The Thief of Lanwyn Manor

by Sarah E. Ladd

  It was a much more palatable offer, and with Matthew’s recent odd behavior, collaborating with Edwin Richards might be the best option.

  How did everything become so clouded?

  How did his relationships become so complicated?

  As he sat at the desk, hoping to divert his thinking, he assessed the untidy stack of papers. A small folded letter caught his eye. Sealed, with Mr. Matthew Blake scrawled across the top.

  Isaac was in no mood for niceties, and his suspicion regarding his brother ran rampant. He ripped open the letter. Like the letter Matthew had thrown into the fire, it was short—just one word.

  Tonight

  HP

  He tapped the letter against the desk. They were the same initials from the last letter. Isaac stood and paced as he studied the writing, wracking his brain to think of everyone he might know with those initials. And then it dawned on him.

  He froze midstep.

  He knew those initials.

  He knew them very well.

  Had he not been looking for her the entire day, he might not have made the connection, but suddenly the reality shifted into focus: Harriet Prynne.

  Isaac shifted to the doorway and put his head out into the corridor. “Eliza! Eliza!”

  The servant girl appeared around the corner, her eyes wide. “Yes, sir?”

  “When did this letter arrive?”

  She looked at the note in his hand. “About two hours or so ago.”

  “Who brought it?”

  “A village boy. Lenken’s boy, I believe. Shall I fetch ’im?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  Tonight . . . Something was going to happen tonight, but whatever it was could not be good. Harriet Prynne was at Lanwyn Manor. It was not the time for speculation.

  He needed to get to Lanwyn Manor.

  Now.

  Chapter 46

  The story of the curse rang like clanging bells in Julia’s mind.

  Julia paused in her task of folding linens to wipe her forearm across her brow and glance around the birthing room. The afternoon had stretched into early evening. The curtains were drawn. A hearty fire sizzled in the hearth and candles lit every corner. The air in the room smelled stale and ill, thick with wood smoke and uncertainty.

  It would be dusk soon, and yet Jane’s agony continued. It was certain. The child was coming. With nearly every breath she breathed a prayer for Jane and the baby’s safety.

  As it was the accoucheur would not arrive in time. That much was clear. Julia had been impressed with how Mrs. Benson took charge, ordering the servants about, calling on the help of Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell. Julia was doing what she could, but now there was naught to do but wait and pray.

  Aunt Beatrice had been in and out of the chamber. The heat and the sight of her daughter in such pain had broken her, and she needed to lie down to recover. But she’d returned, and despite her pallid coloring, disapproval pinched her expression.

  Aunt glanced at Miss Prynne and then Miss Trebell. “Why are there so many people in here?”

  “They are called gossips, Aunt.” Julia patted her hand. “They are women who accompany the midwife to assist and help ease the mother.”

  “What are you giving her?” Aunt Beatrice demanded as Miss Prynne held Jane’s head and helped her drink from a cup.

  “Caudle. It supposedly eases the pain,” Julia offered.

  “This is not how it was supposed to be!” Aunt Beatrice moaned as she reclined on the settee in the lying-in chamber, garnering the attention of the women tending her daughter.

  “Either you want me to help your daughter or you don’t,” Mrs. Benson snipped from her position by the bed, her face red from heat, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. “If you want me to help you, we’ll do this my way. I can leave.”

  “No, no.” Aunt’s eyes widened. “Stay. Do what you must. I’ll say no more.”

  The hours dragged on. The servants bustled in and out, bringing supplies and taking away anything soiled. Julia sat in silence next to her cousin, dabbing a cool cloth on her brow, knowing full well it did little to ease the pain, but it made her feel useful, and it reinforced that she was here.

  More than once the young mother-to-be called out for her husband. And it broke Julia’s heart. How cruel love could be. Betrayals. Separations. Her own heart ached. The afternoon was so intense that she would forget about seeing Isaac in Mrs. Benson’s house, but then something would remind her of it, and the pain would pierce afresh.

