Dawn at Emberwilde

by Sarah E. Ladd

  Isabel’s heart pounded in her chest, and she remained perfectly still until her aunt released her cheeks and was once again seated. The words were strong. Her aunt was clearly emotionally invested in her, but why with such forcefulness?

  Ears still ringing with disbelief, Isabel straightened as the seamstress approached her with another length of yellow fabric and held it before her.

  “Is this more to your liking?” the dressmaker asked, looking past Isabel to Aunt Margaret.

  “Very much so,” her aunt replied, as calmly as if no discussion had taken place. “Let’s use that to fashion an evening gown. Won’t that be perfection?”

  Isabel remained silent as she assessed the fabric with its shimmering lemon hue. Clearly, her opinion did not matter. This was her aunt’s choice. Her aunt’s game. Isabel was but a token to be played, a pawn to be moved about at will.

  She could almost choke on the irony of her situation—for the most part she had been content at Fellsworth. But had not a part of her dreamed of living in such luxury? And now that she was here, was it preferable? Was she happier surrounded by such advantages?

  She let her mind drift back to the foundling home. Seeing the children in the yard did touch her. It reminded her of Fellsworth and what she had been trained to do for the students there. Her offer to help at the foundling home had obviously shocked her aunt, and even Mr. Bradford. But at least she had made her desires known. Her aunt might be a strong, persuasive woman, but Isabel was strong too. Just because she had accepted the offer from her aunt did not give her aunt control over Isabel’s life. And she would not give that away freely.

  The seamstress gave the fabric to Isabel to hold, then turned to her trunk to fetch another sample.

  Aunt Margaret motioned for Isabel to turn around. “While we are on the subject of evening gowns, there is something that I would like to discuss with you before the upcoming dinner party at the Atwells’.”

  Isabel shook off her feelings of mistrust and faced her aunt, bracing herself. “Yes?”

  “It is regarding your dowry.”

  Dread soaked Isabel. This was a personal topic, one she was not ready to discuss.

  But her aunt was determined. “Normally I would never encourage a lady to speak of such things so practically, but as we move forward, I must know the extent of your assets. Have you any?”

  At this, Isabel could feel her chin drop. “No. I have saved a small amount from my wages at the school, but it is nothing of significance.”

  “Do you have any other resources? Any property or possessions to your name? Or Elizabeth’s name?”

  Isabel shook her head.

  “I thought not, especially knowing your father.”

  The stab pained Isabel. Did her aunt even realize the curtness of her tone?

  The air in the room grew heavy, thick, like the skies prior to a storm.

  “Your uncle and I should be able to assist you in that regard. No niece of mine will be without a dowry. But I must remind you—you have been blessed with beauty. Hopefully you will have better sense of it than your mother did and use it to your advantage.”

  Isabel was growing warm. Too warm. This conversation had taken a turn. No longer was this fitting a fun way to pass the afternoon.

  Constance, as if sensing Isabel’s mounting frustration, stood and crossed the room. She waved the dressmaker away and took the fabric from Isabel.

  “Oh, Mother, she has not even met any of the young men in Northrop. There will be time enough to talk of dowries and such.”

  Aunt Margaret did not seem to share the lighthearted tone. “She must be prepared, as must we all, if she is to need assistance.”

  “Of course you are right, Mother. But there is no need to make such decisions today, especially when there are so many other things for her to focus on.” As Constance pivoted toward Isabel, a teasing smile graced her features. “Isabel, you showed interest in helping at the foundling home. Perhaps that would be a good use of your time. It is, after all, dear to all of us. Do you not agree, Mother?”

  Encouraged by the fact that her cousin had heard her suggestion and seemed to have taken it seriously, Isabel seized her opportunity. “I know I could make a difference, and I would welcome the chance to contribute to a cause that is so dear to the Ellison family. I do not wish to be a burden, Aunt. I would be grateful to assist in some manner, regardless how small.”

  Her aunt eyed her with suspicion, then seemed to relent. For how could she deny the importance of the foundling home? “I have always encouraged my girls to look beyond themselves. We shall discuss it in further detail at another time.”

