They both looked at me with surprise, as if they had forgotten I was there. “Men, cotton, rum, sugar... it is all part of the same lifeblood.” Sir Edward gave me an appraising look. “I see you find the business distasteful. But I assure you, they are not men and women like ourselves. Those we can, we lift into civilization; those who cannot be lifted, must serve. It has always been thus throughout history.”
Though I could not claim intimate knowledge of the issue, I had read enough, between the newspapers and the pamphlets circulating in town, to know that many learned men believed it as abominable as it looked to my uneducated eye. “I wonder, Sir Edward, that England needs to engage in such a trade at all,” I said. “Surely our wealth and our might at sea are enough to ensure the comfort of one small island?”
“To check our ambition is to spell our doom, Miss Daniels,” Sir Edward replied. “Remember that Rome fell only when she had inscribed her borders and said, no further. Once you put boundaries on a man? You may as well bury him.” He had picked up his knife and was turning it over and over. “For the good of England, we must press ever outward, we must fight and seize, we must conquer—no matter the price. Believe me when I tell you that England has higher powers to appease than mere morality.”
“Your rhetoric has been honed in coffee houses and clubs, Sir Edward,” my father said. “It is stronger than what we are used to here.”
“And you are reaping the harvest of such weakness,” Sir Edward retorted. “The poverty and idleness that has befallen this county is what I fear for the whole of England, should we yield any facet of our superiority—”
“Sir,” my father said. Despite his tipsiness, there was a firmness in his voice that I had not heard for some time. “My daughter is at the table.”
His tone brought Sir Edward up short. He hesitated, then carefully laid down his knife. “Forgive me,” he said. “It has been some time since I’ve been in gentler society. I am certain my manners will only improve with the excellent examples you both provide.”
Another might have been mollified by his words—certainly my father appeared to be. For myself, however, I felt rigid with an amorphous fear, filled with dread for something I struggled to clarify in my own mind. The man who spoke now of hiring workers and business plans seemed different from the one who had just spoken so vehemently about conquest. I could not help but think that this refined, polite Sir Edward was a mask, hiding another within—and that the hidden Sir Edward, who could casually deal in men as if they were livestock, who had conjured that hideous vision at the dinner party, would have no compunction about slitting a woman’s throat.
I locked my door again that night.
CHAPTER IX
Departures
WHEN I AWOKE in the morning, it was to the wonderful sound of the carriage returning.
For the first time in days, I dressed with enthusiasm, then sat patiently while Mrs. Simmons changed the dressing on my hand. It was an ugly cut, far worse than anything a rough button edge could have done. How had it happened, and why had Sir Edward behaved so strangely? The questions pressed upon me, and yet the prospect of simply closing the door on the whole strange visit was far more appealing.
When I came downstairs, it was to find the house in a state of disorder. Mr. Simmons and the coachman hurried past me on the stairs—to pack Sir Edward’s things, Mr. Simmons explained. My father was busily pulling books from the library shelves and calling out their names to an absent Sir Edward, who was in the dining room with Miss Chase, the lease papers strewn over the table. I demurely helped myself to toast, avoiding Miss Chase’s stare, and withdrew to the drawing room to wait out the chaos.
I had not been in the room since Sir Edward arrived. Now, I found it in a terrible state of disarray, with the chairs pushed against the farthest wall—there were distinct scrapes in the parquet that made me wince—in order to bare the floor for the display of several large maps. Some I recognized at once, for they were simple county surveys; others showed the lines of our property as they had been redrawn after my father sold off the last of several parcels. One map in particular had been singled out and placed upon a table, framed by empty wine glasses and held in place by a large magnifying lens. At first glance, it seemed an odd intersection of lines sketched over an old map encompassing our house, the Fitzroys’, the bay, and the coach road, with Harkworth Hall at the center. All the lines seemed to run to the Hall, like a spider surrounded by its web.
The tunnels.
