered within the buildings, their soft light wavering against curtained windows. The setting sun had left a chill in its stead, and after dismounting Aphrodite, I pulled my pelisse tighter around my neck.
Mrs. Chalcroft had instructed me to take the letter to a side door of Pasley’s that led to the family’s room above the store. Fearing the waning light, I hurried across the square and down the row of shops, Aphrodite trotting in my wake. Gravel crunched beneath my half boots and the horse’s hooves. My hasty breaths echoed the clip-clops of the horse until I stopped at the shop’s corner, which rounded into a dim alleyway.
Lovely. Just lovely.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Aphrodite would have to wait here. In a hurry, I looped her reins around an iron post and plodded back.
The narrow corridor stretched into darkness as the stoic walls of the two-story buildings stood watch over the slender path. It took all my willpower not to picture the man from the woods with the bushy whiskers waiting for me at the other end, concealed somewhere in the blackness. Ridiculous, I knew. Still, I took a quick glance behind me, conscious now of an imaginary presence, as if someone watched me from afar. Why didn’t I bring a groom?
Thompkins’s strange disappearance was wearing on me. If only I hadn’t seen her at the Towers, I could believe she had simply run off. But someone met her there. Someone I likely knew, and then she vanished without even her portmanteaux. One of only three passengers that day in the coach.
Standing still, I noticed the soft crunching of boots in the distance, the peal of laughter, the rattle of doors. There were others out and about. The hairs on my arms pricked to attention, the eerie scent of pipe smoke steady on the breeze. I scanned the shadows behind me one last time.
What I needed to do was put a stop to my vivid imagination. I’d been sent to deliver a message for Mrs. Chalcroft, nothing more. It had nothing to do with that day we were stopped in the coach or the scramble of dragoons in town.
I rolled the letter’s wax seal, the Chalcroft crest, between my fingers. What if my instincts were right and there was more to this business than I’d been told? Perhaps a connection?
I held out the folded paper in front of me, then hesitated. There could be all kinds of innocent reasons for Mrs. Chalcroft’s correspondence—an urgent request, a private relationship, something to do with her imminent death that she didn’t wish the family to know about—all within the realm of possibility. She was private and eccentric and intense . . . and should be able to trust her hired companion. I let out a pinned breath. All good reasons to finish the request and get back to my warm bed at the Towers.
The shadows retreated as I walked, my steps a bit more determined, and soon enough, I was relieved to see a small brown door at the far end of the building.
Climbing the solitary step, I wiggled my gloved fingers before rapping my knuckles against the peeling paint. The hinges must have been loose, for the door shook in its frame. I heard shouts from within and then footsteps. Once more I questioned my sanity.
The door popped open a crack, and I let out a sigh of relief. It was Mrs. Barineau.
She scowled, the worn lines wrinkling on her face. “You. What do you want?”
“I have another letter from Mrs. Chalcroft.” I held the note into the beam of light angling from the door.
She snatched it from my hand. “Good. He’ll be glad to hear it.”
The letter disappeared from my sight and my stomach lurched. I’d made no attempt to ascertain what Mrs. Chalcroft had scrolled across the thick paper, no thought to hold it to the light or peek in a corner, but all at once I was afraid of what might be inside.
I cleared my throat. “Any return message this time?”
“You just tell her to keep them coming or I’ll not be responsible for the consequences.” The door slammed shut.
The wind wandered like a hungry lion down the corridor. My body tingled. I stood frozen to Mrs. Barineau’s step.
Who would send letters by darkness? To a milliner?
I stumbled back down the corridor gripped by questions, but just as I reached the edge of the building I heard voices.
Men.
They spoke far too loud for such a quiet street. My leg muscles tightened and I slipped into the shadows, hoping they’d pass without notice. I didn’t wish to explain myself. Peeking around the corner, I strained to see what I could of the street. Had Aphrodite wandered off? A bead of sweat ran down my neck.
I forced myself not to think but to listen—I recognized one of the voices. A group of soldiers strolled into the dim square, their blue uniforms darkened by dusk. I was right. It was Captain Rossiter and some of his comrades.