  Julia lifted her head as Mrs. Sedrick appeared. “Mr. Isaac Blake is downstairs and has asked to speak with either Miss Twethewey or Mrs. Benson.”

  “Mr. Isaac Blake?” shot Aunt Beatrice. “What does he want here?”

  “I’m obviously busy,” Mrs. Benson blurted. “Tell him I’ll speak with him later.”

  Mrs. Sedrick turned expectant eyes on Julia.

  She could not turn him away.

  Surprisingly, she realized she did not want to turn him away in spite of everything.

  Besides, he’d done what he could and helped collect Miss Trebell and Miss Prynne. “I’ll go.”

  Julia untied the apron from her dress and left the room. Cool, fresh air enveloped her as she hurried through the darkened corridors. She unrolled her sleeves and did her best to smooth her wild hair as she made her way through the ground-floor landing and dining room. She paused for a moment to take a deep breath before she stepped into the great hall.

  He turned as she entered, and he dashed toward her, his face ruddy from the night’s cold. He reached for her hands. “Julia, I—”

  She pulled her hands back and stepped past him, maintaining her distance. Julia could feel his gaze on her. She thought she had buried the emotions far enough, but at the sight of his hazel eyes, the same sting she had felt while standing outside the Benson cottage resurfaced. She cleared her dry throat. “God willing, the babe will come tonight.”

  “And is your cousin well?”

  “Mrs. Benson has said that we must prepare ourselves.” Julia turned to look out the window into the darkened courtyard.

  “I am sorry for her.”

  His steps approached, and Julia clasped her hands in front of her. Oh, she wanted to pretend that she hadn’t seen him in Mrs. Benson’s home. She wished her feelings could go back to what they were before. But wishing could not erase the memory.

  “Why are you here?” Her words were sharp—much sharper than she intended. “I’m needed upstairs.”

  “I’ve intercepted a note. I fear something dreadful might happen tonight.”

  She jerked, surprised at his words, and turned. “What do you mean ‘a note’?”

  He retrieved a letter from his waistcoat pocket and extended it toward her.

  She eyed it with suspicion for several moments before she accepted and unfolded it.

  Tonight

  HP

  She frowned. It was certainly not in the same handwriting as the letters she had received, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. She flipped it over. “Why, this is addressed to Matthew.” She snapped her head up to see his reaction.

  He stepped closer, and Julia resisted the urge to shrink back.

  “I told you I’d keep an eye on things and watch out for anything suspicious, and I think this fits that description. I don’t know what it means, but I wanted you to be aware.”

  She huffed and handed the letter back to him. “Well, everyone’s thoughts are not quite on jewels and strange noises and odd shadows in the night tonight. My cousin is fighting for her life and that of her child. If you’ll excuse me—”

  She started to push past him, but he reached out and caught her by the arm. He whispered, “Julia.”

  She stopped short at the touch and gasped. The sound of her name on his lips, the touch of his hand on her arm—it was all too much. Her heart jumped wildly to her throat, and the room grew warm. Much too warm. Tears threatened to let loose. They had been simmering below the surface all day, and n
ow she doubted she had the strength to keep them at bay. She swallowed and forced her voice to be steady. “This has been a difficult day. It is a difficult day. Please let me go.”

  “I owe you an explanation. At least let me give you that.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Blake. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Like I said before, nothing has changed, Julia.”

  She stabbed his hand on hers with a glare, then looked to his eyes. “Has it not?”

  Did he think her a fool? A woman to be turned by an apology? Perhaps what she had heard was correct and not just rumors. He and Mrs. Benson were business partners, yes, but their relationship extended beyond that. Didn’t it?

  She was tired. Exhausted, really. Now was not the time for this discussion. She was needed upstairs.

  She turned to leave, and as he moved to follow her, something clattered to the stone floor.

  Julia looked down. A topaz brooch glistened on the floor.

