The Trouble With Moonlight

by Donna MacMeans

  “Russian?” Locke frowned across the table at her.

  “Preposterous,” Aunt Eugenia announced. “Nothing but a fairy tale.”

  “I wonder how it would feel to fade and disappear with people watching you . . .” Portia said. “Especially if you were . . . you know . . .”

  “Portia!” Eugenia reprimanded.

  “These so-called Nevidimi come from Russia?” Locke asked again.

  Lusinda stood up, her hand to her forehead. Instantly, the two men were on their feet.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”

  Locke rushed around the table, but as she had been seated next to Ramsden, he was the first to offer his assistance.

  “Perhaps you’ve not fully recovered from your fainting illness,” he offered.

  “Sinda.” Locke took her elbow and peered into her eyes. Her knees weakened. With him so close, and so genuinely concerned, there was the distinct possibility she might faint after all.

  “Are you all right?” he queried. “Perhaps you should lie down. I’ll see you to—”

  “I shall see her to her room, Mr. Locke.” Aunt Eugenia cast him a disapproving look that suggested no more unfortunate accidents would occur under her roof. She took Lusinda’s elbow. “I shall be back momentarily, gentlemen. Please be seated and enjoy your meal.”

  The two ladies walked out of the dining room into the hall.

  Behind her Lusinda heard Ramsden ask, “Sinda? Locke, you would know better than I, but wasn’t Sin a lunar deity in the Arabian culture?”

  Twelve

  LUSINDA WAITED UNTIL THEY HAD REACHED THE top of the stairs before she turned to Aunt Eugenia. “Do you think he knows?”

  “I don’t know.” Aunt Eugenia’s brow creased. “Not many people have heard of the Nevidimi. Why would he mention it if he suspected you were one of them? You’d think he’d keep that bit of information to himself.”

  “Perhaps he was waiting for a reaction,” Lusinda said, “in which case, I gave him one.” She shook her head in remorse. “I should have laughed and pretended it was nonsense.” She’d done that before; why not this time? But she knew the answer. She’d been thinking about Locke, about what couldn’t be no matter how much she wished it. She had let her guard down and failed to concentrate on protecting the family. “What do we do now?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps we should wait to see if this Mr. Ramsden takes any action.”

  Lusinda bit her lower lip, then moved to her bureau and opened the top drawer. “I’ve been contemplating this for some time. Portia is coming into her own now. Her life would be easier if I was no longer a part of it.” She rummaged under the garments until she found the sepia-tinted postcard. “I’ve kept this remembrance from second cousin Diana. Maybe the time has come for me to visit.”

  “America!” Her aunt glanced at her in horror. “I don’t know if I could bear that, child. It’s too far away. What if you didn’t like it, or if we couldn’t manage?” She shook her head vehemently. “Your disappearance might be just the confirmation Mr. Ramsden is looking for, if he believes you to be Nevidimi. Better to do nothing for now, nothing until we are certain.” She took Lusinda’s postcard and slipped it into a hidden pocket in her voluminous skirt. “However, I simply can’t leave Portia downstairs alone. She is so infatuated with that Mr. Ramsden, I’m not sure what she might say.” She looked anxiously toward Lusinda. “Will you be all right here alone?”

  Lusinda nodded. “I have my books. I won’t be alone.” But worry about how much Ramsden knew of the Nevidimi was quickly solidifying into a disagreeable lump in her stomach. Her feigned illness was beginning to feel all too real.

  “One thing is certain,” Eugenia cautioned. “No more public sightings. You’d best stay indoors if there’s a possibility of a partial phase.”

  “Locke is planning for us to attempt another safe tonight. ” Her aunt stared at her in disbelief. Lusinda sighed. “That’s why he came earlier today. He apologized for last night, but he also wanted to remind me of the urgency of finding the list.”

  “But the moon—”

  “He wants to see if I’m capable of cracking the safe in the dark. It doesn’t matter whether or not I’m invisible. He just wants to see if I’m a good thief.”