  As if signaling her desire to be done with the conversation, Aunt Margaret stood. “I do not know what this seamstress is about. I have asked several times now to see something in green. I suppose I must inspect the fabrics myself.”

  Isabel’s discomfort melted as her aunt retreated. She stepped off the dressing block and sat next to Constance. The late-afternoon sun slanted through the windows. Constance had such a calming effect. Her ability to defuse a situation was likely a result of a lifetime of practice—of being placed in a dozen such situations and having to handle them with grace.

  Isabel turned to her cousin, eager to remove the focus from herself. “If I may ask, how long have you been engaged?”

  “Of course you may ask!” Constance clasped her hands in front of her. “It is perhaps my favorite topic of conversation. The announcement was made a few months ago, but my fiancé is spending the spring months in Scotland at his family estate.”

  “When will you marry?”

  “As soon as Mr. Nichols agrees to a date. Mother says the sooner I am married, the better it will be. It is always best to secure a man before he has the opportunity to lose interest. Who knows what misfortune may fall to cause a gentleman to change his mind? But of course, you did not hear that from me.”

  Her cousin spoke so matter-of-factly about the arrangement that Isabel wondered if she loved her intended.

  Constance pinned her gaze on Isabel. “Are you not eager to marry?”

  Isabel relaxed, finding it much easier to speak of such things now that her aunt’s scrutiny was elsewhere. “I suppose I always wanted to marry. I guess it just never seemed like an option.”

  “Why, that is the silliest thing I have ever heard! Mark my words, Isabel. You are so lovely, you will turn every head. If I were not already engaged I should be extremely jealous, but because I am so happily situated, I think I shall throw all of my efforts into helping Mother find you a suitable match.”

  Isabel gave a little laugh. “A suitable match does not sound very romantic.”

  Constance threw her head back and laughed. “Romance is all very well, but hardly practical. We must each think of our own future. And yours, I believe, will be bright.

  “So tell me.” Constance nudged Isabel’s shoulder. “What did you think of Mr. Bradford? And be honest. My mother is too engrossed in the fabrics to listen.”

  Isabel drew a deep breath. In truth, she had not been in his presence long enough to form an accurate opinion. “He seems very kind.”

  “I feel he did not give a fair first impression, what with Mr. Galloway arriving as he did.”

  Isabel recognized her chance to get the answers she was most curious about and lowered her voice. “Is that common, to have children just left about?”

  Constance shrugged. “Common? Oh, I wouldn’t say common. I think there have been a couple of children abandoned over the course of the year or so. Fortunately, the foundling home will see they are well cared for.”

  Isabel cast her cousin a sideways glance. “And what of the Galloways? Are they friends of the family?”

  “That is difficult to say. You will find we are a family divided on the Galloways. You see, Mrs. Lydia Galloway, the lady who accompanied Mr. Galloway today, was at one time one of my mother’s dearest friends, although you would hardly know it from their interaction. And Mr. Colin Galloway
was my brother, Freddie’s, best friend. They spent every waking hour together when they were boys, and when it was time for them to go to university, they did so together, and then they joined the army at the same time. He was quite a member of our family. Mr. Galloway has a bit of an interesting past. His father owned Darbenton Court, a small estate just on the outskirts of Northrop. The main house burned to the ground when he was but a child, and he was the only survivor.”

  “Oh, that is terribly sad!” exclaimed Isabel.

  “I would not feel too sad for him, for he has had an otherwise happy life in the care of his aunt and uncle. Even though they enjoy a lower status than his parents, he is the owner of all the land that once belonged to his father. He is actually one of the largest landowners for miles, but you would never know it. He lives in a tiny boardinghouse in town and is considered a little odd in his ways.”

  Isabel frowned but did not ask her cousin to elaborate. He was not quite what he appeared to be, and this fact intrigued her.

  Constance lifted a ribbon and studied it as she spoke. “Because of his status and the land he inherited, he was considered a suitable playmate for Freddie, and so he was here quite often.”

