The Hummingbird Dagger

by Cindy Anstey

  Caroline looked across at Beth and smiled—albeit weakly. “I gave away all but her favorite gowns to the poor, but I couldn’t part with these.” In one motion, Caroline pulled a plum silk dress from deep in the chest and held it before Beth. She stretched the bodice across Beth’s midriff and shoulders, and then glanced down at the hem. “As I thought. This will do quite nicely. I think Miss Overton would be pleased that it was passed on.”

  Beth touched the beautiful material reverently. “So, we won’t be visiting the seamstress in Welford Mills after all?”

  “Yes, we will.” Caroline’s voice was muffled, her nose half buried in the trunk once more. “You’ll have a day dress and an evening gown from here, but only to use while waiting for the new ones.”

  Caroline continued to root around. “There it is!” she finally called out. She straightened and pulled a deep blue velvet riding habit from the trunk’s depths. She held it high above her head, but still the skirts trailed to the floor. “However, this was the last costume she had made. I believe she only wore it a few times.” Caroline stared sadly at the habit.

  “It’s difficult to lose someone,” Beth said, squeezing Caroline’s hand in empathy. “I understand. I lost my mother when I was quite young.”

  The words were out of Beth’s mouth before she realized what she had said. She stood motionless for what felt like an eon, then slowly turned to find Caroline staring at her.

  Beth felt an urgent need for a chair. She sat with a thump on an adjacent trunk, oblivious to the dirt and grime.

  “Beth! Do you remember something?”

  Fisting her hand into her temple, Beth tapped at her brain as if to make it work. “Who—when?” She furrowed her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to think. But to no avail; the passages of her mind were still clouded. “No,” she said, groaning in disappointment.

  Caroline pulled Beth from her seat. “It is a beginning, though, a breakthrough.” She laid the habit across Beth’s arms and put two other gowns on top of that. “They will come. Your memories, I mean. You’ll be thinking of something else and voilà, there they will be. Best not belabor them until then. Anxiety will only make them hide.”

  Beth nodded and then smiled weakly. “Very likely.” She gulped and wiped the emotion from her eyes. “Yes, very likely,” she repeated.

  Caroline squeezed her arm in commiseration. “I’m very sorry about your mother.”

  Beth nodded again, fighting tears and empty memories.

  “A distraction is in order.” Caroline reached out and closed the trunk lid with a clang. It echoed down the narrow hall as Beth followed Caroline to the stairs.

  “A trip into town might be just what you need. I’ll run and get my bonnet, and I’ll grab one for you, too,” Caroline called over her shoulder. “Daisy can air out Miss Overton’s gowns while we are gone.”

  Beth smiled as Caroline quickened her pace, humming and all but racing down the stairs.

  As it was nearing midday, Beth was not surprised to find the bedroom floor quiet. There was no sign of Daisy, and it took a few minutes to find one of the other maids.

  “Don’t know where she be, an’ don’t care—dawdling while the rest of us work,” Harriet grumbled. And then, likely remembering that Beth was now a guest, Harriet abruptly stood straighter and swiped at the dirt on her apron. “’Ere, give them ta me. I’ll make sure they gets an airin’.” Harriet reached forward, relieving Beth of the gowns.

  Rather than head directly back to the family rooms, Beth skipped up the back steps to the servants’ quarters. She wanted to verify that nothing had been overlooked in the removal of her few possessions.

  The room was as bright and cheerful as ever, but a tad stuffy. Beth opened the window to allow the breeze and sounds of the yard to penetrate the stale air. In a glance, she could see that nothing had been left behind.

  Beth turned, catching sight of Daisy’s apron still hanging from the bedpost. Behind the door, she found Daisy’s work dress and a brown cloak. It seemed rather odd. Shouldn’t Daisy be wearing her work clothes? She certainly wouldn’t be wandering around naked.

  With a snort, Beth shook her head. If she worried about every little exception, made mountains out of molehills, and jumped away from her own shadow, she would be of no use to anyone. Questioning everything was paranoia at its best.

  She would talk to Daisy this evening. There would be a simple explanation. Then Beth forced a smile to her lips; Daisy had likely gotten a new dress and apron. New clothes were always agreeable.

  With that cheery thought, Beth slipped downstairs and headed toward the front of the house. She didn’t want to keep Caroline waiting.

  * * *

  STROLLING ARM-IN-ARM DOWN the quaint and less-than-bustling main street of Welford Mills, Caroline and Beth were enjoying their outing immensely. Beth’s anxiety at meeting new people in unfamiliar surroundings had been overcome almost immediately with a welcome at her first encounter.

  No sooner had they alit from the carriage than a tall, husky woman approached them, a genial expression on her generous face, and a plethora of indiscernible words on her lips. Mrs. Edith Cranley was all that a man of the cloth’s devoted spouse should be. According to Caroline, she was friendly and charitable and knew when to chat, when to demur, and when not to ask questions.

  Caroline, obviously familiar with the good woman’s concoction of thick Yorkshire and hollow nasal resonance, greeted her enthusiastically. “It is good to see you, Mrs. Cranley. I must tell you, Reverend Cranley’s sermon last Sunday was unparalleled.”