  “You’ve never been a thief, Lusinda.” Her aunt gently patted her hand. “You’ve taken care of your family the best way you could.” She straightened. “Now, it’s time for me to do the same.” Eugenia glanced in a small oval mirror on the wall and patted her silver hair. “You may rest easy tonight, dear. Your Mr. Locke won’t get past me.”

  Lusinda tried to smile at the absurdity of the words “your Mr. Locke.” Locke belonged to no one and never would. Wishing wouldn’t change that. He told her as much from the very beginning. Her aunt bustled back to her guests, and Lusinda lay on the bed, wishing just the same.

  Later that evening, the light stroke of soft leather on her cheek brought her quickly out of a sound slumber. Before she could scream, a gloved hand covered her mouth. Terrified, she glanced up and saw Locke’s face. Though her heart continued to race, she nodded her head to acknowledge his presence. He gently moved his hand from her mouth, letting his fingers linger a moment on her lips.

  She sat up in the bed, pulling the blankets to cover her night shift. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  Dressed entirely in black, he blended easily into the room’s darkness. “I’m here to collect you for the Pembroke undertaking. Have you forgotten already?”

  She glanced around the room. “How did you get in here? My aunt—”

  “Is sleeping loudly just outside your door.”

  Lusinda listened. Aunt Eugenia, for all her wonderful blessings, had a horrendous snore. Within moments she heard the audible intake of breath and gurgling release.

  “Have you forgotten I’m a spy? A bit of a thief, just like you.” Even in the dark gloom of the room, she could see the white of his teeth in his smile.

  “I’m not a—”

  “Ssssh.” He held a gloved finger to her lips and lingered there. “You don’t want to wake your aunt. Think of the scandal should she discover me here.”

  Lusinda sighed. “She already knows about the unfortunate accident. I wanted her counsel.”

  Locke’s voice dropped to a near growl. “Did she insist we marry? Because I warn you, should that occur I would have to take you far away from London and your family just to provide for your own safety. You would not be happy.”

  Although tempted to disagree, she felt this was neither the time nor place. “I wanted her counsel in the event that I’m carrying your child.”

  Again his finger pressed against her lips. “Perhaps you should dress and we can continue this discussion on the way to the Pembroke estate. It appears we have several things to discuss.”

  Lusinda frowned. “Did you not hear Mr. Ramsden? He already suspects that I’m Nevidimi. I can’t chance being caught in phase again.”

  “I brought you some boy’s trousers to wear. Your woman’s skirts are no good for espionage. If this were for my pleasure, I’d prefer your naked legs especially as tonight even the stars are obscured by clouds.”

  His teeth flashed at her in the darkness, causing her to wonder if this mission wasn’t entirely for his pleasure, after all. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself with little regard for her situation. She didn’t move.

  “Come. There’s little chance that you’ll be able to phase tonight.” His fingers stroked her hand before tugging lightly.

  “All the more reason why you should do this on your own. You managed the Pembroke safe once before; you will do so again.” She pulled her hand out from his, albeit reluctantly. For someone who had avoided touch for so long, she now craved his. But he must understand the difficulty of what he was asking.

  “I can’t.”

  She would dismiss his absurd reply if not for the gravity in his voice. She strained to see his face in the darkness. “I
beg your pardon?”

  “Have you forgotten? I can’t do this on my own. Not anymore. ”

  The darkness seemed to underscore his admission. She waited the length of a heartbeat before she made a decision.

  “Turn your back while I dress,” she whispered. “I know where we can talk and not be heard.”

  He didn’t budge. “Have you forgotten that I’ve seen you naked?” Those teeth smiled at her again in a distinctly lecherous cast. “I see no reason to turn away now.”

  She punched him in the arm.

  He turned, though begrudgingly.

  She slipped from the bed but didn’t bother with the boy’s pants. Instead she pulled a silken morning dress, designed to fit loosely in the event of a forgotten corset. It was one of Lusinda’s favorite garments for that reason alone. She made quick work of the buttons, covered her feet with a pair of slippers, then carefully opened the bedroom door a tiny crack. Her aunt still slept soundly in a chair by the door, her head propped by the wall behind her, her knitting abandoned in her lap.

