When we were alone, Mrs. Chalcroft grasped my hand. “Go to your room to change at once. I need you to do something for me.” Her eyes grew wide as a far-off look settled into those dark-brown pools. “Right and wrong are not always easy to define in the world we live in, my dear. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but there is a letter hidden beneath the edge of my bed. I cannot risk its discovery. Throw it in the fire, then go and change. I’ll wait for you here.”
I nodded, relief washing over me. She’d given me the excuse I needed to warn Mr. Sinclair and Booth. Somehow we would find a way out of this horrible mess. As I stood to leave, I found I was not completely numb to the implications of such a hidden letter.
Mrs. Chalcroft squeezed my hand again. “I must be able to trust you in this.”
Forcing myself to focus on the present, I met her eyes. “I won’t let you down.”
“Good girl.” She motioned to the door. “Now hurry. It will take a moment for the officers to organize the rest of the men outside and begin the search.”
I flew up the stairs faster than I’d ever run before, my heart pounding with the need to protect Mr. Sinclair, to protect Mrs. Chalcroft, and what? Do the right thing for my country? I couldn’t think of that now. Now, I could only respond to what was right in front of me. Regardless of any connections to France, my two dearest friends did not deserve death at the hands of an overzealous captain, who apparently took delight in other people’s ruin.
I crested the first-floor landing, gasping for air. Mr. Sinclair. Mrs. Chalcroft. If either was discovered, my innocence could not be maintained. Whether I liked it or not, I was a part of this too. I wouldn’t doubt my actions now. There had to be more to this business than I was aware of.
I raced silently down the hallway, passing my room for Mrs. Chalcroft’s, and slipped inside. Even with a fire in the grate, the bedchamber stood cold and dark. Mrs. Chalcroft’s rose scent enveloped the room, but I felt the lack of her presence as keenly as ever.
Quickly, I slid my fingers along the wooden bedrail, down one side and up the other. My hand shook as I frantically swiped farther and farther between the bed and the slats, pawing desperately for some kind of a paper. Where was it? I was wasting time.
Finally, my fingertips brushed the sharp edge of something. I released a long breath and held it between two fingers, carefully, bringing the letter into the moonlight. The corners were worn, the heavy paper wrinkled, and the seal barely affixed. Whatever was written inside had been penned a long time ago. Curious, I lifted the edge with my little finger.
Lord Stanton and agreement were the only words I could make out without affecting the delicate seal.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway. For a quiet moment I glared at the note in my hand. Did it concern Anne . . . or me? My breaths came short and fast as I cast a glance toward the fireplace then back to the letter. Mrs. Chalcroft would never know if I read it before disposing of it. My hands shook.
Voices echoed off the walls. A heavy crash followed by a bang resonated from the lower floors. The dragoons had begun searching the grounds and the lower part of the house. My chest hurt. All at once I crushed the note and threw it into the fire, jabbing it with the poker until a flame burst forth from the center.
I turned away, tears stinging my eyes. I stumbled back to the door and tiptoed to my room, back to Mr. Sinclair. I would never know what the paper said.
In my haste to enter the room, I nearly knocked Booth straight to the ground. “Steady there, Miss Delafield. What’s all this?”
“Dragoons,” I panted. “Here. In the house.”
Booth’s gaze turned cold as he slowly looked back at the bed. “We can’t move him now, miss. He’s lost far too much blood.”
More footsteps hammered down the distant hallways. Each set sounded louder than the last.
Booth swiped his arm across his forehead. “How much time do we have?”
“I don’t know. Not long.”
“Then we’re done for.” He covered his face with his hands.
I paused as a thought took shape in my mind. “Quickly, help me clean up the blood from the floor, and get Mr. Sinclair under the coverlet and flip it over. I hope the blood has not soaked all the way through.”
Booth shook his head. “As you say, miss, but it’s no use. I can’t carry him out of here with the dragoons crawling all over. And they’ll find him just as easy in his bedroom.”