The one common fact in all the stories about the Hall was that the ground beneath the house was riddled with cellar rooms and tunnels. The kitchen, I knew, was lined with doors, at least half a dozen leading to cellars that led in turn to tunnels and passageways. Some simply ran to outbuildings, sparing servants from crossing the gardens in bad weather. One used to run to a hillock near the coach road, but had collapsed.
And, as my father had described, one opened up directly onto the bay, though a break in the line seemed to indicate damage.
I traced one in particular, running from the southwest corner of the Hall into the gardens. It was the one I had become lost in during that last summer day at the Hall. I had become bored with the games and wandered into the kitchen, where I found a door slightly ajar. All these years later I could still remember the dusty cellar and the gaping tunnel mouth, how the air in the passageway had tasted foul and wet. Several steps into the darkness and I had lost all sense of direction, and ran forward in a panic. After what felt like a lifetime, I had emerged sobbing into a little stone circle engulfed in flowering vines. I believed myself dead and in Heaven... but then the tunnel door slammed shut on me, and I could not find another way out of what turned out to be an overgrown folly. The servants found me by my crying, and I had been secretly relieved when the Archers quit the house.
Looking around our drawing room now, I understood that what I was seeing was an attempt to intimately understand the county, both its physicality and its residences. Perhaps my jab about smuggling was closer to the mark than I knew.
A cough made me start. I whirled about to see Miss Chase standing in the doorway. She bowed slightly, but her gaze was fixed on the bandage on my hand, so intently that I drew it close to my chest.
“Miss Daniels,” she said. “Your father—he sent me to find you, we are about to depart.” She was frowning as she spoke, and suddenly she blurted out, “You cut your hand?”
“It’s merely a scratch,” I retorted. “I am sorry you must depart so soon,” I added, in a tone that made it clear I was anything but.
She seemed not to hear me. “How did it happen?”
“I cannot imagine—”
“How?” Her expression was grim.
“I—I nearly fell, while we were walking,” I said. “Sir Edward caught me. He said one of his buttons was broken, the edge must have cut my hand.” I bit my lip, then added in a rush, “It is far too deep, though, for such an explanation. And afterwards, the handkerchief—”
But I stopped when she raised her hand. She looked outside the room, then closed the door partway and drew close to me. “It had your blood on it?” she asked in a low voice.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Were you close to the water, and did he throw it in afterwards?”
“How did you know?”
“You would not believe me if I told you,” she said, then added quickly, “and we cannot tarry here, he’ll be suspicious of any delay. Only, I beg of you, do not pursue any further relationship with Edward Masterson. His interest is not what you think, and you put yourself at great risk should you align your interests to his.”
She was already opening the door, shooing me out of the room. Once outside, though, I pointedly waited until she took my arm, forcing us to walk closely together to the main doors. I took very small steps that slowed her to nearly a shuffle.
“You sent me those clippings,” I whispered, keeping my gaze straight ahead.
“I did.” She too kept her gaze ahe
ad, pretending to look at our walls.
“Do you honestly believe he killed those women?”
“He is a likely suspect.”
“Then why do you work for him?”
“That, I cannot tell you.” She smiled and nodded as my father appeared in the doorway.
“Does it have to do with why you dress like—like that?”
I felt her whole body go rigid and her arm left mine. “I dress as I please,” she hissed. “If you think my breeches an offense on a par with murder, Miss Daniels, then you are not the woman I took you for.”
“Then we are even,” I whispered back, suddenly furious, “since you are not the man I took you for, nor the man my father still believes you to be. Such impropriety may be acceptable where you come from—”
But I could not finish my tirade. We were at the doors, and she abruptly halted and kissed my hand. “Miss Daniels,” she said curtly, and strode past me into the light.
I followed her out onto the porch, only to be surprised. A second vehicle had crowded into our drive: the familiar landau of the Fitzroys. Diana was just being helped out by Uncle Stuart. She waved to me and I waved back. Beside me, Miss Chase took her leave of my father, shaking his hand, and then retreated to wait by the carriage. Sir Edward was greeting Uncle Stuart while Mr. Simmons helped the coachman lash the last of his luggage to the vehicle.