  With stealth honed by years of her recovery business, Lusinda silently slipped out the door. She didn’t need to turn to see if Locke followed; she knew he was there. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingled whenever he was near. They vibrated in full frenzy tonight. The slightly musky, exotic scent that she had almost tasted during their close-quartered exchange of whispers still lingered in her nostrils, lending the nighttime excursion a dreamlike quality. Though if this were a dream, she wouldn’t be leading him away from the bedroom.

  Lusinda obviously knew the house well enough to negotiate it without the benefit of a candle. She moved silently, effortlessly. A perfect thief, James thought, following close behind, and an accomplished actress.

  He had thought her illness at dinner was a ruse, but he had to be sure. Worry about her well-being had plagued him the moment she had left the room. Without her companionship, the food became tasteless and the conversation dull. The three-hour wait between his departure from her house and his clandestine return had been agonizing. However, based on her deft maneuvering of corners and stairs on two sturdy legs, he suspected she had merely wished to abandon a difficult conversation about the Nevidimi . . . the Russian Nevidimi. He frowned. Yes, they had a few things to discuss.

  Although he hadn’t her knowledge of the surroundings, he followed her effortlessly, guided by the enticing moonflower scent that drew him like a bee to its hive. He would follow her to the gallows, he thought with a smile. However, the smile died when he realized she had done that very thing.

  She had led him outside to an enclosure created by high wooden walls. He could sense, more than see, the unbroken line that would surround them, blocking any view of the gardens and obliterating all touch of a welcome summer breeze. His throat tightened. He couldn’t draw a full breath.

  “What is this place?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  A match struck and a light flared into view. Lusinda placed a glass over the lit candle and set it on the ground, away from the walls. The light bounced off white blossoms of moonflowers that grew profusely on the inside walls, defining their suffocating nearness. A cold sweat broke across his back unrelated to the warm temperatures. Gooseflesh rose on his arms beneath his black shirt.

  Lusinda smiled, her face a beacon of calm and peace in a world grown thick with panic. “This is where I soak up the moon’s rays when I prepare for a night’s work.” She tilted her head up at the black sky. “Though there’s certainly no moonlight available tonight. The absence of stars makes the sky feel close, doesn’t it? Like we’re the only two people in the world, or at least in this spot.”

  She sat on a low bench and indicated he should sit nearby, but he couldn’t bring himself to step further inside the imprisoning enclosure.

  “We can speak in privacy here as long as we don’t raise our voices,” she said. “Shall we begin with those subjects you wished to discuss?”

  He gazed up, wishing he could see the moon and stars, anything to know that a sky existed overhead and not a damp black ceiling.

  Lusinda sighed. “I suspected as much. This was all a ruse to gain my assistance.”

  “I wish it were so.” His voice cracked. He leaned against the gated opening, forcing it to stay ajar, needing to know there was an escape, even if there was no danger.

  “Come inside. This is my private garden. I call it my lunarium.” He could hear a measure of pride in her voice. “It’s safe here.”

  But it wasn’t. Didn’t she understand? It was seeped in danger. Danger that he would be trapped again, buried alive within these walls for months, perhaps years. This time he wouldn’t survive; no man could survive twice. Danger that once Lusinda saw him as the broken man who had returned from that barbarian prison, she would no longer look at him with light in her eyes. That light, which now shone so bright, would dim and eventually die. In her eyes he would be less of a man.

  Bile rose in his throat. His hand shook, but he couldn’t think about that now. He had to concentrate on breathing. He had to concentrate on standing like a man and not sinking to his knees. He had to think about Lusinda, not letting her see, not letting her know.

  The gate swung on its hinges behind him and clicked shut with a sound of a death knell. He was back in that hell of a prison, surrounded by filth and dung. The scars on his back burned with the searing pain that only blood, and sweat, and a leather whip can bring. He couldn’t breathe! Panic gripped at the throat. He couldn’t breathe. His knees gave way and he fell to the dirt. Someone in the distance screamed his name, and an improbable floral scent teased his nose before all dissolved to black.

