In the Shadow of Croft Towers

by Abigail Wilson

  Though I had wondered the same thing, hearing the words from Mr. Sinclair shook me. I froze at the door before plodding through, my irritation growing with each step. The cool night air splashed my face and I swung around. “Hard to believe that Mr. Cantrell might wish to fix his attentions, or that he should choose me?”

  “That he should choose to attach himself to a lady without any money. The man’s been branded a fortune hunter for the past three years.”

  I touched my lips, searching for the proper response, but with my pride involved, I could think of nothing.

  Mr. Sinclair softened his voice, his finger grazing the edge of my arm. “Forgive me, Miss Delafield. I should not have been so blunt, but I thought you should know. I would want to . . .”

  “No. Thank you.” I pulled away. “You have no need to be sorry. I-I never took him seriously, at any rate.”

  “As I thought. You are far too intelligent to fall for the wiles of Lucius Cantrell.”

  I wondered if he considered Miss Cantrell to share the wiles of her brother. He enjoyed her company often enough.

  “Now, partner, to the business at hand. We’ve dallied long enough.” He cast a quick glance behind him before meeting my eyes. “I need you to pretend you would enjoy a private walk with me in the garden.”

  Mouthing the word “private,” I took a quick step back, but he grasped my arm. “Wait. Please. It’s not what you think. Just a few loving looks to smooth our exit. Do you see Mr. Madden right over there? I don’t wish to be asked any questions. This is important. It’s time for answers.” He lowered his chin. “Can you trust me again? You’ll be safe enough in my care. Besides, we won’t be gone long enough to cause comment.”

  “And is that what I am? Safe?”

  Mr. Sinclair smiled as he bent to place a kiss on my hand, his gaze never leaving my face. “What do you imply?” He touched my cheek. “You know, that blush is quite becoming on you. You really should bring it out more often.” He settled my hand on his arm. “By all means, keep it up as we pass by.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears and I squeezed his arm—hard.

  Mr. Sinclair, however, didn’t respond as he drew me into his side and urged me down the wide stone steps of the terrace. I hesitated to give him what he wanted. Privacy with Mr. Sinclair never went well, and he had a dangerous look in his eyes, one I had seen before. Of course, he had said it was important. Could it have to do with Thompkins’s murder?

  As we descended into the well-lit garden, I scoured the area, hoping I wasn’t making the biggest mistake of my life, surrendering my reputation once again to this highwayman, but I was ready for answers—about Mr. Sinclair, about the murder, everything. I’d been hiding in the dark for far too long. Thompkins had been an easy target—an insignificant maid. The two of us had much in common. If Mr. Sinclair was on a hunt for answers, I’d be right there beside him.

  Several couples perused the hedgerows, each far more interested in themselves than the people around them. We wouldn’t be alone. We’d join their promenade, and I could stop the irritating quivers inside of me.

  Mr. Madden tipped his hat. “Capital evening, is it not?”

  Mr. Sinclair pressed my hand on his arm. “Yes, it is. Beautiful night for a stroll with such agreeable company.” A wide smile crossed his face as Mr. Sinclair looked at me. For a split second I was transfixed, taken in by those piercing blue eyes. But as we rounded the corner of the hedgerow, he stepped away. “Thank you for that. You did well. I almost believed you to be attracted to me.”

  “A worthy challenge for the best stage actor.” I ran my fingers along the hedge. “I don’t wish to dethrone you, however. I, for one, prefer honesty.”

  “As do I.”

  “That is interesting to hear. Then you will kindly tell me what we are doing here, partner.”

  He took a deep breath. “There is a man at the party tonight whom I wish to observe unnoticed. Nothing more.”

  “A man? Does this have something to do with—”

  He pressed his finger to my lips. “The man went into the library a few moments ago, and I’d like to know why. There is a large window that flanks the edge of the garden. I needed an excuse to wander out here at will. One that would not incite comment.”

  “I see.”

  He grasped my hand. “And we haven’t much time, so come on.” He took a step, then paused. “And don’t bother asking. I have no intention of leaving you out here unattended. Lucius may wander up.”