“I like that fellow,” my father murmured in my ear, nodding at Miss Chase’s back. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders, that one.”
I could not help but follow his gaze, watching Miss Chase as she settled her hat upon her head and twitched her lapels straighter. Her expression was uneasy as she watched how Uncle Stuart clapped Sir Edward on his shoulder, how Diana rushed up to hug me.
“Darling,” she said in my ear, “for goodness’ sake, stop staring! What will Sir Edward think?”
At once, I averted my gaze, too flustered to think of a reply. Thankfully Diana caught sight of my bandage and set to kissing my hand with a little cry of dismay. The soft press of her lips, how she fussed—it was charming, and yet at the same time discomfiting, and I found myself glancing at the carriage once more.
Miss Chase met my gaze directly. She smiled, a strangely sad smile, but before I could react my gaze was cut off by Sir Edward’s looming form. “As I was telling your father,” he said without preamble, “it is my sincerest hope that you will let me repay your kind hospitality and be my first guests at Harkworth Hall. Say, in a week’s time?”
“We would be delighted,” my father replied, beaming. “Perhaps we can all come, eh, Fitzroy?”
“My father has to be gone for some days,” Diana put in, “but I’m sure we can join you later.”
“Following up on some of your recommendations, Sir Edward,” Uncle Stuart added. “I can bring my news with me when we join you and perhaps we can come to some arrangements.”
At the word arrangements, Diana stifled a giggle and my cheeks flared with heat. Everyone looked at Sir Edward, but I could not bring myself to do so. I dreaded seeing his reaction. Oh, I had thought us done with it all, at least for a time. How was it that I was suddenly to be at Harkworth Hall in a matter of days, with only my father by my side?
Now Sir Edward took my hand, with a careful, almost formal gesture, and raised it to his lips. Their touch, though brief, nearly made me shudder, and it was all I could do to keep the same empty smile on my face, keep my gaze on the vista just past his ear. “Then it is decided,” he said. “You will be my first, my most special guest, Miss Daniels. I will be counting the days.”
With a last bow, he turned and strode towards his carriage. Diana gave my arm a squeeze. “All bespoke, and that suit is French,” she purred in my ear. “And you are to be his most special guest? I call that a successful visit, despite you wearing your stays so loose.”
“Diana,” Uncle Stuart said reprovingly, but a smile was playing around his lips.
“A great man,” my father said, as the carriage rolled away. “A very great man indeed. A glass of something, Fitzroy, Diana?”
They assented, but as they turned to go inside I clutched at Diana’s arm. “Are you certain about Sir Edward’s character?” I asked. “Does nothing seem strange about him?”
“Caroline!” There was a hint of exasperation in her tone. “You have been alone in the country for far too long. He is a fine gentleman and you are exactly what he needs.” At the last, she caught herself, softening her voice. “Not everyone can be a princess, darling,” she said more gently. “He is doing great work on behalf of England. It is no small thing to help him in this.”
She gave me a swift kiss, then followed the men inside. Still, I lingered on the porch, running my thumb over the cut on my hand, quietly furious. Neither princess nor pirate, indeed; merely a ninny. I had simply let them plan, I had not spoken up; too, I had wasted that valuable time with Miss Chase. I could have asked her anything—how did she know about the handkerchief? What other criminal acts did she suspect Sir Edward of? Instead, I had attacked her over her clothing, professing outrage when, in truth, my real outrage was that my father could so easily accept her as an equal, while I could barely be suffered to walk a few miles on our own property. Now, I had only my suspicions, where I might have had facts to guide me.
When I finally went inside, I passed the library where my father had taken the Fitzroys and hurried instead to the kitchen to apprise Mrs. Simmons of the change in visitors. When I entered, it took me a moment to find her. She was huddled on a chair in a corner, weeping profusely, her face buried in her apron.
