Whispering Twilight

by Melissa McShane

  Whispering Twilight

  Book Four of The Extraordinaries

  Melissa McShane

  Copyright © 2021 by Melissa McShane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Amalia Chitulescu

  For Cordelia,

  in thanks for the loan of her eyes

  Contents

  1. In which Bess makes a new acquaintance and is rudely Spoken to

  2. In which Bess receives an unexpected but welcome invitation

  3. In which catastrophe strikes

  4. In which Bess’s journey takes an unexpected turn

  5. In which Bess renews a reluctant acquaintance

  6. In which Bess meets the natives

  7. In which it is uncertain whether Bess is captive or guest

  8. In which Bess meets an emperor

  9. In which Bess discovers a new talent

  10. In which Bess learns she is not the only one with a secret

  11. In which Bess is offered the riches of an empire

  12. In which an excellent idea is proposed, and is found wanting

  13. In which Sapa Inca’s plan is revealed, and Bess makes a new friend

  14. In which Bess must fend for herself

  15. In which an unexpected ally precedes yet another unexpected turn of events

  16. In which an Extraordinary Shaper’s talent is put to the test

  17. In which Amaya reveals something of her past

  18. In which Bess demonstrates an Extraordinary Speaker’s power

  19. In which a new villain makes an appearance

  20. In which Bess returns home and says an unhappy goodbye

  21. In which Bess’s life returns to normal

  22. In which Bess is asked to conceal the truth

  23. In which Bess’s secrets are public knowledge, for good or ill

  24. In which Bess accepts a recommendation, and must re-evaluate the past

  25. In which Bess becomes an honorary explorer

  26. In which Bess is no closer to discovering Mr. Quinn than before

  27. In which Bess finally realizes what is likely obvious to the reader

  28. In which Bess is terribly mistaken about at least two men

  29. In which Bess is offered a choice that is no choice at all

  30. In which Bess is pressed into unwilling service as a guide

  31. In which an old acquaintance makes an appearance, none too soon

  32. In which Bess regains her talent

  33. In which the jaguar warriors return

  34. In which blood is shed, and an emperor makes a critical decision

  35. In which time is running out

  36. In which the real Mr. Quinn is revealed

  37. In which Bess discourses on the nature of redemption and true love

  38. In which Bess contrives her own happy ending

  The Talents

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Melissa McShane

  Chapter 1

  In which Bess makes a new acquaintance and is rudely Spoken to

  In winter, the Hainsworths’ manor smelled, not of roses from Mrs. Hainsworth’s garden, but of floor polish and the sharp, nose-tickling scent of pine boughs. Bess inhaled deeply, welcoming the familiar smell that told her where she was better than her impaired eyesight could. To her, the grand entrance hall much farther than five feet away was a smear of white walls and the darker swirl of stairs ascending to the first floor. She adjusted her spectacles, which were smoked glass lenses that brought nearer objects better into focus and protected her weak eyes against the bright light of the lamps hanging from the ceiling. The effect was of a perpetual twilight, but Bess had long since ceased to rail against her misfortune.

  A tingling in her temples warned her that she was being Spoken to, seconds before Eleanora Gates Spoke, I wish you were in London tonight. My house is full of guests and you would be so entertained!

  I intend to be entertained where I am, Bess replied. Though I appreciate your thoughtfulness. The connection between them felt like a quivering bundle of filaments, intangible but glowing with a light only Bess could perceive.

  It is all selfishness. I have not seen you in person in nearly five years. You should come to London for the season.

  It is a possibility. Bess’s hand rested lightly on her father’s arm, though she was adept enough at maneuvering that she did not truly need his guidance. The cloth of his greatcoat was rough under her sensitive fingertips. That, too, was a touch of the familiar, grounding her solidly in the here and now. Excuse me, I believe our hostess is approaching. She ended the connection to Eleanora, letting the glowing filaments dull and shrivel, and felt the brief hollow ache in her chest that was the aftereffect of a Spoken conversation.

  A man-sized blur of emerald green drew near, became Mrs. Hainsworth, her grey hair escaping its coiffure in wisps that gave her a silver halo. “Squire Hanley, Mrs. Hanley, welcome,” she said. She extended a hand to Bess. “And dear Miss Hanley. You are most welcome. Have you been home long?”

  “Two weeks, Mrs. Hainsworth,” Bess said. “I am glad to be back.”

  “You must have had so many adventures in India! How dull our company must seem by comparison.”

  “Not at all.” Bess closed her hand more securely on her father’s arm. “I missed my family and all my friends.”

  Her temples once again tingled, and Honoria Devereaux Spoke, Are you at the dance yet? I insist you tell me of your partners just as Mrs. Hainsworth said, “Well, there are many here who wish to renew their acquaintance with you, and I do hope you will enjoy yourself.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hainsworth,” Bess said. To Honoria, she replied, We have only just arrived, and I cannot believe you are so unoccupied as to need the details of this evening.