  My mouth slipped open, but before I could say a thing, he pulled me along the east stone wall far quicker than I would have liked in a pair of slippers. We stole past a circular pool before entering a long bush-lined lane, peppered with the scent of verbena.

  Around a sharp corner, Mr. Sinclair made an abrupt stop before skirting me beneath the hanging branches of a willow tree, slipping into the darkness behind me. “There.” He parted the branches. “You can see the window plain as day.”

  Just above the garden’s corner wall a rectangular light beamed from the house, permitting a wide view of the library. Whatever qualms I had before rushing down the terrace steps with Mr. Sinclair were forgotten as I watched the window in anticipation. I bounced onto my toes. “Are you sure he’s still in there?”

  “Shh. Yes. There he is.”

  A plump figure appeared pacing across the room with a watch fob in hand, moving in and out of our view until he stopped at the far-left corner of the window, jerking around as if startled. The garden fell quiet and still. Mr. Sinclair’s breath tickled my ear. The crescent moon played tricks with the shadows around us, and for a brief moment I was brought back to that day in the rain when he’d held me against his chest, demanding to see what was in my pocket.

  What a lifetime ago it seemed, but Mr. Sinclair—no less mysterious. My feet itched to move. Farther away or just a little step back?

  But back where? Into his arms? Arms that had no interest in me being there? I focused again on the window. This business with Mr. Cantrell had gone to my head.

  “Look,” Mr. Sinclair whispered into my ear. Another dark figure joined the man’s side. I didn’t breathe. Could they see us watching them? I knew neither person, but my skin crawled.

  The men talked, first with smiles and then angry expressions. We had no way of knowing what they said, but I could tell it wasn’t pleasant as one man kept flinging his arms in the air. What if they came to blows? I jumped as Mr. Sinclair’s hand came to rest on the small of my back.

  He leaned down once more to my ear. “That is all I needed to know. Let us return to the dance before you are missed.”

  I spun around, surprised by the breathless quality to my voice. “All you needed? They did nothing but talk. Why on earth—”

  He covered my mouth. “We can discuss more later.”

  He guided me back along the narrow pathway in silence before suddenly grabbing my arm. “Dash it all. Someone is coming.”

  We stopped cold, unsure which way to turn. Whoever it was, was approaching fast.

  In a whirl, Mr. Sinclair swung me around, pinning me against the adjacent wall, his hand sliding behind my head. I held in a scream. He flicked open his jacket, drawing me into the warmth of his waistcoat. The footsteps grew louder, and I looked up just in time to hear Mr. Sinclair’s whispered words.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Delafield. Please forgive me.” Then he pressed his lips to my forehead, trailing kisses down my cheek. “Put your arm around me. Now.”

  My mind fought to make sense of what was happening as I tentatively touched his broad shoulders. We were acting. Nothing more, but my reputation . . .

  The breeze ruffled the nearby willow leaves. The wall felt cool at my back. I thought I might faint as hordes of butterflies flitted inside my chest. But the pounding footsteps never slowed, fading away in due course as if Mr. Sinclair and I—two lovers—warranted no further investigation.

  Then as quickly as I had been gathered into his arms, he released me, the scent of h
is pomade hanging in the air. We had trouble meeting each other’s eyes, like two children caught doing something naughty. But had we? Two friends merely protecting one another?

  Mr. Sinclair raked his hand through his hair. “I-I don’t think they knew who you were, thank goodness. I tried to cover you as much as possible. They were moving quickly. They never gave us a second look.”

  “Could you see them? Who was it?”

  “Miss Cantrell and a man you don’t know.”

  Warmth flooded my face. “Miss Cantrell! But what if she did see me?”

  “They didn’t. So we needn’t discuss it.”

  I wished I could believe him, but my emotions were wound up like a spring. I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Why didn’t we run back to the tree?”

  “It was too late. They had already seen me.”

  “But, I-I thought you said they didn’t.”

  “I said they didn’t see you. Either way, they didn’t stop, which is why I had to put you through that. I’m sorry. I—”

  I pressed my hand to my head. “Sorry indeed.” I peeked out from between my fingers. “Just not sorry enough.”

