Mist of Midnight

by Sandra Byrd

  “I think she was a credit to her work in India, as well.”

  Lady Ashby smiled benignly. But she flinched, just a little, at the word work.

  “Of course, my dear. How could she not?” She toyed with a tiny piece of roast duck and then set it down again. “We do have some charitable doings here as well. Some to help provide winter coal for the poor. A benefit is held each autumn. Would you like to be involved in arrangements, perhaps organizing decor?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “I’m happy to help in any way. I’ve heard that Lady Ledbury works with the charity.”

  “She’s no longer involved.” One eyebrow rose and she cut into a piece of fowl.

  Due to Mrs. Knowlton? I could not ask Lady Ashby, though.

  She put her hand over mine, briefly. “I knew you would be willing.”

  After supper, she led me round to chat with several other ladies, who warmly welcomed me. Lady Ashby treated me almost maternally. I hadn’t realized how much I’d longed for that until it had, astonishingly, been offered and gratefully accepted.

  Lord Ashby saw me out and waited with me and Mrs. Ross whilst the carriage was brought round. It took a while, as there were several leaving at the same time.

  “I’ve been on a shoot this week,” Ashby said.

  “Splendid!” I said. “As you know, I like to shoot, too.”

  He tucked my hand in his. “Ah, yes . . . Captain Whitfield’s snake. Seems apt, somehow.”

  I didn’t respond to that, not knowing if it was personal and, in any case, not wishing to gossip.

  “Perhaps it’s the shoot,” he continued. “But I’m put in mind of the plover. Do you know much of them, Miss Ravenshaw?”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “The birds are very good at what is called broken wing syndrome. They feign having an injury, to court sympathy in onlookers if only for a moment, in order to divert attention from something important but which they wish to remain hidden. A nest, perhaps. Birds, like people, are defensive of their homes.”

  He was speaking about Luke, I knew, by his tying the two topics together, suggesting that Luke was courting my sympathy through deceit.

  Could he have been correct? It was indeed possible. Could this have been why the people in town had been cool and wary toward Whitfield? I simply did not know what to believe. When I was with him, I felt him to be true and good. Away, and under the suggestion of others, I was not so certain.

  Just then Daniel arrived. “What a splendid outfit,” Ashby said, and as I looked down at my gown I realized that he was talking about the carriage and not my dress. I couldn’t help but be amused by my mistake. Ashby helped me up.

  “Thank you for your gracious presence,” he said, signaling to Daniel that we were settled. “Give thought to what I said about the plover.”

  “I will,” I promised. “I certainly will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Mr. Highmore.” Landreth announced the solicitor into the morning room. I set my correspondence aside, put my pen where it could not blot my letters, and stood to greet him. “Thank you so much for coming out. I’ve been looking forward to your visit.”

  He’d taken off his hat and gloves and took a seat on the sofa. The clear September light shone through the freshly cleaned windows; the leaded light pattern made a lovely design on the wood floor and carpets. A few leaves fluttered against the window as a breeze picked up outside.

  “I’ve had final news from India,” he said. “You’ll be pleased to know that they have unreservedly confirmed your identity and authenticity. There were questions and concerns that only the legitimate Rebecca Ravenshaw could have answered. Captain Whitfield was correct.”

  “Of course, I’ve known all along who I am,” I said. “But it is indeed a relief to have all suspicions put aside as far as the others are concerned—and settle the legal issues. Although I do wonder who the poor woman buried in my family graveyard is.”

  He grimaced. “It is a measure of your kindness that you ­trouble yourself on their behalf, but in honesty, Miss Ravenshaw, she sought to exploit you without second thought. She’s spent your money and as no family is looking for her we can only expect that she’s come from the worst sort.”

  I nodded. “How is the state of my financial affairs?”