“Mrs. Simmons?” I hurried to her side and wrapped my arms around her. “Dearest! Whatever is the matter?”
“It’s Emily, Miss,” she managed, her voice shuddering. “Yesterday, she went up to Harkworth Hall, to put in her name for employment now that it’s let. But they say she never arrived and no one’s seen her since, and there’s not hide nor hair of her anywhere by the road.” She looked at me, her eyes reddened and full. “Everyone fears the worst.”
CHAPTER X
A Reply
I COULD NOT SLEEP that night. My hand throbbed unmercifully, though it had barely stung the previous night. Again and again I dreamed of the sea, of the roaring waves and that great eye beneath the surface. Only now, instead of myself falling in, it was Emily, and I was reaching, reaching out to seize her as she disappeared into the churning surf—
And then I would awaken, sweating and with a pounding heart, only to repeat the exercise.
At last, I awoke sometime before dawn with my mind awhirl. It was possible that Emily had simply suffered an accident—perhaps she had cut across country, perhaps she had fallen. But she was a native of these parts... and that she had been bound for Harkworth Hall was too great a coincidence. But how could I explain my suspicions to anyone? I had nothing for proof save a few pieces of paper, Sir Edward’s odd behavior, and the dark hinting of Miss Chase—whose motives were as suspect as his.
As I was leaving my room to go to breakfast, I found Mr. Simmons striding towards me and I hurried to meet him. “There is news?” I asked hopefully.
But he only shook his head. “A letter for you, Miss. It came on the first post,” he explained as he handed me the envelope. “I thought you would want it right away, since it was sent so urgently.”
I did not recognize the hand, but the marks upon it told me it came from the next county. My letter, it seemed, had provoked a response, faster than I had imagined.
“I was hoping, Miss, if you didn’t need Missus Simmons, she could come with me this afternoon,” Mr. Simmons said. “To stay with her sister. What with Emily still missing...”
“Of course.” At once I felt a fool for not suggesting the very thing. They could have been away at first light. “Of course you can both go. Take all the time you need.”
His reddened eyes were filling; the sight made my own throat close. With a last, awkward nod I went back to my room clutching the envelope, but I did no
t open it until I heard Mr. Simmons’ steps fade downstairs. Only then did I break the seal and read.
Dear Miss Daniels,
I hope this reply does not shock you with its rapidity—as you were writing out of concern for a houseguest, I wanted to reassure you at once. Your memory of my poor sister’s circumstances is slightly mistaken. Her husband was a Mr. Theodore Masters, not Edward Masterson. The similarity is striking, and it is natural that your mind should have leapt to uneasy conclusions. Indeed, Mr. Masters would have been about the same age as your houseguest, and seems of a similar background, for he too had been a self-made merchant of substantial means. But I believe were we to visit London, we would meet a dozen such men, similar in both name and person—and yet without the peculiar combination of traits that comprised Mr. Masters. Unlike most rational men, he had a particular interest in ancient tales, especially Biblical apocrypha. Indeed, he even called the shipping firm he founded, “Leviathan.” I daresay your Edward Masterson would rightfully scoff at such eccentricities.
As for unusual circumstances regarding my poor sister’s death: the only unusual aspect was that it happened at all. My sister was a timid creature, discomfited by large gatherings and most at ease in our conservatory with its harpsichord. Mr. Masters insisted on their taking daily walks along the coast, which he believed would strengthen her constitution. That she sought to please her husband by accompanying him is a testament to her wifely devotion, but I have never understood why she chose to walk out alone when he was on the Continent on business. It seems the actions of a completely different person—! God willing, one day we will meet again, and I can ask her why she went out that fateful night.
My sincerest hopes that this finds you in good health and puts to rest any concerns you might have. I am grateful that my sister’s fate, however dreadful, still lingers these ten years later, as a caution to young women everywhere.
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