Light Among Shadows

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

She shrugged. “Ye need not vex yerself about such things. We’ll take good care of ye.”

  Abigail sat back up, allowing the covers to fall to her waist. “I shall know now!” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she felt a sudden urge to cough. Unable to control herself, she flew into a fit of hacking.

  “Now, now, lie down there. I’ll fluff the pillow so’s ye can rest a bit upright, so that cold doesn’t settle farther into yer chest.” As the maid pulled the covers back over Abigail, she seemed sympathetic for the first time that morning. “I’m sure I can find ye another pillow so’s you can have two. Wouldn’t hurt ye none, in such a state ye are.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ye’re welcome.” She placed her hands on her angular hips. “I don’t mind ye none. I know ye’re vexed. Delirious with fever, too, no doubt. Now ye just wait, and I’ll be bringin’ up some hot broth to make ye feel better soon.” She tilted her head toward a bell setting on the table by the bed. “Ye might need to know, I’m Missy. Ye can ring that when ye need me. Will there be anythin’ else now?”

  “Yes. You can tell me where I am. And where is Henry?”

  “I don’t know who Henry is, M’lady. Now just lie back and rest.”

  “I understand. Perhaps you only know him as Lord Hanover.”

  “No, M’lady.”

  Abigail fought the urge to cough. “In that case, I demand to see my father.” To Abigail’s dismay, she realized her voice showed all too well that she was too weak to make demands of anyone.

  Missy shook her head, though the slow motion indicated more sympathy than malevolence. “I can’t help ye.”

  How could that be? Surely Father wouldn’t let her stay in a strange place. “I must send my father a message. Fetch me ink and paper.”

  “Ye are in no condition to write. Things will be settled. All in good time.”

  “All in good time? When is that, pray tell?” Abigail swallowed, resisting the tickle in her throat that pleaded with her to cough. “Does Father know where I am? Because I assure you, when he discovers you are keeping me a prisoner here, he shall take immediate action to see that you and your master, whoever he is, will suffer the most dire consequences.”

  “I think I’d best be gettin’ the housekeeper.” Missy curtsied and exited before Abigail could answer.

  Abigail waited, eager to see the housekeeper. Surely she would provide answers.

  Moments later, footfalls echoed in the hallway. Abigail put on her most authoritative face.

  A thin woman entered. Her most distinguishing feature was her white-streaked black hair. The combination reminded Abigail of a skunk she’d seen in an illustrated book about animals of the Americas. Missy followed closely behind.

  “Miss Pettigrew, I am Mrs. Farnsworth, the housekeeper.” The thin woman’s voice was as hard as Abigail imagined it would be.

  “Yes.” Despite her resolve to look self-assured, Abigail flinched.

  “I understand you are having difficulty adjusting to your new situation.”

  “No difficulty. I merely asked your maid for answers.”

  “You are in no condition to make demands. You are here to get well. You will be told all you will need to know as soon as it is appropriate. In the meantime, cease asking our maid. She knows nothing.”

  “Then why will you not tell me?”

  “All will be revealed in good time.” The housekeeper looked down her nose at Abigail. “If you persist in vexing Missy, who is only following her orders, I shall have to tend to you myself.” The housekeeper’s scowl indicated she would find no pleasure in the task.

  “Very well. But you will have your master to answer to once I am recovered.”

  “Yes, M’lady.” Mrs. Farnsworth’s voice held no warmth, fear, or apology. “Now then, will you be returning to your slumber, or shall I have Missy bring up a cup of broth?”

  “Broth? Why, I was hoping for a nice bowl of hot oats and warm milk.”

  “Not with your sickness. You shall feast on broth or nothing.”

  Abigail opened her mouth to argue, but Mrs. Farnsworth had crossed her arms and planted both feet firmly on the polished floor.

  “Very well,” Abigail said with no enthusiasm. “I shall have the broth.”

  Mrs. Farnsworth gave her a nod of grudging approval. “Missy, please see to it that our guest gets her broth as soon as Cook prepares it.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Farnsworth.” Missy looked at Abigail and broke out into a smile for the first time since she’d seen her. “That’ll do ye good. Just ye rest now. I’ll bring it up along shortly.”