  He fiddled with his glasses. “That, I’m afraid, is the bad news. I’ve had some difficulty untangling your fiscal concerns, and I’m not quite finished, though I will be soon. The main expense, over many years, was that your father had funded his mission with his investments, and had paid for others, such as doctors, printing presses for translation, and other ideas. It took some time to gather all the information, but I have it mostly in hand now.”

  Oh dear. I felt quite ill. Very pleased that Father had put his money to serving the Kingdom, and had lived frugally himself. Frightened that I could still be turned out.

  “Your imposter spent quite a fair amount of money on clothing. The repairs on your home have not yet been added up.”

  “Captain Whitfield has already paid for those, correct, and I am to reimburse him?”

  “Yes, that is true, Miss Ravenshaw. Which, when reimbursed, will be a further draw on your frail reserves.” He continued, “My father was authorized to diversify your funds and did so with all fiduciary duty. However, some of them may have underperformed. Because there are many investments, because much was spent overseas, because the properties and funds have been transferred three times in a year, this is taking some months to calculate. All will be clear soon, rest assured, within the month, two at most, I should think. Until then—economize.”

  He left, and after he did, Annie came into the room. In her hand she held a packet of sealed letters. “These came for you from India.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a little surprise.

  “I wanted to make sure you got them.”

  I riffled through them with dismay. “Not the ones I’m looking forward to the most.” I turned toward Annie. “Thank you for bringing these.”

  She nodded in return. “Miss . . . I just wanted you to know. When you first came, that first night, I stood outside your room and then outside of your chaperone’s room, for a while, then in the parlor.”

  “You did?” Great relief settled over me. I hadn’t imagined those footsteps after all! “Why?”

  “To hear if you’d be plotting together,” she said. “We thinking you were the imposter and all.”

  “And the next morning, when I had to push the furniture from the door . . .”

  “I was a little ashamed, miss, to tell the truth. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “The situation is confusing to me, too. Please don’t concern yourself with it any longer. You were doing right by Captain Whitfield.”

  “Yes, miss. Whatever that might be.” She nodded a little and left the room. She didn’t read others’ letters, but she’d implied by her tone someone else did. I knew of one person who had—Luke. He’d told me so himself.

  The next day, an hour or so before my at-home hours, I went out to the coach house to see if Daniel had heard from the cobbler. I walked out to the stable yards for a moment, and then stopped in front of the cannon-proof horse. I put my hand out and she drew near to the edge of her box. I willed myself to be steady, to not flee. She came closer to nuzzle me, and just as her nose and lips touched my hand, I jerked back.

  She pulled back and whinnied loudly. I still scared her. She still scared me.

  I waited for Daniel to finish his work and then asked after the shoes.

  “Oh yes, I’ve just had word,” he said. “The cobbler, he’s done,” he said.

  I smiled. For the first time, perhaps, since I’d been home, I sensed a renewed purpose and I blossomed into it. “I shall have an invitation drawn up for the boy and his
mother to visit shortly, for the afternoon. Will you please deliver it to them, and then fetch them on the appointed day?”

  As I turned to leave, Captain Whitfield rode in with Delia and her sister. “Miss Ravenshaw! I had not expected to find you here.”

  And I had not expected to find Miss Dainley here, I thought, well ahead of visiting hours. But I kept my peace.

  “I thought I might come down and look at the horses,” I said. “I know when you leave I shall have to purchase some of my own. I thought perhaps just two, sturdy enough to pull a carriage.”

  “I’d be honored to help you select them.” Captain Whitfield grew subdued.

  “Thank you, I shall need help.”

  I looked at the two of them. He owed me no explanation, of course, but I wished for one anyway.

  “The horses need more exercise than I can provide them,” he offered feebly. “Miss Dainley has generously offered to assist as often as possible.”

  “How very kind of her,” I said. “I can see that she is an excellent horsewoman.”

  “Would you care to join us some day?” Delia asked. Her smug smile indicated that she knew I would decline. “Seeming to be friends is not always the same as being friends,” Mrs. Ross had said.