I pressed myself tighter against the wall, disappearing into the shadows as best I could.
Their voices were as clear as if they stood beside me. “. . . all signs point to Croft Towers. We must be vigilant.”
The younger redheaded officer nearly tripped on the uneven road but caught himself. “What a feather that will be for your cap, Cap.” He laughed. “You’ll flush out the traitors before long. They can’t hide forever. Of course, there was that last report.”
The captain paused. “What of it?”
“That it was a girl he’d seen running away. Not a—”
“I don’t credit it. A drunk like Barrow. He couldn’t see straight, I ’spect.”
The other man spit on the ground. “Blasted French. You’ll get ’em.”
Captain Rossiter slapped the side of his leg. “You’re right. Jove, you’re right. I’m too close to finding the truth. We’ll step up the watch. I know it’s prudent to wait, to catch the wretch in the act. No one goes in or out of Reedwick without a thorough search. And the Towers? More guards. We’ll surround the place if necessary. Napoleon can’t succeed without money from his vile spies in England. Once they are gone, we’ll bleed him dry . . .”
A door slammed in the distance. Leaves scattered in the wind. Then nothing. I inched forward, my fingers feeling their way along the stone wall to the open corner. I could hear no more of the conversation. The soldiers must have entered the Rose Inn.
Carefully, I slipped into the street, scanning the area for Aphrodite. One more foolish mistake on my part. Obviously, I hadn’t secured her well enough, and now I had no idea where she’d gone.
A hand grasped my shoulder. Cold as ice.
My heartbeat thrashed in my ears, and I spun to find a figure looming over me in the darkness. “A pretty thing, you be.” The filthy hand slipped down to clench my arm.
Terror shot through me and I blurted a few words. “Unhand me at once.” I jerked back, but the bony hand turned to iron.
The man wore brown trousers and muddy boots, his shirt half-tucked, half-loose at his waist. He grinned, his bearded smile missing several teeth. “It be just a few steps down to the Crown. Might’n you wish to join me?”
“Certainly not. You’ve a pretty picture of my character if you think I would ever go there.”
“Easy, easy. Perhaps I made a mistake.” He squinted his eyes, his ruddy nose crinkling, but he didn’t relax his fingers. “These old poppers don’t work as they once did. Come with me into the light so we can get better acquainted.”
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“I’ll do no such thing.” The man had obviously mistaken my reason for being unaccompanied at night in town, but why did he persist?
Little by little he edged me back into the shadows of the buildings. His breath stank of ale and his clothes of sweat and animals. The thought of Thompkins’s clothes waiting for her to return flashed into my mind. Was this my day to disappear? My arm throbbed beneath the man’s grasp. Escape was my only option, but without Aphrodite I had little chance but to run.
A large shadow emerged from the gloom of the nearby wall, unnoticed by my captor as he dragged me from the square. Fright pulsed through my veins, and I pawed at the man’s grubby fingers. He only laughed, a deep tone far too young for his appearance.
In a wink, the shadow tore from the wall. It was a tall man, broad shouldered and lightning fast. As startled as I, the filthy man released my arm, but it was too late. The butt of a riding crop slashed across his face and he fell to the ground.
“Are you hurt, Miss Delafield?”
My gaze flicked up into a pair of familiar blue eyes. “Mr. Sinclair. How did you . . .” Shaking, I fell into his solid arms as the man stumbled to his feet and slinked away. “How did you know?”
Mr. Sinclair drew me back a pace, searching first my face then my arms, his eyes part concern, part surprise. Again he asked, “Did he hurt you?”
I let out a sigh of relief before shaking my head. “Only frightened me.”
“I told you to be back by dusk.”
The sharp tone of Mr. Sinclair’s voice brought the moment back in terrifying intensity. I turned away. “There wasn’t time. I took a wrong turn on the way here and . . .”
He hesitated, his hand tightening against my shoulder before relaxing. “I found Aphrodite by the church and I, well, I thought . . .” He seemed to take a long time to catch his breath. “Let’s just say you have a way of getting yourself into trouble.”
“I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t come along when you did.”
In the Shadow of Croft Towers Page 12