  Too feeble to object, Abigail obeyed. Where was she? As she surrendered to unwanted sleep, she resolved to find out.

  Five

  Days of warm broth and Missy’s constant care soothed Abigail physically, but her soul was still grieved. Why hadn’t Father visited? Surely she couldn’t be so far away from home that he was unable to be with her. Could he be so angry that he didn’t want to see her anymore? Had he disowned her?

  Her fear-ridden thoughts turned defiant. What if he had? What did such a thing matter to her? If Father had disowned her, then she could still rely on her Henry.

  The thought gave her untold consolation. Surely Henry would be arriving soon to save her. As soon as he discovered that Abigail was being held prisoner in a house unknown to her, he would be indignant, even furious. She imagined the enraged expression on his comely face. Realizing the situation was urgent, he would rush in and take her away.

  Once he arrived at the estate, Henry was certain to locate her captor and unleash all his venom upon him. What sort of beast would delight in keeping a lady prisoner? The motive couldn’t be blackmail. Abigail had no secrets to expose. In any event, surely a man who occupied such a stately residence had plenty of money at his disposal.

  Abigail tried to picture the evil man who had brought her here, a monster who had swept her up after she had fainted so she would be unable to protest.

  Perhaps he wore the finest fashions. But even the most finely sewn suit could not conceal his evil nature. No, he was sure to be hunchbacked, his ugly face dominated by a long, hooked nose and a few wisps of gray hair peeking from underneath his top hat. Dim eyes peered through slit lids. His skin was pockmarked. An open mouth revealed teeth of a most unpleasant yellowish brown. Abigail imagined the smell of cheap tobacco and sour wine hanging about him. Snuff stains dotted his neck cloth. She shuddered.

  As soon as he laid eyes on this vile creature, Henry would be even more eager to rescue her. Maybe he would go so far as to challenge her captor to a duel!

  If he did, she would be there to encourage him, to blow him a kiss or two in support of his bravery as he took his ten paces, weapon of choice in hand. A chill went through her as she pictured a silver dueling pistol with an ivory handle. But what if the kidnapper was a sharpshooter? Would Henry succumb. . . ?

  No! The thought was too horrible.

  Henry would be sure to win while defending her honor. Abigail looked about the lavish bedchamber. She recalled the many times over the past few days that Missy had served her, bringing her broth and making sure the fire was always lit. Abigail decided she didn’t really want her captor to pay with his life. After all, he had kept her safe and made sure she was taken care of as she recovered from her illness.

  Henry was a skilled enough marksman to shoot his pistol so that the bullet would merely graze the tip of her captor’s hat. That was the best solution. Henry should teach him a lesson, that’s all. Whoever her mysterious captor was, he had to learn that no gentleman goes about in the dark of night swooping up a lady as she waits to meet her beloved.

  Abigail made a resolution. She would demand to speak to Henry before the duel, to make sure that the unknown man’s hat would take the brunt of Henry’s anger. She would have to plead with Henry to be merciful, of course, but she would be able to charm him into controlling his outrage. A wounded hat should be more than enough to frighten the beastly man into re
alizing that he should have never kept Abigail from her Henry!

  Of course, Father would be present to witness the duel. How impressed he would be with Henry’s marksmanship and courage! Surely such a display of true love and devotion would win Father’s approval. Then nothing could stop them from marrying as planned, and all would be well.

  Abigail sighed. Why did doubt continue to clutch her stomach with its icy fingers? She continued to feel a prompting to pray. Abigail closed her eyes, letting the prayer fall from her lips.

  “Father in heaven,” she murmured, “please let Henry find me soon. Please let him come and take me away from here.” She paused before the next words escaped, almost against her will. “Lord, I know I should not have been a rebellious child. I should have obeyed Father, no matter what his motives for marrying me to someone I can never love. I know You hate rebellion, Lord. I know in my heart I deserve whatever punishment Thou meteth out to me. But Lord, I pray Thou wilt forgive me. And that Father will too.”

  The creaking of the door interrupted her prayer. Abigail opened her eyes.