  This combination of good will and Caroline’s unruffled responses gave Beth the uplift that she needed. It cleared away the butterflies running amuck in her belly.

  “Elizabeth, I would like you to meet Mrs. Cranley. Mrs. Cranley, Elizabeth Dobbins.”

  Beth was startled to find that she had gained a last name, but only missed the flowery welcome by a few words. The ensuing conversation, while about Beth, required very little input on her part, allowing her the time to absorb her role as seen beyond the gates of Hardwick Manor.

  It was likely that the rumor mill of the village was already rippling with Beth’s arrival at the manor. Few outside the household staff knew of her missing memories, but her unconventional trip in Mr. Haines’ wagon would have been discussed six ways to Sunday. Caroline did her best to establish Beth as a friend of the family. If nothing else, it gave the populace of Welford a guideline to follow.

  This approach proved worth the effort, for after their brief conversation with Mrs. Cranley in front of the apothecary, and short foray therein, Beth was not only greeted politely but by name in each subsequent shop.

  At the dressmaker’s, Millie Couture was overjoyed at the honor the ladies had bestowed upon her. Her great enthusiasm carried them all through the taking of measurements, deciding styles, and choosing materials. No comment or observation was made pertaining to the ordering of everything from dresses to gloves to smallclothes. They left Millie with assurances that all would be finished within the week and a sense of a job well done.

  Smiling contentedly, the two nodded their way down to the milliner’s to make their final purchases. As they stood before the large window admiring the vast array of bonnets, Beth finally had enough privacy to ask, “Why Dobbins?”

  Caroline shrugged. “It was the first name that came to me when I realized that introductions would be necessary.” Her smile reflected in the glass. “Isobel Dobbins is a school chum of mine. It will be assumed that you are her sister.” Quite satisfied with her reasoning, Caroline entered the shop.

  Beth remained outside, staring at her reflection, trying on the name Dobbins. It didn’t trip lightly across her mind, but stumbled and limped. She stared deeply into the eyes of her mirrored self, and then noticed that hers were not the only eyes in the glass. Another pair, eerily disembodied, stared with unmasked hostility from over her shoulder.

  Beth met those eyes in the reflection and then w
hirled around to meet them in truth.

  No one stared back.

  The street was awash with ambling couples and dirty-faced urchins. There was no unsolicited scrutiny, no expression of disapproval. Beth looked back at the glass. She blinked and tried to imagine what it was that had misled her. She could find no staring eyes a second time.

  Inside the shop, the atmosphere was congenial. Caroline purchased a lovely high-crowned bonnet, after obtaining Beth’s good opinion, and they returned to the street.

  The carriage ride home was quiet. By keeping her own counsel, Beth felt that she was protecting Caroline from her overactive imagination.

  It was ludicrous, ridiculous, pure melodrama. No one was watching her. Why would they?

  Beth almost laughed at her wayward thoughts, but glanced at Caroline and contained the urge. It would have been tainted by a touch of hysteria.

  * * *

  THE WIDE CARPETED staircase of the main hall made the perfect backdrop for a grand entrance. Caroline had dressed in a soft shade of green that contrasted faultlessly with her white skin and dark hair. The embroidered pattern of her skirts was echoed on her headband that wound throughout her unruly curls.

  Beth’s plum evening gown, having been hung out and ironed, was as rich in color as Caroline’s was not. Her hair was dressed with loops, and her shoulders unadorned. She looked both simple and elegant at the same time.

  Caroline was pleased with the effect. Her protégée looked wonderful, despite the cast-down clothes. She couldn’t wait to see James’ reaction.

  Unfortunately, their grand entrance went unobserved. James and Dr. Brant were waiting in the drawing room, absorbed in their conversation. Taking it in stride, Caroline sashayed with Beth to the chairs beside the fireplace. They gracefully lowered themselves and settled their skirts, awaiting comment or compliments. None were forthcoming. The young gentlemen were far more interested in their discussion.

  “What burglary, James?” she asked, having finally become aware of the subject.

  “Break-in, Caroline, as I was just explaining.”

  “I was not privy to that conversation, James. We have only just arrived.”

  Somewhat belatedly, the gentlemen awoke to their presence. The sudden recognition of their want of proper manners was almost comical in their attempt to recover the girls’ good opinion. They both bowed hastily and began to speak at the same time. James’ enthusiastic delivery overshadowed the diminutive attempts of the physician. What remained unexplained, however, was the meaning behind James’ sudden heightened color or his inability to stand still. He was not prone to blushes, nor was he usually twitchy.

  The polite niceties having been served, they could now return to the problems at hand.

  “What burglary?” Caroline asked again.

  James shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “The boot boy was awakened last night,” he said finally, “by the sound of breaking glass in the back hall. He rushed to Evans’ quarters. However, by the time the old man had been alerted, so had the thief. Robert gave chase, but the intruder had the edge, not having been just roused from sleep.”

