In the Shadow of Croft Towers

by Abigail Wilson

  My hands shook. I’d known it since I returned to look at the picture in the tower, but the truth felt icily real coming from Dawkins’s stern lips. But I had been right. I was Lord Stanton’s illegitimate child, sent away to grow up in anonymity. I let out a long, low sigh, digesting it all, but then I sat up. If Dawkins took me to the school, could she answer the one question I’d longed to know since that day I’d seen my father’s painting?

  Who was my mother? My mind fretted through everything I’d seen and heard as a dark cold seeped into my core. I thought I might be sick. It was all too clear, the truth laid out before me like a puzzle with a solitary missing piece.

  I pressed my arms against my stomach and tried to keep my voice steady. “You. Are you my mother?”

  A breathless silence swept over the room until a deep laugh erupted from Dawkins’s wiry frame. “Of course not, you fool. You could be no one else but Anne’s ridiculous daughter.”

  It was night when Portia knocked on my door, summoning me to Mrs. Chalcroft’s room, but I hadn’t slept a wink. Troubled by the late hour, I hurried into a robe and tiptoed my way next door.

  Mrs. Chalcroft, my own grandmother, looked tiny, all but swallowed up by the large bed. I found it difficult to look at her now that I knew the truth—that she had tossed me away all those years ago. My initial shock at Dawkins’s disclosure had turned to anger, then disbelief. My world had shifted. Nothing felt real anymore. Not the murders, not the truth. Was I living a dream?

  Dawkins had tucked the eiderdown just beneath Mrs. Chalcroft’s chin, making her appear like a small child.

  I forced myself to the side of the bed where I found the usual chair waiting for my arrival—cold and empty. Before leaving my room, I made the decision to conceal what I’d learned. My complicated grandmother, with all her failings and secrets, could pass in peace. I wanted nothing from her.

  I tucked my hands behind my elbows. “Is everything all right? Are you worse?”

  “I don’t know, my dear.” It was a struggle, but she took a couple of breaths and then continued. “I don’t believe I shall be here much longer.”

  Repressed tears gathered in my eyes, my chest choking as if beneath the pull of a tight blanket. My resolutions were already shattering. I opened my mouth then closed it. What could I say?

  “Don’t say anything trite.” She met my eyes. “I know it all.”

  “Would you like me to send for Mr. Cantrell or Miss Ellis?”

  Her eyes widened and she coughed. “Absolutely not. There is no one I wish to be with tonight but you.”

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  A slight smile lifted her mouth. “I believe you do.” She reached for the glass of water at her bedside and took a long sip. “I have one last package for you to deliver to Mrs. Barineau. It’s for her husband actually, Mr. Barineau.”

  I’m not sure what I was expecting her to declare, but it wasn’t that. “A package?” My voice halted.

  “Yes. It is of the utmost urgency and must go tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I glared at her curtained window, allowing her a chance to listen to the rattling shutters and the howl of the wind. Another storm was brewing out there in the darkness. Like my turbulent emotions, it had been growing all evening.

  Mrs. Chalcroft attempted to sit up but fell back onto her pillow, pain etched across her face. “I wouldn’t ask it of you if it wasn’t a matter of life or death.”

  Life or death? She spoke madness, of course. Was she having another one of her spells? She was the only one in danger of dying. I met her gaze and the keen look in her eye. She seemed sane enough, but unreasonable. I took a deep breath. Even if I braved the cold and wind, the dragoons would be there to stop me before I left the estate—and what then? I would be found carrying a package filled with evidence of high treason. And the murderer still on the loose? No person in her right mind would do such a thing for a mere employer. But this wasn’t just a position, was it?

  I touched my forehead. “Surely there’s another way.” My initial shock seemed to be subsiding into rational thought. “You ask me to risk my life.”

  “I know what I ask of you, but you must believe me when I tell you it has got to be done.” She took a sip of water. “And there is no one else I can ask to do it.” She pressed her lips together. “You once told me you would do anything for me.”

  Every nerve in my body screamed. How dare she ask this of me after abandoning me so many years ago? My muscles itched to walk from her room and never look back. What did I owe her? Nothing.