  “Well, that’s good fer ye,” Missy observed. “Repentance is always good for the soul.”

  “You heard me?” Embarrassed, Abigail averted her gaze. “I did not know you had entered.”

  “That’s all right. I shan’t tell anyone about yer private prayers to God.” She sent Abigail a smile. “If anything, I’m mighty proud of ye. I misjudged ye, girl. The first day I met ye, I never thought I’d see ye so humble.”

  Abigail felt her cheeks flush hot at the reference to her rudeness toward the chambermaid, who had only been doing her job. She was eager to change the subject. “Has Father made any attempt to contact me?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Missy’s forlorn look convinced Abigail that the maid felt sorry for her.

  “Does he not know where I am staying?”

  “Yea, I believe he does.”

  “Then why does he not send me a letter?” An uncertain feeling Abigail didn’t like clutched at her stomach. “I wish he would say something. Anything. I would prefer to be chastened a million times over than to have him say nothing. Unless,” Abigail added, her voice brightening with hope, “he is too far away to make the journey.”

  Missy’s gray eyes took on a sympathetic light. “Ye mean ye still don’t know where ye are?”

  “No.” Even though Abigail felt well enough to emerge from bed and look out the window, she didn’t recognize the grounds of the house she occupied.

  Missy swallowed. “I ain’t supposed to tell ye, but I just hate seein’ a pretty girl so vexed. Ye’re gettin’ stronger ever’ day. Ye’ll be findin’ out soon enough leastways.” She paused.

  Afraid that Missy might change her mind, Abigail prodded her. “Tell me, Missy. Where am I?”

  “I’d rather not, if I can help it.” She brightened. “Do ye feel like risin’ out of the bed?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Then why don’t ye look out the window again?”

  Obeying, Abigail threw the covers back and slid out of bed. When her feet touched the cold floor, she didn’t mind. Just having permission to stand upright was reason enough for celebration. She stood in place for a moment to get her bearings.

  “Are ye all right?” Missy inquired.

  “Yes.” She took a few steps to the window and stared out. Dormant gardens and bare trees greeted her. “Perhaps I would recognize the front lawn.”

  “Ye are lookin’ at the front lawn,” Missy informed her. “Don’t ye recognize the grounds?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Abigail heard the maid let out a tired sigh. “I shouldn’t be surprised. The old master was a recluse for so long that nary a celebration has taken place here in years. I remember well the parties and balls that went on when the lady of the house was alive.”

  Curious, Abigail turned to face Missy. “The lady of the house?”

  Missy looked at Abigail, but the glassy appearance of her eyes told her the maid was somewhere else in spirit, perhaps at an extravagant ball that had taken place many years in the past. She shook her head. “I thought the place might wake up again when the young masters finished their educations, but. . .” The maid sighed. “Oh, never mind. It’s a sin to pine away for somethin’ that can never be. As for you, I’m supposin’ there’s no other way. I’ll tell ye. But first ye must get back in bed.”

  Abigail quickly obeyed.

  As Missy drew the covers over her young charge, she added, “And ye have to promise not to let on ye found out from me.”

  “I promise.”

  “You’re at the Sutton estate.”

  “Pray tell!” Abigail gasped. “The Sutton estate?” She took a moment to let the information sink in. Her head shook in violent denial. “No! How can that be?”

  “Ye don’t remember?”

  “No.” Abigail had tried so many times to recall the events of the night that Henry and she were supposed to marry. She remembered walking to the churchyard to meet him, shivering in a velvet cape hardly sufficient for fighting off the cold. The night had been gloomy, with a freezing drizzle. The memory made her tremble even now.

  Had she gone through this ordeal just to face more humiliation? The embarrassment that not only had her beloved Henry been late for their meeting, but that he had never shown up at all? That he had allowed the hateful rogue, Lord Sutton, to take her?

  “No, I do not remember,” Abigail repeated.

  “I do,” Missy said. “Ye were quite chilled. What were ye doin’ out there in the freezing night, all alone, with barely a decent wrap?”

  “That is none of your affair,” she snapped.