  Mr. Clendennan is not here this evening, and I am at loose ends, Honoria said.

  Well, I cannot dance and Speak to you at the same time, Bess teased, and if your husband-to-be deserts you, you will have to find other employment.

  Her father shifted his weight slightly, enough that Bess could tell he intended to move, and she let him guide her down the short, well-lit hallway to the Hainsworths’ ballroom.

  Very well, Honoria said, but I expect a detailed report. You War Office veterans are no doubt experts at such.

  The connection ended, and Bess peered at her surroundings. She had attended gatherings at the Hainsworth home many times and knew the ballroom well enough that she did not fear tripping over a wayward chair or addressing the harp as if it were a man. She released her father’s arm, and he said, “Bess, are you—”

  “I feel quite secure, Father, you need not worry,” Bess replied. She smiled at him in reassurance. “I wish to sit for a while. My head aches a little.”

  Her mother had turned away to speak to Mrs. Cavill, whose soft voice sounded like music. Father said only, “Then let me assist you to a chair.”

  “I—very well,” Bess said, and once more took her father’s arm.

  Father found her a quiet corner and patted her hand. “If the pain grows too severe, do not pretend otherwise,” he admonished her, and left her to her solitude. The
ache behind her eyes was not too painful, but she knew from experience that it would grow worse if she were not careful. And she did not intend to permit it to interfere with an evening’s pleasure.

  She closed her eyes behind her dark spectacles and let out a long breath. With her eyes closed, the room with its high ceilings felt smaller, as if it were closing in on her. The sensation unsettled her, but she kept her eyes closed, refusing to give in to irrational fear.

  Her keen ear picked out threads of music as the players tuned their instruments: the mournful wail of the violin, the bird-whistle of the flute, the deeper voice of the violoncello. Footsteps on the varnished wood of the floor told her more guests had arrived. Soon enough, she would be asked to dance, something she enjoyed. Until then, she cherished the quiet murmur of speech and the strands of music.

  John, she idly Spoke, then cursed herself and cut off her Speech before it could fill her with the dread emptiness that was a nonexistent connection. She had very nearly lost the habit of Speaking to him at quiet moments; it was only that she was at a gathering where their mutual friends were in attendance that she had forgotten herself. Had John been a Speaker, how much worse it would have been, never again hearing his Voice. Bess examined her reticulum, searching for someone who might distract her further.

  “Bess!”

  Mama’s voice rang out clearly across the room, a discordant note in the musicians’ chord. Bess opened her eyes and stood, focusing as best she could on the distant blur that was her mother advancing on her.

  “There you are. My dear, do not sit in the corner, there is a draft. I am quite certain you will catch a chill.” Mama took Bess by the elbow and guided her away from her seat. Bess suppressed a sigh. She loved her mother, but Mama’s assistance, unlike her father’s, often made Bess feel like an invalid. But Mama meant only to help, and Bess never wanted to injure her feelings.

  So she permitted Mama to lead her through the swirls of moving color that were men and women conversing before the dancing began. Moving so swiftly through the crowd made her uncomfortable. Though her spectacles improved her vision enough that she was unlikely to run into anyone, she could not help trying to feel her way with her feet, and the rapidity with which Mama moved made that nearly impossible. She heard snatches of voices she recognized, such as her older brother Charles and his nervous wife Mary, and—

  “Lord Cofferey! What a pleasure!” Mama said.

  The room began to close in around her again. Her happiness faded, replaced by a familiar sorrow and, on its heels, the guilt that accompanied it. She had thought Lord and Lady Cofferey would not be in attendance, and more guilt touched her heart, guilt at wishing this encounter ended.

  “Mrs. Hanley. Miss Hanley,” Lord Cofferey said. His face swam into focus as he approached, that familiar dark complexion and deep-set eyes. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and creasing his forehead were deeper than they had been, Bess observed as she gracefully accepted his hand.

  “It is good to see you in company, Miss Hanley,” Lord Cofferey said. His formality made her even more uncomfortable. But the time when he had called her Bess was years in the past—a lifetime’s worth of years. “Lady Cofferey will wish to speak with you, I am sure.”

  “I will be pleased to speak with her, my lord,” Bess lied. The last thing she wanted was more uncomfortable conversation with John’s parents in which his ghost hung heavy over them all, blighting any possibility of normal speech. But Lord and Lady Cofferey were people she did not wish to injure. The death of their only son had caused them enough grief.

  “Excellent,” Lord Cofferey said. “Excellent.” He bowed briefly to them. “I wish you a pleasant evening, Mrs. Hanley, Miss Hanley.”

  Bess felt her temples tingle. She had never felt more relieved to be addressed. “Excuse me, my lord, I am being Spoken to,” she said. It verged on rudeness, but Lord Cofferey simply nodded and turned away.