  “If he was as a member of the family, why does Aunt Margaret stand in such judgment of him?”

  “My mother blames Mr. Galloway for convincing Freddie to join the army, and she will never forgive him. You are probably not aware of the specifics, but Freddie was killed in a battle. My father does not share Mother’s opinion, and you will see that Mr. Galloway and my father are still quite thick. After all, he is the magistrate and a strong figure in our small community. You can understand the dilemma.”

  Constance’s countenance brightened. “But now, let’s not think of that. It was all a long time ago. The seamstress is almost done with her work. What do you say to a walk near the village? I am sure you are anxious to learn more about your surroundings, and it is a pleasant afternoon to be out of doors.”

  Isabel could feel her shoulders relax. A few hours away from Emberwilde was just what she needed to clear her mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The hour was quite late by the time Colin trudged over the High Bridge toward the Pigeon’s Rest Inn.

  The day had been a long one. After escorting his aunt to her cottage, Colin returned to Emberwilde. Ellison had been otherwise engaged, so Colin and the gamekeeper Harding had investigated the boys’ claims of a man in the forest. They discovered nothing, but still, he was uneasy. From there he paid a visit to the Holden farm, to one of his tenants, and then to his cousin’s office.

  A late chill had settled over the village of Northrop, and a fine drizzle made it feel more like late November than early April. Colin repositioned his coat’s soggy collar closer to his neck and pulled his wide-brimmed hat low over his eyes.

  His rumbling stomach reminded him that he had missed Mrs. Daugherty’s evening meal.

  Again.

  His landlady was particular about the hours she kept. She held the evening meal for no one. If the hour had not been so late, he would have been tempted to visit his aunt’s house for a warm meal, but she would undoubtedly be asleep by now.

  No, best stop by the Pigeon’s Rest Inn. Besides, he was going to need help finding the parties responsible for the contraband hidden in the Emberwilde Forest, and the inn’s proprietor, Robert McKinney, served as a constable.

  Colin pushed open the door, and the familiar sounds of the village’s only inn and public house rushed him. The abundant fire blazed, its light filling the large room with a yellow glow, and the welcoming chatter of patrons and the clicking of pewter dinnerware filled the timbered space. Scents of burning wood, beef stew, and ale all battled for dominance. Not even a year ago the inn would have been empty at such an hour, but ever since a large carriage agency had reassigned its routes through Northrop, the public house enjoyed an endless stream of new customers.

  Colin allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the room’s flickering light, then spotted McKinney near the back wall.

  McKinney was an easy man to find in a crowd. He was a massive human, by far the tallest man in the village, and his stocky build made him appear much more suited for tending the fields than managing an inn. More than once his brawn had aided him well in his role as constable, and lately, he often utilized his imposing stature to break up brawls between rowdy patrons.

  Colin wove his way between the benches and roughly fashioned tables toward his friend.

  McKinney looked up from the dishes he was carrying. “Galloway! What brings you out in this weather?”

  “Missed the evening meal.” Colin grinned, swiping his hat from his head and shaking the dampness from his hair.

  “Missed your meal, eh? Haven’t seen you in here in a couple of days. Did you take a dislike to my food?”

  “Not at all.” Colin removed his coat and hung it on a hook to dry next to the fire. “If not for the Pigeon’s Rest, there would be plenty of days when I would not eat at all.”

  McKinney took off his apron and rolled his sleeves. “That aunt of yours would feed you. Not like her to let a man go hungry.”

  “True, but the hour’s late now. I’ve no wish to wake her.”

  “Late, he says,” repeated McKinney, amusement adding a comical lilt to his rough tone. “Never mind, good company is always welcome.”

  McKinney motioned to a young woman with black hair and a stocky build, then he ushered Colin to an empty table. “Nice to see a familiar face for a change. This lot in here tonight is a rowdy one.”