  Mr. Sinclair kicked a leaf with the toe of his boot. “The degree of my sorriness has no bearing on the outcome.”

  “No bearing on you. But for me, my reputation is—”

  “Currently intact.” He smiled, making it difficult for me to remain cross. “Just think of it as one more thing I owe you.” He raised an eyebrow. “At this rate I may never be able to repay my debt. Any ideas?”

  I shook my head slowly.

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something, but right now we mustn’t linger.”

  Could he be right? That my being there—alone with a man—would go unremarked? I hoped so. “Yes. Let us go at once.”

  We retraced our steps through the garden in silence as an invisible wall sprang up between us—one I didn’t understand and loathed to find so awkwardly there.

  And one more thing. Why was Miss Cantrell out in the garden—with a man?

  At the terrace, we stopped cold, unprepared for what we stumbled upon. There in the shadows stood Miss Cantrell, pleading with a well-dressed gentleman, tears streaming down her face.

  Like lightning, Mr. Sinclair guided me behind a large planter pot where I was hidden from view, but I watched through the branches, shocked by what I heard.

  Miss Cantrell grasped the man’s arm like a child begging to be held. “Please, please don’t do this. If you’ll just wait and see.”

  The man glared at Mr. Sinclair and then back at Miss Cantrell. “I have no intention of doing so, and I have nothing further to say to you, Elizabeth. This must stop. I expect not to be harassed in public again. You do yourself no favors to be seen like this.”

  Miss Cantrell sought Mr. Sinclair with her desperate gaze. The movement broke whatever imaginary strings held the man to her side. He stomped off, the tails of his dress jacket waving in the wind. Miss Cantrell covered her face with her hands.

  Gently, Mr. Sinclair touched my elbow, his voice all but gone. “If you would excuse me.” He didn’t even look back before hurrying to Miss Cantrell’s side, where she melted into his arms.

  All at once I felt like a stranger, watching them. A personal moment I had no right to see. Even after Mr. Sinclair and I . . . I turned away, stumbling into the shadows and then the ballroom, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

  Shoulder to shoulder, people passed by as if in slow motion. Laughter. Whispers. Music floated down from the balcony above, but the tune had soured. Did the people look at me longer than before? Was there a tilt to their smiles?

  Restless, I paced the available space for a time before retreating to a lone pillar outside the hall. Mr. Sinclair and Miss Cantrell? Surely I was wrong. And that man. He’d been so heartless and cold. Had they seen me—us—so intimately on display? I lowered my head into my hands.

  Mr. Sinclair. He’d been so warm and desperate and gentle. My heart had broken out into a gallop as he held me, but it had only been an act—and I the fool.

  Belatedly, I wondered where Miss Ellis was and Mr. Roth and Mr. Cantrell. Rallying at the thought of Mr. Cantrell’s kind smile, I forced myself to recover and made my way back into the ballroom, where I collapsed onto a chair by the wall, the desire to dance long gone.

  To my surprise, Mr. Sinclair arrived a few minutes later, a dark look across his face. “I have just come from speaking with Lucius. The plan is for me to take Miss Cantrell back to the Towers in my carriage. I don’t like leaving you like this considering what has happened, but I haven’t a choice.”

  I bit my lip, wishing I could run away. “How is Miss Cantrell?”

  “She is unwell.” He paused for a moment then continued. “Lucius will be happy to escort you home whenever you are ready.”

  I was ready, but I had to deliver the letter. I wanted to cry. Time was running out and I’d done nothing for my employer. The whole night had been a terrible waste. I took a steady breath, my options limited. “Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “Do you know a man named Mr. Aberdeen? I mean, is he here tonight?”

  Mr. Sinclair’s gaze shot to mine and he held it there for a long moment before tilting his chin. “Interesting that you should ask. He was the plump man in the library . . . the one we watched from the garden.”

  16

  Before he left the dance, Mr. Sinclair pressed me to find Mr. Cantrell, but I knew I couldn’t do so, not yet at least, regardless of that look in his eye or his half-hearted shrug. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he’d said.

  Well, I didn’t plan to.