  But my throat grew thick. No matter what I believed about the past or what I thought I should feel now, whether right or not, I had come to love Mrs. Chalcroft. She wasn’t easy to love, but she had been growing on me since our first encounter.

  She was my grandmother, my only living relative. I had come to the Towers for one solitary reason—to uncover the truth of my past. And I’d found it, oh I’d found it.

  It was then I noticed something I’d not seen before. My grandmother’s hand was balled into a fist, quivering in the candlelight. The grand Mrs. Chalcroft of Croft Towers was afraid, deeply afraid. I sat there a moment without moving, suddenly aware of my strength and my own moral compass. If there was anything I could do for my grandmother before the end of her life, regardless of what had happened to me, I should do it.

  She patted my hand. “You do understand, don’t you?”

  “I understand that you need me, and that is enough.”

  The hard lines on her face relaxed. “You are too good to me. It is difficult to find loyalty in such a world as this. You will carry in your hand something of great importance. Will you take it to Reedwick and find some way of avoiding the blasted dragoons? It must get safely to Mr. Barineau tonight.”

  “I don’t know how, but I’ll try. For you.”

  “That’s my girl.” She motioned behind me. “You must go at once. There is a pair of trousers and a dark frieze coat in the chest beside the wardrobe. Take them, put them on, and stay off the main road. His Majesty’s cavalry is not your friend on this night.”

  I nodded, moving to the trunk to gather up the clothes.

  “Come back to my room when you have finished this wretched work. There will be no sleep for me tonight.” She slipped her hand beneath the edge of the mattress and pulled out a dark-brown satchel.

  I took a moment before accepting it, for what she held was more than just a letter. Then all at once, I grasped it, flipping the strap over my head, trying not to listen to the sound of coins rustling around inside the bag.

  “Mrs. Chalcroft—”

  “Ask no questions, my dear. I shan’t be able to answer them, not yet at least. But soon, hopefully soon.”

  I chose not to state the obvious. That she may not live long enough to tell me. “But if I don’t return?”

  “I shall be forced to take Dawkins into my confidence.”

  I hesitated, nearly dropping the bag.

  Mrs. Chalcroft coughed then lowered her voice, motioning me a bit closer. “I know what you are thinking.” She held up her hand. “Don’t. My relationship with Dawkins is complicated at best. Though I trust her explicitly, she has changed a great deal over the years. You may have noticed that she rarely leaves the house and never to go into town. I could not ask her to deliver this, nor would such a thing go unremarked.”

  I nodded then turned to leave as a thought came to me. “What about Mr. Sinclair? Can I not ask him to accompany me?”

  Her eyes widened. “No. He of all people must be as far away from this business as he can get. Now, you’re wasting time. The night grows cold around us.”

  “Right.” I would be alone in this. Numb, I ambled toward the door, the clothes pressed to my chest, the heavy bag looped over my shoulder.

  I heard her frail voice on the air before I shut the door. “May God go with you.”

  23

  I raced from Mrs. Chalcroft’s room into my own, shedding my robe and nightgown
in one fell swoop. I could picture the perilous journey ahead of me. Darkness, rain, dragoons. Had I any hope of success?

  I pulled up the trousers and fastened them around my waist, my fingers shaking as I belatedly wondered where Mrs. Chalcroft had procured the clothes. The bag she’d given me slipped from the bed onto the floor, landing with a metallic thump. I cringed as I fumbled with the shirt’s front tie, my heartbeat sluggish in my chest. Doubts fought their way back into my mind. Was I a traitor to England? And to all I’d sworn to love? Or worse, abetting a murderer? I shrugged off the thought and focused on the task at hand. All that mattered now was to deliver the package as I had promised to do. It was a promise I might very well come to regret, but I had to try.

  Slowly, I reached out to pick up the bag’s handle, but my hand stilled of its own accord, hovering over it like a snake waiting to strike. Could I do it? Could I really deliver such a thing without knowing what my grandmother had placed inside?