  “I shall certainly give the offer every consideration it deserves,” I said. “I do hope you’ll join me for tea shortly, Delia, and your sister, too. I know that Cook has prepared your favorite cake.”

  She said nothing, Luke seemed to hold back a smile, and I turned and walked back to the house angry with myself that I’d let them rile me and then was petty enough to point out that cakes would be served.

  One thing was certain. Captain Whitfield’s charm had lulled me in a way that nothing save the laudanum had, and it might be best, perhaps, if I could find the strength to resist both.

  Within a few minutes Delia had refreshed herself and joined me in the sitting room. Her sister, whom she’d referred to as Mrs. Dewhurst, accompanied her. Annie brought in extra cups.

  “You have such a lovely home,” Mrs. Dewhurst said.

  “Thank you,” I replied. “Our home in India was delightful, too. Cozy.”

  “My sister will leave for India in just a few weeks.” She nodded toward Delia. “I do hope she finds the trip gentle.”

  “Just a few weeks?” I looked at Delia with surprise. “I had no idea the time was upon us so quickly.”

  “Perhaps,” Delia rushed on. “It’s nearly settled, but not completely.” She rubbed her first finger over her thumbnail in an anxious motion; I noticed that the cuticles were ragged; she was normally so well composed.

  She had been both kind and unkind to me. “I shall miss you,” I said, sympathetic to her plight and the rough life I knew was ahead of her. I suspected she thought I held the remedy to that plight, and it was all tied up with my falling hopelessly and immediately in love with Ashby, thereby placing Headbourne out of Luke’s reach. “I have received a first packet of letters from India, and I would be delighted to correspond with you as well.”

  “Did you have many friends there?” She looked hopeful. I know she worried about being marooned. “Tell me about them.”

  “Many friends,” I said, and focused on the English friends, as I knew that was her concern. “Some are wives of commissioned soldiers. One of them used to sew with me, or I should say, I talked while she sewed.” I closed my eyes and remembered. “My friend Lillian married well into the East India Company. I’ve just had a letter from her, finally, and can make an introduction if you’d like. Violet and I spent much of our girlhood together until she moved to Ceylon and a coffee plantation with her parents, though sadly, her mother later died, and her father . . .”

  Oh, dear. This was not the place to bring up that her father had taken up with an Indian woman and had the family cast out from regular English society.

  I turned the conversation back to pleasanter matters. “We girls saved up the money we earned from lace making—she more than I—and bought pretty polished stones at the marketplace.”

  I thought back to our moonlit picnic. “I loved moonstones best. The Romans thought they were solidified moonbeams. Violet liked cat’s-eyes best, as she thought they brought good luck. My mother liked peridot, and while my father did not spend indiscriminately, he did buy her jewels from time to time and gave her some as a wedding gift. Perhaps you shall receive one as a wedding gift, too, as they are quite common in India.” I wish I had Mother’s. Perhaps I could write to India and have them sent.

  Suddenly Delia choked, seeming to have inhaled her tea, and I looked at her with alarm until she was able to breathe clearly again. She set her teacup down and looked a little unwell. I signaled for Annie. “Could you please bring some mint tea for Miss Dainley?”

  Delia shook her head and placed her hand over her teacup but did not speak. Her sister looked on with alarm.

  Delia seemed to recover. “Do go on,” her sister said.

  I picked up the thread where I’d left off. “Weddings are the merriest time of all.” I wanted Delia to look forward with enthusiasm to her wedding in India if she must leave England after all.

  “The newly arrived to India bring news of home, and those long installed copy current English customs. Always, there is champagne and a favor table with little cake baskets and sometimes tins of oysters. The bride is beautiful in her dress, of course, as you certainly will be.”

  Delia stood. “I’m so sorry, please excuse me, I am suddenly unwell and I fear I should leave immediately.”