  * * *

  Isaac groaned as the brooch fell from his pocket to the great hall’s stone floor. What a fool he’d been not to secure it further.

  How was he going to explain this without betraying his brother? And since she’d seen him alone in Margaret’s home, he feared Julia wouldn’t believe a word he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that . . . ?” She bent to retrieve it and held it before her, her hand covering her mouth. “It’s my aunt’s brooch!”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “How do you know?” Her large eyes were wide with questions. “And how did you get it?”

  He searched for words. “It’s a difficult story, but I believe it has something to do with this note.”

  Her expression shifted and anger ruled. “I’ve been forced to bear the blame for these disappearances, and you nonchalantly have one of the items in your possession? Should I check you for the necklace as well?”

  Her words smarted as if she’d smacked him across the face. “You misunderstand.”

  She fell quiet. The circles under her eyes seemed darker, her complexion paler. “I find that I don’t know what to think or understand, Mr. Blake.”

  “Surely you don’t think that I—”

  “I don’t know how or why you are in possession of stolen property. But I have the strong suspicion that you may not be the man I thought you were.”

  “Please, I—”

  She held up her hand. “It’s been a most exhausting day, Mr. Blake. Perhaps we can talk another time, but for now, my cousin needs me.”

  Chapter 47

  All was quiet in the lying-in chamber. The gossips—Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell—had been shown to guest chambers for the night. Aunt Beatrice and Caroline, worn out from the day’s excitement, had both retired to their respective chambers. Mrs. Benson sat in a chair next to the fire.

  Julia alone remained at her cousin’s bedside.

  The silence was a refreshing reprieve from the groans and cries of pain. Even the late evening’s darkness fit the mood. Finally calm. Finally peaceful.

  “She’s nothing short of miraculous,” Julia whispered as she looked to the tiny baby slumbering in Jane’s arms.

  The perspiration had been wiped from Jane’s brow, and a tired, happy smile replaced the earlier grimaces. “I only wish Jonathan were here to meet his daughter. He would think her darling, I’m sure.”

  “Of course he would,” Julia cooed, smiling as the baby gripped her finger. “How could he not? Look at how sweet she is.”

  “I hope he’ll not be disappointed she’s a girl.” Jane stroked her finger over the child’s smooth cheek. “He always talked about wanting a son. Although she does have his dark hair.”

  After freeing her finger, Julia adjusted the swaddling around the baby’s face. “Oh Jane, any man would be proud to have such a fine daughter.”

  “How odd that she’s here, in my arms, and he doesn’t even know,” Jane exclaimed absently, as if to herself instead of to Julia. “He’s not even expecting her arrival for weeks.”

  “Mrs. Benson said that happens sometimes—how easy it is to miscalculate.”

  Jane swiped a strand of her disheveled golden hair from her eyes. “I fear the entire day’s made Mother quite distraught. She was so eager for the accoucheur and the monthly nurse, and now I’ve disrupted her plans. Where is Mother, by the way?”

  Julia leaned back. “She’s taken to her bed.”

  “Ah.” Jane cast a glance toward Mrs. Benson. “I am grateful Mrs. Benson was able to come. I fear what might have happened if she had not.”

  “You mustn’t even give that a thought now. Here. Let me put the baby in the bassinet. You must think about sleeping.”

  “But what if she wakes up?”

  “There are women aplenty to help. Are you in much pain?”

  Jane shifted uncomfortably. “I could pretend to be stoic, but I won’t. Yes, I am in a great deal of pain. But one does not remember it—or so I am told.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I will write to Jonathan before I retire and tell him that he has a beautiful daughter and a very brave, strong wife. I’ll assure him that everyone is well and eager to see him. Will that do?” Julia lifted the swaddled child from her mother’s arms and cradled her in her own. “There now.”

  She paced the room for several moments as a warm silence fell over the room. She marveled at the tiny nose, the little eyebrows, the perfect lips. She could not help but smile. The Lambourne women had defied the curse. Mother and child were both well, and every indication was that Jane would fully recover.