“Once the blood is gone, you must leave at once. I’ve got to change into my nightgown and robe.” A rush of heat filled my cheeks as I glanced once more at Mr. Sinclair’s still form. “He is asleep, right?”
“Ah, yes, miss. Out cold, but I don’t follow you.”
“Never mind that. Do as I say.”
He wiped up the last of the blood by the door and walked over to the bed. “Can you hold him while I pull the coverlet from beneath him?”
Mr. Sinclair moaned as Booth rolled him onto his side, but he didn’t wake up. I gingerly held his arm before being forced to support his bare back. I bit my lip. What had I gotten myself into? This plan of mine was ridiculous. So ridiculous it might just work. But if we were discovered? I couldn’t think of that.
“All right, miss. A couple more spots on the floor and I’ll be out of your way.”
I nodded then held my breath as I flipped the coverlet over. Thankfully, only a tiny bit of blood had soaked through to the other side. I would have to rumple the sheets to cover it, but it would be possible.
“Leave the door unlocked,” I called over my shoulder.
Booth paused on the threshold. “What is it you plan to do? I can’t let you—”
“There isn’t time to explain. He’ll be safe enough in my care.”
He shook his head. “You’ve the courage of a badger, miss.” He smiled. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Mr. Sinclair. There’s nobody like him in this world.” He winked. “I think you understand that.”
I shooed him out the door and ran for the wardrobe, slipping out of my muslin frock with each step. Mr. Sinclair moaned but I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. He was asleep—unconscious really. I repeated the words as I wiggled out of my chemise and threw my heaviest gown over my head, following it up with a thick robe. I was hardly less dressed than before, but I hoped it would do the trick.
I checked over the room. Other than the large man in my bed, it looked just as it had before. A knock sounded and I jumped beneath the covers, my arms tingling with nerves. “Yes?”
Quickly, I adjusted the pillows and bedcovers until I was satisfied. I whispered into the bedsheets, “Please forgive me, Mr. Sinclair.” Then I sat on him.
He didn’t move.
The soldier’s voice boomed through the closed door. “Pardon me, miss, but I am one of His Majesty’s soldiers. You must step out into the hallway, as we’ve been tasked with searching every room.”
I folded the coverlet down to expose just enough of my present state of dress. “I’m sorry, but I am indisposed and confined to my bed. Could you wait there while I call my maid?”
A pause at the door, and then, “I, uh, suppose so, but the room must be searched.”
I reached up and yanked the embroidered bell pull for Portia. I hoped she’d come quickly.
Several minutes passed as I waited, but I didn’t dare get off Mr. Sinclair. Was I crushing him? I peeked under the blankets to be sure. I’d found a way to avoid his shoulder and put most of my weight on the bed, but it couldn’t be comfortable the way I’d smothered him in the pillows. His breathing sounded unlabored, and his chest was warm. A slight quiver ran through my body as I looked at his hands, his fingers, resting so lightly beneath the sheets.
I forced myself to look away, but my heartbeat didn’t slow. In fact, I began to sense that I heard his too.
But I was wrong. It was the door again. “Come in.”
Portia rushed inside, concern written across her face. “Miss Delafield, I had no idea you were ill, and these horrid soldiers
turning us out of our rooms.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t you worry, I won’t let them come in here.”
I didn’t move an inch as she circled the bed. I yawned for emphasis. “Yes. The dragoons have come at an awful time. I don’t think I’m well enough to stand. Perhaps if they force the issue, they can take a quick look inside while I rest here. You can stay and guard me.”
“Be sure I won’t leave your side, miss.” She pulled up a chair. “I’ve heard of what these soldiers do to unprotected females. It’s a disgrace. My cousin Mary had one kiss her full on the mouth.”
Mr. Sinclair moved a leg and I cringed.
Portia flew to her feet. “Here they are now. Keep yourself covered.”
The latch clicked and the door slid open a few inches. A soldier’s timid voice came through the opening. “Are you ready to leave the room?”
Portia held up her fist. “She won’t be going anywhere. How dare you suggest a lady leave her sickbed. You would have her contract pneumonia to fulfill some silly order.”