  “Is that so, now?” Missy shrugged. “I suppose ye’re right.”

  Anger replaced chagrin. “Did he tell you why he brought me here?”

  Missy let out a grim chuckle. “I’m supposin’ he didn’t want to leave ye out there to catch yer death.”

  “So he just happened to be passing by at that moment? None of this was planned?”

  “As far as I know.” Missy cast her a look of bewilderment. “What makes ye think he’d be out in the middle of the night lookin’ fer lasses to pick up, eh?”

  “Nothing,” Abigail admitted to Missy. Under her breath, she added, “Although I would not be surprised to learn if he didn’t wander the streets looking for amusement.”

  “What was that? You think me master wanders the streets?”

  “My observation was not for your ears.”

  “Then don’t talk loud enough for a body to hear.” Missy tilted her head. “What makes ye think m’lord is so unsavory?”

  Abigail was tempted to tell Missy all about her master’s reputation as a cad, but she thought better of it. “If you do not know already, then I shall not tell you.”

  “That’s fer the best. Lord Sutton has always been nothin’ but kind to me. I shall defend him ’til the day I die.”

  “Is that so? To each his own, then.” Abigail wondered how anyone could be so loyal to a man with such an undesirable reputation. “I suppose his behavior matters not to you, as long as your wages are paid.”

  “And fer that ye should be thankful,” Missy pointed out. “Seein’ as ye’re not the one payin’ wages fer me to be here with ye every day. Now if there’ll be nothin’ else, I’ll be bringin’ yer meal to ye at the stroke of six.”

  “That will be all.”

  Missy curtsied and exited, leaving Abigail to fume. After pondering her situation, she realized why Father had not visited. “He wants me to stay here and recover, just so I shall feel obliged to Lord Sutton. Then I shall have to marry him!” The thought caused so much rage to stir within her that Abigail once again was attacked by another episode of coughing.

  As she hacked her way through the fit, Missy returned, rushing to her bedside. “Are ye all right?” As though the motion would help her to speak, Missy administered several hard whacks on her back. Not wishing to suffer more, Abigail forced herself to stop
coughing.

  “I am quite well now,” she assured the maid.

  Missy gave her a knowing nod as she handed Abigail a glass of tepid water. “I thought so. Nothin’ like a few good pats on the back to bring up the stuff ye’re tryin’ to get rid of.”

  Abigail grimaced. “I suppose such a state of sickness hardly makes me appear the lady.”

  “Sickness don’t do much for nobody. ’Cept maybe bring out their true character.”

  Abigail wondered what the maid meant. She decided not to ask.

  “Oh my, I almost forgot.” Missy reached her hand in the pocket of her dress. “I have a letter fer ye.”

  “A letter?” Abigail’s gasp threw her into another fit of coughing.

  Missy hurried over to pat Abigail’s back. “If ye get this excited, I won’t be gettin’ yer mail to ye.”

  “Oh, no,” she protested between coughs. “Please do not keep me from my letters.”

  “All right. I know ye must be lonely, with no one but me to talk to.”

  Abigail swallowed. Missy was right, but Abigail didn’t have the heart to admit it. She knew the girl was trying her best in her own way to make Abigail comfortable and to provide as much in the way of companionship as she could. Thankfully, Missy didn’t wait for Abigail to answer before handing her the letter.

  She recognized the fine ivory-colored paper and the seal of the Pettigrew family crest. Large letters scrawled in black ink were as familiar to her as her own handwriting. A victorious smile tickled her lips. Father was writing to announce his imminent arrival to rescue her!

  She could not will her heart to stop its rapid beating, nor could she stop her hands from shaking so badly that Missy was sure to notice. Embarrassed, she swallowed, which led to a renewed series of coughs.

  “Goodness, Child,” Missy consoled, whacking her back. “Don’t be gettin’ yerself so excited now.”

  Abigail nodded, though she had no idea how to obey Missy’s wise counsel. How could she be expected to control the emotions set free by the thought of liberty?

  After Abigail’s coughing subsided, Missy asked permission to leave. Abigail happily granted it. As soon as the maid disappeared, Abigail tore open the letter and scanned its contents: