Silence Is Golden

by Sara Ackerman

  William regarded the tiny piece of silver in his outstretched hand and took it into his own, running his fingers over the smooth edges. “My mother was a Papist from the Scottish Highlands. After her family was evicted from their land, they immigrated to England, where my mother met my father, William Blackburn, Senior, also a minister. My mother loved my father, so when they married, she converted and was a dutiful Protestant the rest of her life. But she didn’t give up all of her beliefs.”

  The metal disc spun in the air before them. “Before I left for France, she gave this to me with the promise it would keep me safe. She said even though we would never see each other again in this life, the medallion would reunite us when it was time.”

  “If you will never see each other again, how can you be reunited?”

  The disc stopped spinning, and William looked at him, a sad smile on his face. “My father died while I was in the war. When I returned, I learned through interviews with my old neighbors that my mother left home after my father died. She was coming to find me in France but never made it. For years I have wished to find where she might be.”

  Grabbing Alfred’s shoulders and turning, William pointed off into the distance at the vague shape of a building. It was difficult to see through the rain and fog, but he observed the rising profile of a humble bell tower. “A church?”

  “I took a walk yesterday after the noon meal and found myself there. I rambled into the courtyard and behind the building, where I found a small graveyard. I was tired and discouraged. My quest to find my mother seemed hopeless, and in pursuit of her whereabouts I had lost my way, becoming someone I no longer recognized. With your words ringing in my ears and the evidence of my failure a heavy weight on my soul, I fell to my knees and prayed. The medallion around my neck warmed. I grasped it from my chest, looked up, and saw it. Her grave.”

  “Whose grave? Your mother’s?”

  “Yes. As impossible as it seems, I found my mother’s grave among the other headstones of the tiny church.”

  “You were reunited,” he whispered, awed by the strange turn of events leading his friend to this location. “What a coincidence!”

  “Or an act of God. However you want to put it, I found her. My search is over, and here I will stay.”

  “What? You’re not leaving when another coach comes along?”

  “I’m needed here. I learned the church has remained empty for months. The former minister died, and though the baron who owns these lands has looked for a replacement, he could not fill the position. Until now. He has offered me a handsome living.”

  “Congratulations, William. I wish you happiness in your new post.”

  William handed him the medallion. When he tried to protest, William folded his hand around the warm metal disc.

  “It’s yours, my friend. My journey is done, but yours is beginning. Be well. May God bless and protect you until we meet again.” Shaking his hand, William returned to the house to wait with the remaining passengers.

  “Will we meet again in this life?” he yelled.

  The minister stopped, peered over his shoulder and laughed, his brown eyes alight with an unknown secret delight. “You can count on it!”

  Looping the medallion around his neck, he tucked it underneath his collar, where it nestled in the hollow of his breastbone. With a final glance at the distant, misty outline of the church, he boarded the coach.

  Taking his usual seat in the coach, he looked around the empty vehicle and sighed. He was going to miss William Blackburn and his good company. It looked like no one else was going to board. He knew Mrs. Peabody was still recuperating, and Mrs. Harris and her two children were going to wait for another coach in a couple of days. What of the tiny woman? Her intentions alone remained a mystery.

  The woman was unnatural in her silence and had spoken not a word in the two days they convalesced and waited for the coach to be repaired. By no means was she rude. She helped care for the others and listened when people spoke, but she never contributed. He was curious about her, but noting her absence on the coach he knew he might never know the woman’s quiet secrets.

  A thud overhead signaled the arrival of the driver, and Alfred settled in. Pulling out a letter from his mother, one he had been saving, he had scanned only the first sentence when the door opened and in stepped the young woman he had wondered about.

  The woman’s eyes darted to him, and with a blush, she lowered her gaze and took the seat opposite. The coach lurched ahead. Noting his traveling companion was gazing out the window, he stared as the small woman who was as perplexing as she was beautiful. To be sure, she was handsome, with striking pale blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. If he were a fanciful man—and he wasn’t—he’d swear she was one of the fairy folk who had stepped out of a children’s book, come to play amongst the mortals for a time.

  Whimsical nonsense. Best to keep my head out of the clouds and avoid distractions.

  He straightened his shoulders in a determined effort to leave the woman in peace and tried to force his eyes back to his letter. An impossible task when the turn of her countenance and the elegant lines of neck and cheek begged to be admired.

  What other woman possessed a dense fringe of fine lashes surrounding innocent blue eyes and a tiny, tipped nose like a mischievous elf? Are her ears pointed, too? They would complete his fairy theory! How sad her stylish coil of white-blonde hair was arranged to obscure his view, denying him the chance to see if she were one of the fae folk after all. Stifling a snort at his own silliness, he coughed when his companion shot him a wary glance at his poor attempt to disguise his ejaculation at his own absurdity.

  He was still staring. I need to say something, or she’ll think I’m an imbecile. He cleared his throat. “Looks like it’s the two of us.”

  She smiled and nodded before returning to her stare out the window.

  Rebuffed again.

  Why was she so silent?

  In his experience with his female relations, including his younger sisters, women liked to talk. They had no acquaintance, and she was a single woman traveling alone, but a certain degree of politesse was expected, even amongst strangers.

  It was funny her silence bothered him now. When she first boarded a week ago, he had paid her little attention, as the coach had been too occupied with other travelers for him to note her reserve. With their other companions gone, her unusual quietness filled the coach with its presence and caused him to take note.

  His subconscious stirred, rearing its ugly head. Liar. You noticed her the moment she boarded the coach. His mouth thinned until it was an angry slit, and he shifted, knowing he had been lying to himself. He had noticed her as soon as she boarded. Who wouldn’t? She was a small, delicate-looking woman, but the gentle curves hinted under her traveling cloak were enough to intrigue him into imagining what else her cloak might be hiding.

  She shifted and pulled her cloak against her, almost as if she suspected what was going on behind his hooded eyes.

  “It’s a bit cool for June, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Dewy eyes met his, and he feared she wouldn’t acknowledge him, but she nodded again.

  We’re making progress. Since she didn’t ignore him, he tried again. “Are you traveling far?”

  A quick shake of her head was all the reply he received. He resisted sighing and gave up. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him; therefore, he would not waste another moment on this strange, silent woman. Giving her a final glance and a polite yet cool smile, he picked up his letter with the firm intention to ignore the woman, though he doubted his fortitude in doing so.

  His mother’s letter recounting events from home engrossed him; thus it came as a complete surprise when a dull pain lanced his leg and pulled him away from her account of how the chickens had escaped. He looked around in befuddlement at the intrusion. His traveling companion had roused him from his reading.

  She is so young and fresh, like a fragile flower budding in early spring.

/>   A small gloved hand thrust a pad of paper in his direction.

  “What is this?” Going on about flowers and spring. Pull yourself together, man!

  But she held the pad in her outstretched hand without saying a word.

  He took it.

  A gloved finger pointed to the pertinent page, and he read what was written.

  “You’re traveling to Hasselworth? Why didn’t you say—” His curiosity piqued, he studied her. Awareness dawned. “You can’t talk. Am I correct?”

  The woman acknowledged his guess and gestured for him to return her notepad. Taking the pencil, she scribbled on the pad and passed it back to him.

  “I am Evie Westby. Who are you?”

  His eyes grew wider at the scrawled words on the page. He knew her, or at least of her. Evie Westby, also known as Lady Evelyn Westby, was the younger sister of his employer’s wife. From what little he knew, she and her two sisters had been cursed when they were young. Each sister had been given a different punishment to bear, and he seemed to recall hearing the youngest was mute. Though he didn’t give much credence to curses, her affliction was the most logical explanation for why she hadn’t conversed with anybody since boarding the coach.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Westby. I am Mr. Alfred T. Coombes, solicitor to the fifth Earl of Stanton.”

  Grabbing the notepad from his hands, she wrote, “You know the Earl of Stanton? Do you know his wife, Lady Amelia Stanton?” Those eyes of hers were anxious, and he remembered her sister had run off without telling anyone. She must be concerned about her sister’s welfare and eager for any news of her.

  “Yes.” He smiled, doing his best to reassure her. “I made the acquaintance of your sister. She’s a charming woman.”

  She leaned forward in anticipation and clutched her hands to her chest, waiting for him to share whatever he knew. He recalled his brief time at Ballywith. “Your sister wanted to make the journey to London to see you and your parents, but Lord Stanton didn’t want her to go without him. Since he couldn’t make the journey for another month, and your sister was most anxious to see you and Lord and Lady Westby, I was sent to discuss matters of business concerning Lady Stanton’s dowry. I also was instructed to deliver a letter from her to you and your mother, but I deposited it at Westby Manor before leaving London.”

  She wrote a few words into her notebook and handed it back to him.

  “Is she happy?” he read and glanced at her young face, lined with far too much worry for one so young.

  “Your sister is happy in her new life. If she has any regrets, it’s because she didn’t say good-bye to you and your parents.”

  Though she remained silent, he knew his news pleased her and relieved some of the stress behind the mystery of her sister’s disappearance. She sank back into her seat, a smile of contentment on her face. Her satisfied grin spoke louder than had she screamed her happiness to the world. It told him she took as much pleasure in her sister’s happiness as if it had been her own.

  Noting he was in possession of her pad of paper, he handed it back and decided to ask the question he’d wanted to ask since this small sprite boarded the public coach. “What are you doing on a public coach, my lady, and without an escort?”

  Her easy smile was replaced by an irritated frown, followed by worry, and with shoulders squared, defiance. Taking her small pencil, she wrote.

  He sat back and relaxed into his seat, happy for the first time since setting out on this trip. Seeing the lady’s pale head bent over her writing, with fingers flying across the paper, he hid an amused grin behind his hand. It looked like his quiet carriage ride was at an end, and judging by how much she was writing, there would be plenty of topics for the two of them to discuss over the next several days.

  One could hope. Without awareness of his actions, he fingered the silver medallion he wore at his neck. Some part of his mind noted its increasing warmth, almost as if it were being heated from within, but as his attention was focused on the woman across from him, he paid it no mind.

  Chapter 3

  Sinking into the small washtub the efficient maid at The Hare and Hound had brought her, Evie leaned her head against the rim and sighed in satisfaction. After another disastrous day of traveling upon washed-out roads filled with downed trees and hazardous holes, the hot water lapping over her sore muscles was a blissful treat.

  Disaster had struck their coach yet again, but this time she hadn’t minded. She had enjoyed Mr. Coombes’s company and hadn’t noted the passing time. He was an easy conversationalist, and apart from their initial conflict about her travel plans, a discussion where he treated her like a little girl instead of the adult she was, he had been pleasant and kind. Thus it came as a complete shock when the coachman informed them they would be stopping at the Hare and Hound for the night while he attempted to repair the coach. She and Mr. Coombes had walked through the mud and the rain to the inn, both in good humor despite the finicky coach.

  “He’s so unlike Alex, though!” she exclaimed with a laugh. Taking the soap the maid had left her, she lathered her arms and compared Mr. Coombes to Lord Newgate.

  No two men were more dissimilar. Appearances aside, their personalities were as different as night and day. Alex was easygoing and carefree. He liked to laugh and have a good time as much as she, while Mr. Coombes, despite his young age, was a somber, responsible man.

  “Not to say Alex isn’t responsible.” Disloyalty to her betrothed sat heavily in her stomach, and she was quick to defend her beloved. “After all, he is going to be an earl one day. Because he hasn’t yet taken on any of those duties doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of doing so.” She was pleased with her logic.

  Unbidden, an image of Alex at the gaming tables came to mind. He loved to play and enjoyed gambling away his father’s money even more. On several occasions she had asked him if it wouldn’t be better to not waste so much money, but he had patted her on the head and asked, “What, this?” Gesturing to the pile of money he had lost at the tables, over a thousand pounds, he had been unrepentant. “Pocket change. Father will never miss it.” With a promise to waltz before supper, he had turned back to the tables and forgotten all about her.

  “How irresponsible.” Another irresponsible trait surfaced. Alex liked to frequent the horse races, too, and often lost hundreds of pounds on ill-advised wagers.

  Rinsing her arms with the warm water, unease and worry clouded her mind. The more she contemplated a future with Alex, the more she worried. Maybe he wasn’t as perfect as she had imagined.

  Once again she questioned if she was doing the right thing by trying to change his mind about their betrothal. Grabbing her towel, she stood and stepped out of the tub. She dried off and walked naked to the fireplace, where she warmed her body and spread her hair out to dry in front of the flickering fire. The flames heated her skin, and soon her hair was drying into wispy strands floating about her face.

  “The woes of thin hair.” She had always hated her hair. Aside from being an unusual color, it was thin and lifeless. While she never wanted to be anybody else but herself, sometimes she wished to trade places with her older sister Amelia for one day, to revel in the luxury of a thick, curly crown of hair.

  She was so distracted, imagining herself in possession of this enviable hair, she missed the muted click of the door. Nor did she register the other presence in the room with her until she heard, “Holy Mother of God!” spoken in a strangled masculine voice.

  Her head whipped around, and she spied Mr. Coombes standing in the doorway, his mouth agape and his eyes alight with a strange intensity. He licked his lips, a shocking reminder to her of how exposed she was. For several moments the two stared at each other, until he took a step forward, and she snapped out of whatever trance held her fixed in immobility.

  What am I doing? She fumbled for her towel and secured it about her body. When he still remained in the room, she surprised them both by screeching at the top of her lungs, “Get out!” With th
e echo of her unexpected exclamation still ringing in the room, he gulped and fumbled with the door latch, exiting with utmost haste.

  The door slammed behind him, and mortification replaced embarrassment. She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “How am I ever going to face him tomorrow?”

  In spite of her embarrassment, the whole experience left her in an odd state of excitement. She recalled the way he had looked at her, almost as if he wanted to devour her with his eyes, and she shivered.

  “Alex has never looked at me like he wanted to eat me,” she whispered, the unbidden comparison between her betrothed and Mr. Coombes coming to mind.

  She closed her eyes and groaned, but images of the hungry, predatory Mr. Coombes played behind her lids. Recalling his every move and nuanced expressions consumed her. Her preoccupation with the look he gave her upon seeing her naked even overshadowed the astonishing fact she had spoken to him.

  ****

  Raucous laughter and drunken, off-key singing had disturbed Alfred’s meal, and he set aside his stew to investigate the source of the noise. He didn’t have to search far, for in the public room of the inn where they had stopped for the night a group of men dominated the conversation and the barkeep’s time. Since arriving at the Hare and Hound almost an hour ago, another road-weary group of travelers had joined their small party. If their wet, dirty, and disheveled attire were to be believed, they had traveled many miles this day, yet they were a high-spirited, rough, and rowdy-looking bunch of young men who had ordered drinks before the rain had a chance to dry from their boots. The barkeep kept them supplied with ale for the remainder of the evening.

  Alfred paid them no mind when they first arrived, but as the night aged, their behavior became less civilized and more worrisome. One of the travelers, a big, beefy man with arms the size of hamhocks, asked questions about the other guests, and Alfred paid attention, concerned for his traveling companion’s reputation. When Hamhocks found out a young woman was staying here by herself, Alfred did not miss the wicked intent brewing in the bigger man’s eyes. Her safety remained of the utmost importance. Coming to a decision, he went to seek the innkeeper’s wife.