Bradford shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t have a watch with me. I’m sure Wasson has his. He’s right over there.”
“Of course.” Colin smiled in parting, but his mind was beginning to fit pieces together. Perhaps Bradford was not as ignorant as he proclaimed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Late that night, or perhaps very early the following morning, the rain stopped. The intermittent clouds cleared just enough to allow the white moonlight to stretch to the ground in fleeting glimpses. Isabel checked on Lizzie as soon as she returned from the Atwells and found her sister asleep in her chamber.
Her mind was alive with the evening’s events as Burns helped her undress and unpin her hair. Burns stoked the fire before leaving, and Isabel moved next to the blaze to brush her hair, each movement slower and sleepier than the previous.
She indulged in a yawn and stretched in preparation to retire. A knock sounded at her door.
“Yes?”
Her chamber door cracked open, and Constance stepped inside. “Are you to bed yet?”
Isabel lowered her brush. “Not at all. Come in.”
She rarely saw Constance with her hair down. If it were possible, her cousin was more beautiful now than ever. Instead of carefully controlled curls and elegant gowns, she was in a simple white sleeping gown. It was nice to see her cousin in an unpretentious state, one not overly manicured or primped. She seemed approachable, more vulnerable.
Constance hurried over to Isabel, drew a small ottoman closer, and sat down. “It is so nice to have another woman my age to talk to after such an evening! My sisters and I used to gather and talk about the night’s details. But then, one by one, my sisters left, and I have been alone with no one to talk to. But now that you are here, I thought we could start our own tradition.”
Isabel smiled in response. She understood the idea of camaraderie. The idea of starting a new tradition appealed to her. She returned her brush to the small table next to her and moved closer to her cousin, enthusiasm shaking off her sleepiness.
Constance stretched her fingers toward the fire and sighed. She slumped her shoulders in an uncharacteristic lack of decorum.
Isabel was happy she felt so comfortable around her as to shed her pristine manners.
Constance raised her eyebrows. “Did you have a pleasant time tonight?”
Isabel looked to the darkened ceiling as if to relive the evening’s experience. “I did. It was unlike any dinner I had ever attended.”
“Well, you might as well grow accustomed to such gatherings, for now that you are here you will find that we spend time with those families quite often. Some more than others, mind you, but it at least gives you an idea.”
Isabel leaned her temple against the side of the chair and looked to the fire. There were parts of Emberwilde that were difficult to adjust to, but evenings such as this were intriguing.
“He is quite taken with you, you know.” Constance toyed with the end of a long lock of hair.
Isabel knew to whom Constance referred. “He is just kind, I think.”
“No, no. I have known Mr. Bradford a very long time. All of my life, in fact.”
Isabel did not disagree, but something in her opinion of him had changed over the course of the evening. “I cannot help but wonder why he has not settled.”
“Oh, some men are restless. I think he is of that sort. He has proven himself, and has done his bit for humanity in the way of the foundling home.” Constance ducked her head down and to the side, as if to study Isabel more closely. “And yet, I sense that you are not convinced.”
“I suppose the idea is still so very new. I know I should trust Aunt’s guidance, but something about him seemed a bit different tonight. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“But you cannot judge a man by one night’s interactions. Think of all that he has done in the past.”
“There are just so many unanswered questions that linger in my mind about his character. Oh, I do not doubt his charms. He has those in abundance, but something about him seems amiss at times. At one point Aunt mentioned that he lost his family’s estate. How did that happen?”
“It is a reasonable question.” Constance’s countenance sobered. “In the months following his father’s death, he made poor choices regarding his finances. It was fortunate for him that Mother and Father believed in him enough to support his endeavors, otherwise who knows where he would be today. A loyalty was forged between the families that cannot be broken. A bond of sorts.”
Isabel gave a nervous laugh. She did not know why she should, at this point, begin to question Mr. Bradford’s reputation. “I am sorry if I sound mistrustful. You must know how new this sort of talk is to me.”
Constance waved her hand. “Oh, Isabel, this sort of thing is all I have talked about since I was old enough to form words. My mother has been planning for my marriage for as long as I can remember.”
Isabel wondered what it would be like to have someone fuss over her and plan with her. “I should like to meet your fiancé one day.”
“I’ve no doubt you will meet him very soon.”
Whether it was because she was tired or growing closer to her cousin, she could not help but ask, “Do you love him?”
Constance flinched, as if shocked by the question, and then her practiced smile returned. “I am very fond of him, which is important. But love is not always necessary for a desirable match.”
The remark, which rang with an air of rehearsed exactness, did not sit well with Isabel. She had always thought that if she married at all, it would be for love.
An awkward silence ensued.
“I must say, you seem awfully quiet on the matter.” Constance playfully arched an eyebrow in Isabel’s direction.
An odd sense of self-consciousness washed over her.
When Isabel did not respond, Constance continued. “There were other young men in attendance tonight. Any one of them could be considered extremely handsome.”