  As my indecision fought to claim me, a deeper voice spoke within. I had come to the Towers for my own selfish reasons. This delivery was a chance to prove my worth, to make a difference. I thought of Mr. Sinclair injured in the woods, Miss Cantrell overcome by her walk. I couldn’t turn away. Not when my family needed me.

  I stood before the full-length looking glass, the bag draped over my shoulder. It was the same oval looking glass I’d gazed into so many times before. Though I saw dark-brown hair and the plain features I’d always had, something was different—I was different. I smoothed the shirt and straightened my back, turning to the side before resting my hand on my stomach. Somehow, some way, the timid orphan girl who arrived cold and scared at the Towers had become a Chalcroft, wild and impetuous, but more than anything else, a lady with a mission.

  I settled the heavy frieze coat over my shoulders and pulled my hair into a tight twist at the back of my head and stopped for a breath. I, Sybil Delafield, would find my way through the dragoons and the rain and deliver a dangerous package because I must.

  And just like that I crept from my room and down the long corridor to the grand staircase. Shadows lay in wait for me, filled with the thick silence and the lingering scent of the day’s fires. The Towers had always slept with a nervous energy, and tonight was no different.

  I rose onto the balls of my feet, taking the curve of the staircase one step at a time, my weight supported by the banister. I was glad I knew which boards creaked and which did not. Thunder greeted my descent to the first floor, marking its own rumbling warning to the already turbulent night.

  I decided to escape through the eastern side door, which was the farthest away from any of the staff bedrooms. Carefully, I passed the kitchen with its lonely corners and yeast-scented air, then went down the moonlit servants’ corridor to the side door, which I slipped through like a fox, quietly securing the old latch back into place behind me.

  Wind gusts swirled my hair, and I turned to find the night alive. Lightning flashed. Tree branches cracked and bent toward the house, scraping the stone exterior like a wiry comb. The muggy air swelled with imminent moisture. I had no time to think or plan. Crossing the yard, I kept to the darkest shadows, aware of the clouds amassing across the sky with menacing thickness, like a dense porridge, choking out any light from the stars.

  The wind was at my back, pushing me on in icy waves as I followed the fence line. I made my way past the head groom’s cottage to the stable complex just as another roll of thunder clambered across the horizon, splaying me against the wall. I panted, and sweat gathered at my neck.

  I could hear the horses shuffling beyond the wooden door. I wasn’t the only one affected by the growing storm. I thrust open the latch and pulled, but the heavy wood only shuddered.

  I tried a second time, but the door held fast. The first drops of rain joined the tears on my cheek and I cried out in anger, “Open up, you—you old wretch of a door! I haven’t time for such stubbornness.”

  As if it understood, the door flung open with such force I almost forget to let go. But the wind took care of that, ripping the heavy latch out of my hands and pinning it against the side of the stable. I reached out to nudge it back the way it had come but decided to leave it as I passed through. I’d only have to open it again on my way out.

  The stables lurked dark and still until a crack of lightning lit the horses’ black eyes and pointed ears; then the room once again plunged into shadows. Wind gusts whipped through the open door, catching the sweet-scented hay and swirling it about like a straw blizzard.

  Cautiously, I made my way down the center aisle and stopped at the second crib on the right. Aphrodite’s. She looked concerned but not afraid. A good sign, but she was prancing in place.

  I retrieved her bridle, girth, and stirrups from the harness room. The metal jingled in the cold air as I returned to her partition. “Good evening, girl. What a night to come, but I need your help.” After a trip to the saddle room, it took me a moment to quiet the horse enough to put the tack on her, but she soon warmed to my touch.

  “What on earth are you doing?” A voice broke the silence.

  I jerked around, my fingers clenched. I assumed it was one of the grooms, awakened from his bed above, then I let out a quick breath.

  It was Mr. Sinclair. I hadn’t heard him come in.

  A thick layer of mud lined his boots. His hair had been tossed wild by the wind, but his clothes looked dry. Hercules snorted behind him, tossing his head.

  I attempted a light response. “Really, I could ask you the same question, sir. Returning so late on such a night.”