He took a deep breath. “I suggest no such thing, but I do have orders to search every room in this hallway. I cannot leave without—”
“You unnatural, horrid wretch of a man! How would you feel if this was your sister in this bed?”
A chuckle came from the other side of the door. “I only have five brothers.”
Portia pounded the bed. “Oh . . . your mother then.”
Mr. Sinclair must have felt her fist, because again he shifted. The thought of him waking with me pressed to his side had never crossed my mind. I’d never be able to look him in the eye again. This little scene had better end—and quick.
I pretended to cough. “Allow me a suggestion.”
The young soldier poked his head in. “Yes?”
He was just what I’d hoped for, young, inexperienced, still scared of women. “Could you search the room quickly, but allow me to stay here in my bed?”
Portia cast me a look as if I’d forfeited the battle without even trying.
The boy hesitated. “I-I believe that would complete my order.”
I laid my head to the side as if I was too weak to argue. “Then get it done.”
Portia held my hand as the soldier scoured the room, opening every drawer, shifting through my things. No wonder Portia was angry. I felt the intrusion too, but I said nothing as he tossed my private things about. He looked behind the curtains and beneath the escritoire, then approached the bed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I need to search around here.” He circled his finger in the air.
Portia stepped between him and the bed. “Don’t you dare touch her.”
He halted, his voice shaky. “Touch her? I-I would never. What do you think me, a libertine?” He leaned down to the floor, probably hiding from his own embarrassment. “I only meant to check underneath.”
“Then hurry it up. Miss Delafield needs her rest.”
He remained on the floor for a minute or two, then rose to his feet, staring at me in the bed before backing away. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Portia followed him to the door, slamming it inches from his heel. “Now”—she turned back to face me—“I will sit with you till you fall asleep. What book would you have me read?”
The bed shook slightly and I thought I heard a muffled laugh buried under the pillows. I hoped Portia hadn’t heard it too.
19
It took several minutes to convince Portia to leave me. When she finally did, she seemed hurt by my sudden change of heart. But I had no time to soothe her feelings. I waited only for the door to click shut before jumping from the bed and tossing pillows and covers aside as if I’d found a spider within the blankets.
I paused, my legs leaning against the mattress, my hand pressed to my chest. Of course I knew what I’d find under all that bedding, but seeing Mr. Sinclair again—hurt yet sleeping peacefully—brought the whole experience rushing back. He lay at an angle, his eyes closed, arms still tucked against his body. The bloodstain on his bandage had darkened to a reddish brown. I touched my brow. We had escaped.
“Mr. Sinclair,” I said aloud, still concerned I’d heard him laugh earlier, but he didn’t move an inch. Perhaps I had been mistaken.
I hurried to lock the door, then scooted the chair Portia had used closer to the bed, my gaze falling to the empty room, my hands working to recover Mr. Sinclair with the linen sheets. How long would it be before Booth felt safe enough to return? I glanced at the small casement clock on the escritoire. He wouldn’t dare chance it before everyone retired for the night. It could be hours.
I closed my eyes for a brief second, Mrs. Chalcroft popping into my mind and giving me a start. Oh dear. My harrowing night was far from over. Mr. Sinclair would have to be left alone so I could make the trip down to Mrs. Chalcroft to assure her I’d destroyed the letter. But what of Portia and the dragoon I’d fooled? I was supposed to be too ill to rise. And what of my present state of dress? Did I dare appear before the captain in my robe?
I glanced down once more at Mr. Sinclair’s sleeping form. I had no choice. If I didn’t go to Mrs. Chalcroft, she would assuredly come to me. I gave his arm a reassuring touch before pulling the coverlet over his head. “We’ve almost made it though. Be good while I’m gone.” I left the room, locking the door behind me.
I found Mrs. Chalcroft taking her leave of the captain at the bottom of the grand staircase. “Ah, Miss Delafield.” Her eyes took in my change of clothing. “Have the dragoons gone from the first floor?”