“Who do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know, just thinking my thoughts aloud. You are lovely, and you naturally draw the attention of young men.” She looked down and hesitated before speaking. “But Mr. Galloway was the most handsome, do you not agree?”
Isabel could feel the heat rushing to her face.
“Oh, you poor dear!” exclaimed Constance. “You are blushing, and I had no intention of embarrassing you. But as your cousin, it is my responsibility to keep an eye out for these sorts of things, and I watched him. I daresay that Mr. Bradford could well have competition.”
The memory of her time spent in conversation with Mr. Galloway rushed her. She could almost smell the scent of leather that seemed to accompany him always. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Constance laughed. “You can pretend all you want that you do not know what I am talking about, but every woman, regardless of her upbringing, knows when a man is taken with her. Perhaps that is what has put doubts in your mind about Mr. Bradford.”
Isabel bit her lower lip. The memory of Mr. Galloway’s hand on her arm and the warmth in his eyes affected her in a way that no interaction with Mr. Bradford would.
Instead of trying to understand it, she said, “But your aunt dislikes him so.”
“That is true. Do not mistake me, my mother can make a match to rival anyone, but she is so set on a good financial match that she might overlook a match of the heart. Only you can know that.” Constance stood from her ottoman and shook out her gown. She tilted her head to Isabel and smiled a sleepy smile. “As for me, I care only for your happiness and security. I must go to bed now. You should get some sleep too.”
Constance turned to leave, but then she paused. She stepped to the small table next to Isabel’s chair and lifted Mary’s needlework. “What is this? Did you make it?”
Isabel stood and closed the space between them. “My friend Mary gave that to me when I left Fellsworth.”
“What does it say?” Constance tucked her hair behind her
ear and angled the linen toward the light to see. “What a beautiful little poem.”
“It’s a psalm,” Isabel corrected, tracing the stitches with fondness.
Constance seemed satisfied with the answer and straightened. “Hmm. Very pretty. Well, I am exhausted. I am going to bed. Good night, dear Isabel.”
Isabel stood in her chamber and waited for the door to close behind Constance. Linen still in hand, she crossed the room to the window. Her fire was beginning to wane, and the room had become quite dark. She pulled aside the heavy velvet curtain and saw that more of the moon was evident now, its bright white light crisp. Mere hours ago an angry rain pummeled the earth, but soon dawn would arrive, fresh and clean.
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass. How she wished the window would open. She could use some fresh air. Moonlight touched the edges of the Black Wood Forest.
Isabel read the second half of the psalm. In the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.
As if obeying, she lifted her eyes toward the sky. Dawn was still a few hours away, and the unsettling feeling that she was going to have to make more life-altering decisions in the not-so-distant future hung heavily on her heart. How she missed Mary and the advice she would give. Mary was always so confident and self-assured.
Of course, her aunt and cousin meant well, but they had a different way of seeing the world.
Isabel rubbed her finger over the smooth, perfect stitches once again, returned the needlework to the table, and climbed into bed in hopes of being swept away in sleep’s solace.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The night following the Atwell dinner, Colin and McKinney were returning from a nearby village. They’d met with a farmer who saw a child stealing a chicken from his yard.
It was a sad sign of the times, for such crimes were becoming all too common.
Darkness had fallen, and the men were taking the main road past Emberwilde on horseback. It was a chilly night, damp with gray fog. Silence surrounded them, and save for their horses’ hooves on the soft road, all was quiet. Colin fixed his eyes on the woods as they rode past. The mist was shifting, and blackness shrouded all. It was easy to mistake the uneven shadows for moving people. His eyes were tired, but worse than that, his spirit was tired. Even Sampson seemed unusually slow and solemn.
“Long day,” exclaimed McKinney, stretching a large arm over his head to release the kinks in his back. “I told Martha to keep the stew hot until we returned.”
“Good thought,” Colin added, but his mind was far from his stomach.
“Feels like old times, doesn’t it, out and about? Been awhile since we’ve had so many things to tend to.”
“You say that like it is a good thing.” Some men did not mind the business. It could be quite lucrative if one was willing to walk both sides of the law. But Colin was not one of those men, and it made his job all the more difficult.
Their path took them by the foundling home.
How he wanted to go investigate the shed he had seen earlier. He doubted it was being used, for it had been very dusty.
The stone house stood tall in the night air. No lights winked from its windows. No foggy smoke puffed from the chimneys.
But it was not the windows that caught his attention, nor the lack of chimney smoke.
Two men were walking along the school’s fence, near the forest.
Colin slowed his horse’s pace and reached out to tap McKinney’s arm. Once he had McKinney’s attention, he nodded toward the two men.
As they drew closer, one of the profiles was startlingly clear. He recognized the pair as those who had been with Bradford at the boxing match.
Colin jerked his head in their direction to get McKinney to follow him.
They approached cautiously. The lack of light made it almost impossible to tell if the men were armed, but it was wise not to make assumptions. At least he and McKinney were on horseback—a distinct advantage.