  I slid my hand over my reticule and the hidden envelope and turned around yet another lonely corner of the inn, each one dimmer than the last. Mr. Aberdeen had probably left long ago, but I had to at least try to find the library.

  A musty scent hovered in the darkness. My foot snagged a loose board, and I tumbled against the wall, the scuffle echoing down the passageway, breaking the eerie silence in a way nothing else could. I eased into the shadows against the dingy wallpaper and listened for the slightest movement somewhere beyond.

  Music and the taps of dancing shoes murmured from the distant ballroom, nothing more. I breathed a sigh of relief then continued my search, a bit more careful than before.

  The slam of a door ahead caused my nerves to tighten. I knew I had no business wandering this way unescorted. A light emerged at the far end of the hallway, wavering as the glow loomed larger. I closed my eyes for a brief second, searching for a suitable response should I be questioned about my presence here.

  An empty feeling hit my stomach as I pictured the plump man’s angry face. Was I in some sort of danger? Mr. Sinclair hadn’t cautioned me about the man, but should I have decided to meet him alone, considering all that had happened?

  I spun to leave but turned back only to pause. Goodness, what an indecisive mouse I was proving to be. Such warring thoughts came only from my imagination. Mrs. Chalcroft surely wouldn’t have asked me to do something unsafe. The man in the library was her friend, and I’d been tasked with delivering a letter to him. I couldn’t let what had happened in town sway my judgment. I squinted into the light, waiting to see if it was he who held the candle.

  A large figure took shape beyond the glow, raising the solitary flame to his face as if he too wanted to see who was lurking in the dark passageway. “Pardon me?”

  I exhaled a quick breath. It was him, the man from the library—Mr. Aberdeen. I smoothed out my skirt. “Why, good evening. I am sorry to disturb you, but I believe I have gone and gotten myself lost. I was on my way to the ballroom and must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

  He narrowed his eyes at first then relaxed. “Yes, there are quite a few hallways in this old building. Allow me to show you the way back.”

  I smiled and took his outstretched arm. “Thank you, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Aberdeen.”

  I licked my lips. “Ah, M
r. Aberdeen. I believe I have heard your name before.” I forced myself to keep my voice light. “You must be acquainted with my employer, Mrs. Chalcroft of Croft Towers.”

  He stopped midstride, casting a probing glance at me, the earlier kindness fading from his face. “Why do you ask, my dear?”

  “Well, she sent me here tonight to give you something.”

  “Something?” His jaw clenched and his voice grew cold. “Then get on with it while we are alone. This is not an evening to be found stalking in the shadows.”

  My hand shook as I removed the envelope from my reticule and held it into the candlelight.

  Quickly, he grasped it with his sweaty hand and shoved it into his jacket. “This is most unusual. Generally I don’t conduct business in dark hallways.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Most unusual indeed. But you may tell Mrs. Chalcroft I will see it is handled—personally if it comes to that. Now, my dear, you must return to the dance. It is not the thing for a young lady to be off wandering alone.”

  He gave me a genuine smile, and I thought him a decent sort of man, fatherly, not scary as I’d previously supposed. Possibly the perfect person to shed a bit of light on this strange letter business. I paused. The chance to gain some information might not present itself again. “I don’t wish to keep you, but I would ask you a quick question, if I may?”

  “A question?” His sideburns did a little jump as wrinkles spread across his forehead.

  Now or never. “I—”

  Footsteps pounded behind me. “Miss Delafield,” a man huffed, clearly out of breath.

  I knew the voice before turning—the last person I wished to find me speaking alone with a man so far from the ballroom.

  Slowly, I turned. “Thank goodness you are here, Mr. Cantrell. I have been searching all over for you.”

  I thought I saw a pointed glance between the two men, but I couldn’t be sure. I released Mr. Aberdeen’s arm. “This kind gentleman was showing me the way back to the ballroom. Would you believe I got myself lost?”

  “Ah, lost.” Mr. Cantrell scratched his eyebrow. “And probably my fault. I have sorely neglected you this evening.” He gave a slight nod to Mr. Aberdeen. “Thank you, sir. I’ll escort Miss Delafield from here.” He took my hand and placed it on his arm, forcing me to turn without another word.