  I got up and helped her to her feet as her sister rushed to her side. Had something been wrong with the tea? Perhaps it had been the talk of weddings? I’d been trying to help her look forward to it but had, instead, set a foot wrong by bringing up a tender topic. “Landreth, please call the carriage for Miss Dainley and her sister, Mrs. Dewhurst.”

  I saw them away and had not a moment to recover before Lady Ashby arrived for a quarter of an hour with a friend from the coal charity. Two visitors later and the house was at rest again. But I was not.

  Later that night, Michelene helped ready me for bed.

  “You seem apprehensive,” she said. “Was it the visit from Lady Ashby?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “She was perfectly lovely, and has invited me to be a part of the coal charity fund-raiser . . . the one Lady Ledbury has left. I shall play some small role at first. It was that . . . Miss Dainley seemed so strange today.”

  “Riding with the captain?” There was an edge to her voice. Was she concerned for Delia’s sake? Mine? Perhaps for her own, somehow.

  “That,” I said, “and, well, I think she’s just perhaps overwrought to be going to India.” A thought occurred to me. Perhaps she could not afford a wedding dress, and here I’d been carrying on over several visits about them.

  Michelene’s fingers eased then; I could feel it as she ran them through my hair to ensure she’d removed all the pins. “Ah well, assisting the coal charity is one thing, but you cannot solve all the problems of the world, n’est-ce pas? Miss Dainley will have to solve her own problem. It is September. Her fishing boat sails soon.”

  “She’s trying to solve her problem here,” I said grimly. With Luke. There came a knock at the door. I hurriedly pulled my peignoir around me and Michelene opened the door. I could hear that it was Thornton, Captain Whitfield’s valet. Michelene returned with a tray, and on the tray was an envelope with my name written across it.

  Miss Ravenshaw.

  “Shall I read it to you?” Michelene attempted to liberate the card from my hand, but I held steady.

  “No thank you.” I refused to open it while she remained in the room.

  She left and I turned my lamp up higher, slit the envelope, then pulled out the card.

  Rebecca,

  Would you honor me by joining a guest and me at dinner tomorrow evening? He is trans
porting the aforementioned surprise, and I think you’ll find his conversation, in particular, a delight.

  Ever yours,

  Luke

  I ran my hand over the card, knowing he had touched it. I tucked the card in the small drawer in the back of my bureau, where I kept the recent letters from India and the small packet of my mother’s unsent to Honiton. Then I penned my reply.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “I think the green dress would be best,” I said.

  Michelene stood in front of my primary wardrobe. “All right.” She arranged my hair in a big sweep in the back and fastened it with pins.

  “Ooh la la,” she said. “Cinnamon gloss as well?”

  “Perhaps.” I wondered about her. She was clearly attracted to Captain Whitfield, and, truthfully, her experience with him predated mine. And yet she seemed given to making me as attractive as possible tonight. Perhaps that was professionalism. Maybe she flirted with everyone. The French way? I did not know.

  Mrs. Ross and I descended the stairway and I noted, at the bottom landing, that the door to the music room was fully shut. Odd. Perhaps the carpets had been cleaned? Still, that should have been finished before guests arrived. I wondered, with a pang, if this was the last time I would dine with Luke and his guests, perhaps the last of his prearranged social events, as he would surely not invite any more now that my ownership was firmly settled and he was preparing to move.

  Luke, in full uniform, waited at the foot of the stairs. I stopped two steps from the bottom and took him in, though I tried to be discreet. Neither he nor his guest bothered to do likewise. They looked me up and down, the guest seeming to be pleasantly surprised. Luke looked like a man considering me as a first course. It was not a wholly unwelcome feeling on my part.

  Mrs. Ross cleared her throat. “Perhaps introductions are in order, Captain?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you. Mr. Anthony Breame, Miss Rebecca Ravenshaw. Miss Ravenshaw, Mr. Anthony Breame.”

  “How do you do?” I held out my hand. My silver silk gloves reached halfway between elbow and shoulder and shimmered in the candlelight. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”