  Colin took the offered seat and leaned against the roughly shaped table with his elbows. He glanced around at the proclaimed rowdy lot. Not a single familiar face lurked in the space. Two infantrymen kept to themselves in the far left corner, and another cluster of men sat closer to the fire. Their clothes were not ragged, but it was clear that theirs was not a table of gentlemen. Colin turned his attention back to McKinney. “Place is full.”

  “Humpf,” grunted McKinney, rubbing a thick hand over his unruly beard. He jerked his head in the direction of a thin man sitting alone against the back wall. “That one over there told me the company added three more coaches to this route, so we expect more overnight guests en route to London at least three nights a week. Only have one open bed as it is. I’ll be turning folks away if this keeps up.”

  “That’s good for business.”

  McKinney frowned, annoyance furrowing his wide brow. “Got enough business, don’t need any more. But I know you didn’t come to see how business ha’ been.”

  Colin leaned back as a young woman with a white cap placed a bowl of stew and a pint of ale in front of him, and the same in front of McKinney. The pungent scent of stout ale and hearty broth warmed him.

  “So what business of yours has been keeping you so occupied?” inquired McKinney, leaning back in his seat to let the girl serve him, then spooning the stew into his mouth.

  The two men had been comrades for years, their roles in the community intertwined. Colin kept the peace, and McKinney observed everything about everyone. All the village came through the Pigeon’s Rest at some point or another.

  “I do have a little incident that I could use your help with.”

  “Aha, now we’re getting to it.” McKinney raised a bushy auburn eyebrow and leaned toward Colin as if not to miss a word. “Help as in my cow got loose and I can’t find it, or as in I am the magistrate and need you to keep an eye out for me?”

  “I don’t have a cow.”

  “Then it must be t’other.” McKinney propped his thick forearms on the table, the room’s faint light sparking in his eyes. His expressions might be difficult for a newcomer to decipher, for deep-set eyes and a firm jawline masked any hints. But Colin had known the man all his life.

  Colin cleared his throat, taking a moment to weigh exactly how much he should share about the happenings in the Black Wood Forest. In all the years they had worked together on this project or that, he had always fo
und McKinney trustworthy and, furthermore, silent when necessary.

  “Had an interesting visit out to Emberwilde Hall yesterday.”

  “Ah. Every visit with Ellison is an interesting one, him and his hotheaded ways.”

  “Well, this one was different,” Colin clarified.

  McKinney indulged in a swig of ale and returned the mug to the table with a thud. “Don’t see how.”

  “Seems there is some smuggling afoot in the Black Wood Forest. Or at least, activity that looks like smuggling.”

  McKinney sobered but remained silent.

  Colin cut his eyes toward the loud group of men before turning his attention back to McKinney. “Do you recall the caverns by the Hearne Pond?”

  A sharp laugh burst from McKinney. “Bah! You know me, I’ll not set a toenail in the Black Wood Forest. Never have, never will.”

  Colin lowered his fork, amused by his friend’s response. “Oh, come on. Surely you do not believe all that nonsense.”

  “ ’Tis not nonsense. I’ve seen ’em myself, the black shadows. Conley’s best pointer ran into that forest and died the next day. Do you think that is coincidence? I don’t.” McKinney pointed his spoon in Colin’s direction. “That forest is haunted, and if I were you I would stay away from it.”

  “It’s not haunted,” reasoned Colin. “No such thing.”

  “Say that all you like, I know what I’ve seen.”

  “Do you remember Harding? Emberwilde’s gamekeeper?”

  “Yes, and he’s as odd as they come.”

  “Whatever you think of him, he’s the one who discovered the evidence. Seems someone is counting on everyone’s fear and using the caverns to hide contraband.”

  McKinney leaned forward. “What sort of contraband are we talking about?”

  “Not sure.” Colin pushed the stew away, his appetite fading. “Several casks—at least eight or nine—wine or rum or something of the sort, and a dozen or so crates. That is what we could see, anyway.”

  McKinney folded his burly arms over his chest and frowned. “Sure it’s smuggling? Haven’t heard of that sort of activity going on around these parts. Farther south, sure. But not here. Anyway, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Ellison and his lot get what they get.”