  As happy as she was at that blessed outcome, her heart ached at the memory of her interaction with Isaac. Could she have been so blind—again? She had allowed him to kiss her—fully believing his intentions were honorable. She’d trusted him with her concerns. Her thoughts. Perhaps he was telling her the truth about Mrs. Benson, but how could he explain the topaz brooch? Even if he had the most reasonable excuse, would it be worth it to risk her heart again?

  With her thoughts running rampant, Julia placed the child in the cradle, then turned toward Mrs. Benson, who was now packing her bag. She’d been amazed at the woman’s confidence and knowledge, her calmness and strength.

  Awkward silence hovered, broken only by the crackling fire and the howl of the wind outside. At length Julia said, “We’ll have quite a story to tell the child when she’s older about the day she was born.”

  “Indeed, but no birth is without its own unique story.” Mrs. Benson rolled down her sleeves. “It’s my experience children born in strange conditions are born with fire in their veins. They are wild and bold.”

  “She will be more like her father than her mother, then.”

  Mrs. Benson removed her apron and set it aside. She was younger than Julia had thought when she first encountered her. Now, at this close distance, she noticed the opposite was true. She appeared not much older than Julia herself.

  Julia leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry for how my aunt treated you upon your arrival.”

  A faint smile—the first smile Julia had seen her give since she stepped foot in Lanwyn Manor—crossed her lips. “Don’t be. Your aunt was frightened and only wants what she thinks is best for her daughter. Besides, I wasn’t here for Mrs. Lambourne. I was here for Mrs. Townsend.”

  “Where did you learn to care for new mothers so?”

  Mrs. Benson placed the jars and vials back into her bag. “My mother was a midwife. From the time I was very young, I’d assist her.”

  “It must be satisfying to be such a help to others. I do wish I had such a skill. I am quite envious.”

  Mrs. Benson chuckled, as if in disbelief. “You’re envious of me?”

  Julia nodded.

  The widow looked over at the baby, and her stern expression softened. “I fear I owe ye an apology.”

  Julia stiffened. “You owe me nothing.”

  “On the contrary.” Mrs. Benson bit her lower lip, crossed her arms over
her chest, and turned to face Julia fully. “I owe you an apology for what I said to you that day in the village. It was wrong. I was wrong.”

  “Oh no.” Julia waved a dismissive hand. “Please, don’t think on it. ’Twas so long ago.”

  “It’s not easy to lose someone you love, and I loved my husband, Miss Twethewey. I loved him with everythin’ I am. It’s easy to blame those around you when the world does not seem fair.”

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss.” Julia offered her a smile. “You’ve done my family a great service today, and I’m so grateful. Come, the hour is late. I’ll show you to a chamber where you can stay the night. I believe Mrs. Sedrick had one made up for you. I know you’ve said that you prefer to sleep in the lying-in chamber to be close to Jane and the baby, but you probably would like to freshen up.”

  They left the chamber, and the cooler air of the common landing embraced them. Julia lifted a candle and moved to the small bedchamber closest to Jane’s room.

  “You speak of being envious, when in truth it’s I who am envious,” Mrs. Benson said softly. “You have security. Lovely things. No doubt your life will go on as lovely.”

  Julia drew a deep breath. “No one escapes this life without tragedy or heartache. I fear your envy is misplaced, for I really have no security other than an aunt and uncle who care a great deal for me. Perhaps at one time I had a fortunate future, but it’s gone, and my dowry consists of whatever my uncles scrape together. So there you have it. Insecurity.”

  The women shared a smile.

  “Perhaps we are not as different as you think we are, Mrs. Benson.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  Chapter 48

  Isaac stepped out of Lanwyn Manor’s foyer into the frosty night air, and he lowered his hat against it.

  Frustration fueled each step. It seemed every part of his life was hanging on by a mere thread—one second away from snapping.