  He smiled. “You’re right, of course. And what a night. There will be repairs all over town tomorrow.” He motioned toward Reedwick. “The miserable storm chased me all the way home. I was lucky to get here when I did. How is my godmother? She doesn’t fare well on such nights.” He led Hercules by his leather headstall to his crib while I continued saddling Aphrodite. “Speaking of which, why are you out here in all this? I hope you’ve not been sent on a fool’s errand.”

  Of all the people to find me in the stables. I thought to mislead him but knew lying would be useless. He knew me too well. “I’ve something to do for Mrs. Chalcroft is all.”

  He stepped backward into the aisle to get a better look at me—all of me—confusion lining his face. He watched in silence as I tightened Aphrodite’s girth, the truth finally dawning that I was preparing her, not putting her away. His eyebrows narrowed as he motioned to my attire. “What’s all this?”

  I shrugged off his bewilderment. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss my plans at present.”

  He leaned against the wooden partition. “Don’t tell me you mean to ride out in that getup alone, into this storm.”

  “I promise you, I would not travel on such a night without good reason to do so.” I reached back for Aphrodite’s reins. “Mrs. Chalcroft specifically asked me to go to Reedwick tonight and to trust her. I must ask you to trust me as well.”

  His gaze settled on the bag across my shoulder. I couldn’t read the look in his eyes. “I do trust you—with my life, as you well know.” He raked his free hand through his hair. “Faith, but that doesn’t mean I can allow you to ride in this weather—dressed for mischief no doubt. ’Tis madness out there. And I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Mrs. Plume”—he swallowed hard—“has been killed.”

  “I did know, but you won’t stop me from going, not tonight.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He touched his forehead. “Of all the stupid—”

  “Please, step aside.”

  “No.”

  “It’s no matter.”

  “Well, I daresay you haven’t mounted your horse yet, and I have no intention of allowing you to do so.”

  “But I plan to leave nonetheless.”

  He tilted his chin. “Can you mount without help?”

  “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” I pulled Aphrodite from her crib then shoved his arm. “Your
chivalry is duly noted, but now you must get out of my way. There’s a block right over there.”

  “Miss Delafield.” He softened his voice as he motioned to the trousers. “Tell me what this is all about. You’re being unreasonable.”

  Unwittingly, I turned back to face him. “I cannot say. Mrs. Chalcroft has ordered me to town. That’s all I know. She said it is a matter of life or death. And do you know? I believe her.”

  “If you speak the truth, then by all means, tell me what you carry into this abominable night.” He pointed to the bag.

  My heart sank. “I-I have not been informed, but you have to let me go.”

  A crash of thunder clambered in the distance. He grasped my hand, forcing me to meet his sharp gaze. His voice changed, pleading almost. “Don’t do this. I . . .”

  I paused, arrested by his words, by the connection between us. Did he care so much about my safety? As a friend? Or was it something else?

  As if in answer to my shifting thoughts, his gloved fingers intertwined with mine, sending my pulse racing. My breath caught. Heavens, he felt so good. I had to leave at once or my confidence would fail.

  Scavenging gusts of wind beat against the stable walls as rain tiptoed on the roof. The storm raged with its metallic scent and fury.

  “Sybil.”

  My gaze shot to his at the sound of my Christian name on his lips.

  “What are you hiding?” Hesitation laced his voice, his fingers drawing me to him. “Tell me the truth. Is Mrs. Chalcroft a French spy?”

  I jerked my hand from his grasp, my muscles twitching with indecision. “Your own godmother? What a notion . . .”

  “Sybil.”

  My name had turned into a demand.

  “What do you carry in that bag?” He crossed his arms. “I’ll not be put off—even by you. No more games. This is important. Your life may very well depend on it.”

  I fastened the bag onto the saddle, a wave of cold splashing through my chest. “I’m told letters is all. She corresponds with a few different people here and there. I’ve never been informed why, but it’s not my place to question her. She asked me to bring this to Mr. Barineau tonight. It is of great importance. Now, if you would help me mount. I’ve got to hurry.”