  “JAMES!” SHE CRIED, FEAR FORCING HER TO ACTION. SHE rushed to his side. “Speak to me!”

  Kneeling in the dirt beside him, she pulled on his far shoulder, turning him till his head lay in her lap. Using a bit of her long, cascading sleeve, she brushed at the dirt on his face. “Speak to me! What is happening?”

  He was breathing, his face contorted in agony. She felt his head. Cold, clammy. Dirt moistened by sweat clung stubbornly to his cheeks and forehead. Why had he collapsed so suddenly, without warning? He hadn’t seemed in any kind of pain when in her bedroom. It was only when he entered the enclosure that he seemed to experience difficulty. Even now his body shook as if he lay exposed on a snowy ground in the middle of winter, rather than on a grassy patch on a warm summer night. She glanced about. The only difference between the enclosed area and the outside were the profusion of moonflowers. Perhaps their scent had somehow caused this problem. She had to get him away from the flowers. She carefully lifted his head from her lap. “Easy, my love. I’ll get you out of here.”

  That, however, was far more difficult than she had imagined. She pulled on his arms without success till she was afraid either her arms or his would pop out of their sockets. Never had she imagined that a man so quick and agile would prove harder to budge than a cairn of rocks.

  “Help me!” she cried to the open windows of her home, well aware of the danger that neighbors might respond as well. Damage to her reputation would be a small price to pay to save James. “Aunt Eugenia!”

  But it was Portia in a summer wrapper who first arrived in the garden. “Good heavens, Lusinda, did you kill him?”

  “Portia, run out to the street and see if Locke’s driver waits. Bring him back here. Hurry,” she added when the girl didn’t immediately run.

  Aunt Eugenia followed close on her heels. “So much commotion! What in heaven’s name . . . Lusinda, what have you done?”

  “I didn’t cause this.” She cringed, surprised to be accused as the culprit. “I wouldn’t hurt him.” She wiped his face again with tenderness and compassion, pain slicing into her heart with every twitch and contortion of his face. “I don’t know what is wrong.”

  Aunt Eugenia pulled her robe tighter. “He looks like he’s having a fit of some kind. We can’t leave him out here. Do you think we can move him into the house?”


  In answer to her question, Portia returned with the driver Lusinda recognized as Fenwick. He tipped his hat to her before glancing at the body sprawled along her side.

  “Mr. Locke has taken ill. Can you carry him into the house?”

  The burly man grunted. Together, he and Lusinda managed to get Locke upright before Fenwick slung him over his broad back.

  “Put him on the divan in the parlor,” Aunt Eugenia instructed.

  “No. Take him to the first bedroom at the top of the stairs,” Lusinda corrected.

  “But Lusinda, that’s your room,” her aunt protested. “Where will you sleep?”

  “I won’t. Not till he’s recovered.” She hurried after Fenwick, imploring him to be careful and ignoring her aunt’s tsk-tsk of disapproval.

  “Portia, be a dear and fetch me a bowl of clean water and a cloth,” Lusinda said as she passed. “Bring it up to my room, love.”

  She hurried in front of the driver and lit the gas jets before assisting with the clumsy lowering of James into the bed. She asked the driver to remove Locke’s boots while she wrote a note to Pickering. Though she wasn’t fond of the man, he obviously cared for James and might provide a clue as to his mysterious and sudden ailment. To her recollection, there had never been a need to send for a doctor in their household. Aunt Eugenia’s herbal potions had kept them all healthy. She wasn’t even sure how to go about summoning a doctor. Perhaps Pickering could assist in that as well. Once she sent the driver on his way, she proceeded to undress James.

  Portia appeared with the water. Her eyes widened as Lusinda unfastened the buttons on Locke’s shirt.

  “Should you be doing that?” she asked with a mixture of suspicion and fascination.

  “The man collapsed to the ground, Portia. His shirt and pants are dirty.”

  “Can I stay and watch?” she asked hopefully.

  “No, you may not,” Aunt Eugenia answered from behind her, placing a hand over the young girl’s eyes. “It’s not appropriate. ”