  “Who is it, Bess?” Mama asked.

  Maria, Bess Spoke, I have not heard from you in days. Are you well? “It is Maria Ellsworth,” she told Mama.

  “Oh, do ask her to give her mother my love,” Mama said.

  I am quite well, Maria Spoke. Are you free?

  Bess tilted her head back to indicate she was Speaking with someone. I am at the Hainsworths’ dance.

  Then I will not trouble you now. Though I simply do not understand your love of dancing. It seems most tedious to me.

  Mama asks to be remembered to your mother. Go back to whatever book you were reading, my dear.

  The connection quivered with the Speech equivalent of a laugh. It is fascinating. Did you know the ostrich has the largest eyes of any land animal? Their eyes are actually larger than their brains.

  Astonishing. Maria’s fascination with natural philosophy made her a wellspring of unusual and interesting facts. I will remember that when next I encounter an ostrich.

  Bess lowered her head and opened her eyes to see her mother watching her expectantly. “It was nothing of importance,” she said.

  Mama frowned. “I hope you will not allow yourself to be preoccupied with Speaking to your reticulum tonight. It is very bad manners to be so distracted.”

  “I assure you I will not,” Bess said.

  “At any rate, I see Mrs. Battel, and we should speak to her,” Mama said. She guided Bess toward a trio of blurs, two of them white, the third puce.

  Bess listened with half an ear to her mother’s introductions and made appropriate noises at appropriate times, but her mind was elsewhere. Maria’s Speech had only been a temporary distraction from the memories Lord Cofferey had stirred up—memories at once fond and painful.

  This was not as she had pictured her homecoming from four years in India, her obligatory service to the War Office as an Extraordinary Speaker. Not that she had given it much thought; she certainly had not pictured herself a conquering hero, deserving of a hero’s welcome. No, it was simply that she had assumed John would be there when she returned. Which was foolishness, because he was an officer in the Peninsula and not free to return home on a whim.

  Had been an officer. Now he was dead.

  She nodded at something Miss Eugenia Battel said and hoped it was the appropriate response. She had grown up with John, he had been her best friend, and everyone had believed they would someday marry. At times, even Bess had believed it, though she knew in her heart she did not love John as well as that. But to come home to the near-universal belief that theirs had been an explicit understanding, that she was mourning the death of her betrothed…it was a burden that weighed her down more than her grief over her friend’s death, a misapprehension she was powerless to correct.

  Most of her friends and neighbors carefully—too carefully, at times—did not refer to John in her presence, and she had grown able to remember him fondly, without the terrible pain that had accompanied the news of his death. But sometimes that care turned into solicitude she felt she did not deserve, and then she felt guilt at not having loved John more. Now she considered how her life might have gone had John lived. Had he, eventually, proposed, she did not know if she would have had the strength to turn him down.

  “Miss Hanley.”

  Bess blinked and focused on Mrs. Hainsworth, whose approach she had not heard. “Miss Hanley, may I make known to you Mr. Pakenham?”

  “No relation to the general,” Mr. Pakenham said. He sounded amused, and Bess adjusted her spectacles to bring him better into focus as she accepted his hand. He had very pale blond hair cropped close to his head and light eyes whose color Bess could not make out. “Miss Hanley, may I solicit you for the first two dances?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pakenham,” Bess said without thinking, and took the gentleman’s arm. Too late she realized the music indicated a sprightly cotillion. She was well enough with a country dance, in which she was never far from her partner, but the weaving and hopping of a cotillion made it difficult for her to keep track of whom she was dancing with. For a moment, she considered b
egging Mr. Pakenham’s pardon and bowing out. But then he would look at her with pity—poor Squire Hanley’s only daughter, blind as the proverbial bat—and pity was something she detested. He will pity you when you fall on your face, she told herself. It was a chance she was willing to take.

  “I understand you are recently back from India,” Mr. Pakenham said as they took their places in the square. “It must be a terrible adjustment.”

  “It is certainly much colder in England, that is true,” Bess said. At this distance, even through her spectacles his outline was blurry, tall and bright-topped with that blond hair, and she kept her eyes fixed on him and let her ears tell her where the other couples were, let her feet feel their way through the steps.

  “I envy you your time in the War Office. I have never done anything so daring,” Mr. Pakenham said.

  Bess stumbled slightly and righted herself before he could offer a hand. “It was mostly quite dull.”

  “Only mostly?”

  “I was involved in thwarting a native uprising and an assassination plot against the Governor-General of India. That was exciting—more harrowing than exciting, in fact.”

  “You see? Daring,” Mr. Pakenham said. “And now you are home, what do you intend to do next?”

  It was not a question she had ever asked herself. “Oh…I imagine I shall do much what I did before I left. I am my mother’s companion, and I assist her in running the household.”