I nodded, all too aware of how I must look.
The captain spared me a cursory glance before turning back to Mrs. Chalcroft. “I already assured you, madam, my men have cleared the house.”
“Humph.” Mrs. Chalcroft’s bony fingers wiggled their way around my arm. “Then I shall bid you good night, Captain. Hodge will show you out.”
Captain Rossiter bowed. “Thank you for your cooperation, though I am sorry our search was not as fruitful as I had anticipated.” He crossed his arms before turning back. “Oh yes . . . One more thing. Guards will be posted across your property for the remainder of the night—for your protection of course. We don’t want another incident happening on the estate.”
She straightened her back as best she could. “You forget nothing, do you, Captain? I thank you for your concern, even though such a thing is not necessary. Come, Miss Delafield, I am more than ready to retire. You will tell Dawkins I wish to have my dinner brought to my chamber.”
Though she led me slowly up the stairs, we made no real progress until I heard the door close behind me. I leaned down to her ear. “Do not be anxious. The letter was destroyed before anyone searched the rooms.”
She squeezed my arm and let out a slow breath. “Thank you, child.” She stared at me as if something had changed between us. “You have been my sole comfort since your arrival.”
After returning to Mrs. Chalcroft’s room, it took me far longer to leave her for the night than I would have wished, as her nerves were raw. She ate anxiously as I read to her from the novel Waverley, trusting that Mr. Sinclair still slept in the adjoining room. I’d heard no movements through the wall.
Gently, I closed the book, thinking of the letter I’d burned, of Mr. Sinclair and the dragoons, of Thompkins’s death, even of Mr. Cantrell’s offer of marriage. What did it all mean? I felt so much uneasiness; there was so much to doubt. As I crossed the thick rug to leave the room, I nodded to Dawkins, who I believe had long been anticipating my departure.
Silently, I slipped back into my bedchamber, locking the door behind me, and made my way to the side of the bed. Moonlight had crept upon the room in my absence, bathing everything in shadows. I rubbed a chill from my arms before sliding back the covers.
The small movement must have disturbed Mr. Sinclair because he rolled toward me, tossing his head back and forth against the pillow. His eyes blinked open, but they didn’t seem to focus. I reached out and felt his forehead—hot. He thrust
my hand away.
“Shh . . . Mr. Sinclair, it’s me. Miss Delafield.”
His panicked movements calmed almost at once, his eyes clearing before his gaze found mine. He licked his lips. “Oh . . . yes . . . I believe I was dreaming.” He rubbed his eyes. “Though it felt so real.” A slight smile brightened his face as he took a moment to look about. “I am still in your room. Where is Booth?”
“He’s staying away until the household has all retired for the night.”
“Right.” He nodded, but winced at the movement. “I fear I’ve been a terrible trouble to you.”
“No more than usual, but let us not talk of that now. Are you thirsty?”
“Yes, very.”
I poured him a glass of water from the fresh pitcher Booth brought up earlier. “It’s been sitting out a while, but it’s better than nothing. I don’t suppose I can call for a tray. The both of us shall go hungry tonight.”
He met my gaze. “I am sorry—for everything.”
“Forget it. I was only teasing, and I should know better than to do so with a man who was shot just a few hours ago.” I held out the glass then paused. “You do look a little better, but you will have to sit up a bit to drink this. Do you think you can? I mean, does your shoulder pain you terribly?”
He glanced down at the bandage. “It does hurt, but I find I can bear it well enough. Booth forced me to take a dose of laudanum earlier.” He pressed his lips together as he pushed against his good arm.
I tried to help but found myself watching the struggle as nothing but a useless bystander.
One last push and he collapsed against the headboard, gasping. “There. That will have to do for now.”
I waited until he extended a shaky arm before passing him the glass, and he managed well enough on his own. It was only after he’d had a long drink that he squinted at me. “What on earth are you wearing?”
I hoped he couldn’t see the blush I felt splashing across my cheeks. “My night robe, of course.”
In the Shadow of Croft Towers Page 18