“Awfully late to be out in this part of the town, don’t you think, gentlemen?”
“Oh look! It’s the magistrate,” exclaimed Dent, almost amused.
McKinney leaned his arm on his leg and looked down at the men. “You two stayin’ at my inn tonight?”
Dent looked to Stanway before answering. “Yeah. And?”
“Going to be locking up for the night shortly. I’d advise you to return before too much longer lest you be locked out. I’m not about to get out of my bed to let you in.”
“Can’t fault a man for taking an evening stroll, can you now?” Stanway asked.
“We don’t often see strangers here in town this time of night,” Colin stated, not breaking eye contact with the man. “There’s nothing down this road that would concern you.”
“Well now, that’s not your place to say, is it?”
Stanway sniffed in amusement as his friend’s cockiness, but then Dent lifted his hand. “Obviously these men are sensitive about something here. None of our business, is it, Stanway? Like I said, we’re just two men out for a walk to get to know the village. We’re here quite often now, so we might as well learn to make ourselves at home. Didn’t think it was a problem for a man to go for a walk this time of night, but I guess you do things different here in Northrop.”
Colin bristled. It was almost as if a threat was hidden within Dent’s words, a challenge.
Dent shifted, and then Colin noticed an unusual attribute about the man. He was missing his hand.
“Good night to you, gentlemen,” exclaimed Dent.
The two rough men resumed their walk toward the village, and Colin followed them with his eyes.
After the men were out of earshot, McKinney said, “I don’t trust either one of ’em.”
Colin urged Sampson forward. “I don’t either.”
The sky started to drizzle as they headed back to the inn, and Colin could not shake the sense that these men had a part to play in the odd events in Emberwilde Forest. But he still did not have any proof.
At that moment he thought of Miss Creston, and the fear in her eyes as she came running out of the forest a few days prior. Maybe she had seen something. Perhaps it was time to start broadening his search a bit more.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Where was Lizzie?
About a week after her visit to the dinner at the Atwells’, a gentle breeze wafted through the open window, gently lifting the lacy curtains around the canopy bed and teasing wisps of hair around Isabel’s face.
She had asked her uncle about having the nails removed. He had no qualms about it, and only yesterday a footman had been up to take them out. The window, although a bit stuck, now was open. She surveyed the manicured lawns, the lush forests, the vibrant sky, and the puffy clouds.
When they first arrived, Lizzie had visited Isabel in her room each morning. But as she had grown more accustomed to Emberwilde, she became more adventurous and would often venture out before Isabel was even awake.
This was one of those mornings.
Isabel had waited for Lizzie to join her, but when her sister did not come, Isabel rang for Burns, who rose early and would often help Lizzie dress. Within moments the lady’s maid arrived, a tray of tea balanced on her arm. She set it on the table.
“Good morning, Burns,” Isabel said, stepping to the tray and helping herself to a cup of tea.
“Good morning, miss. I hope you slept well.”
Burns stopped short when she noticed the window.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the room as Burns stared. At length, she spoke. “I see the window has been opened.”
“Yes, I asked my uncle and he had the nails removed.”
Burns stepped away from it, shaking her head as she did so. “Maybe you know what you are doing. But I’ve seen things, and I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
Isabel ignored the tremor of uncertainty that coursed through her at the older woman’s words. She did not believe in ghosts or omens or any of the sort.
She quickly changed the subject. “Have you seen my sister this morning?”
“Miss Elizabeth was up with the crows. She had her breakfast in her room and went down to see the horses. Do not fret, miss. If you don’t mind my saying, it is good for the child to be out in the fresh air. There is nothing quite so lovely as dawn at Emberwilde. Everyone says so.”
Isabel could not disagree, for the delicious breeze dancing in the room and the vibrant garden out of the window called to her as true as any birdsong. If this was to be their home, it was only right that the child should be at ease. Isabel had not spoken to anyone about the Emberwilde Forest since her conversation with Mr. Galloway, but the topic ran wild in her mind. At first she thought to warn Lizzie to stay away from it, but she feared that would only pique her sister’s curiosity. In all likelihood Lizzie was down at the stable. She’d become fast friends with Carter, adored Caesar, and was hard at work renaming every pony, horse, and cat.
Isabel swallowed the dread that rebuilt itself nearly every morning. Lizzie should move about freely and without fear. But one glance out of the windows and her heart clamped within her. The stranger’s threat echoed in her mind.
Isabel grew restless as Burns helped her with her stays and took her time fastening the tedious buttons down the back of her gown. Each button seemed as if it were caging her in. She did not want to insult the maid, but her speed seemed impossibly slow, and by the time she reached the final button, Isabel felt about ready to burst from the confines of the gauzy fabric.
Once free, she stepped away. “Thank you, Burns, I can finish from here.”
A frown pinned Burns’s face. “But your hair, miss. I’ve not even touched it.”
From the corner of her eye Isabel could see her unruly, light curls. She had never been out of her chamber with her hair in such disarray. At Fellsworth, she would have been punished for such an oversight.
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