  Despite the light timbre of his voice, Caroline knew her brother was troubled. “Why would a thief break a window in the servants’ quarters? The silver is kept locked up in the dining room. Why—”

  “Caroline,” James interrupted. “This is Beth’s first evening in our company. Perhaps this discussion could wait?”

  Beth shook her head and laughed. “Unlike your window, I am not made of glass. I will not break. I have lost my memory, but it does not follow that I have also lost my reason or my ability to think.” She looked to Dr. Brant for agreement.

  “Beth does not show signs of a weak mind, James.”

  Frowning, James nodded as if reluctant to do so. It was a moot point, as dinner was called, and all theorizing had to wait until they retired from the table.

  * * *

  THE AMBIENCE OF the drawing room was so congenial that James was reluctant to resume the pre-dinner conversation, but the servants were busy cleaning up after the meal, and their privacy was once again assured. Beth, almost immediately, returned to the subject that had been left hanging two hours earlier.

  “Has the manor ever experienced a burglary before?”

  Slight, almost invisible, changes indicated that the occupants of the room were no longer relaxed. Shoulders straightened, eyes no longer drooped, and fingers stopped their idle tapping. The atmosphere had become alert.

  “Well, yes actually, it has.” Caroline turned to James, who was about to deny any other theft. “I believe you to have been in Oxford at the time. Stop huffing and puffing, James, I know it’s irrelevant, I was merely answering Beth’s question.”

  “True, but I believe Beth was really asking if there was another break-in that could be tied in with this one. What treasure do we possess that lures men to the darker side of their nature, and all that.” He turned to Beth. “Right?”

  She laughed. “Yes, but without the melodrama.”

  James relaxed against the back of his chair. “Nothing that I know of beckons thieves here more than any other manor. Evans thought he recognized one of the men, though he was half hidden in the shadows: Hugh Derrydale. Walter and I went round to the Derrydale cottage this morning, but Hugh is no longer in Welford. He has been in London since the fall, working at the docks. Mrs. Derrydale suggested looking, instead, to Jeff Tate, who has the same height and hair.”

  For a time the room was quiet, only filled with the movements required to sip from crystal and stretch toes toward the fire.

  “So, James, what is your theory on the errant coach?” Brant asked. Whether he felt the subject of the burglary spent or that they needed another distraction, his leap of thought brought a start from Beth.

  “My coach?” Beth asked.

  Staring at the flames, James shifted uncomfortably. He had hoped to delay this conversation. “Yes. I’m afraid your coach was not, as we assumed, the regular London stagecoach. I cannot trace it, or your coachman, or your luggage. At the accident, one of your fellow passengers said that you got on at the Ivy, and yet it appears that he was … wrong.”

  “Or he lied.” Beth frowned, her eyes troubled. “Why was I was traveling alone?”

  “Perhaps one of the gentlemen, who was more intent on continuing his journey than your well-being, was your escort.” James allowed his tone to show his disgust.

  “Oh, James, how can you say so?” Caroline protested. “Who would desert a young woman in such circumstances?”

  “There was a slight unsavory air about them, sister dear. It was only in hindsight that I picked it up.”

  “Or imagined it,” Caroline argued.

  “That still leaves the ragged aspect of my clothing unaccounted for.” Beth absentmindedly sipped at her ratafia.

  “Your gown was of a quality material,” Caroline said. “It had just seen hard times.”

  Brant nodded in Beth’s direction. “Trying to fit you into a mold of anything that we consider normal is not going to work. We have to concede that you come to us from a less than ideal background.” Brant sighed as if reluctant to form the words. “You could have been escaping an abusive situation. You could have been fleeing a father, uncle, brother, or employer. The list is—”

  “Or husband,” James added quietly.

  “Too young for that, surely. But you see what I mean. Her outfit might have been a disguise. There was no one to meet her, as she was not expected. No one to follow, as they know not where she had gone. Beth’s memory loss could be the combination of distress at having to make her way alone in the world, as well as the accident. Enough to do anyone in.”

  The occupants of the room sighed in unison. James was reluctant to agree, but he found this the most plausible theory yet.

  Finally, Caroline spoke up. “Something in that order might explain the nightmares, Beth.”

  Beth flushed and stared at the fire. “Yes, I suppose so. That
might explain the fear, but … What about the dagger?” She spoke softly, almost a whisper. “What does it mean?”

  “Mean?” Brant frowned. “Oh, you speak of the dream itself. There is no meaning in dreams, Beth, just in having them.”

  Caroline lifted her eyebrows and tilted her head. She opened her mouth as if to speak but then closed it.

  “We need to break the cycle. Perhaps a drop of laudanum before bed.” Brant chewed at the corner of his lip as he watched Beth shake her head. “Speaking of sleep, I must away. Don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

  Caroline accompanied him to the door.

  The echo of their voices slowly diminished as they passed out of the little hall and left Beth and James deep in thought by the fire. It was a comfortable silence at first, but as it grew, so did their inability to break it. What was perhaps only a few moments dragged into an eon before Caroline returned. She had only just settled back on her chair when the drawing room door burst open.

  Walter entered with no decorum, and surprisingly, no affectation. He was an unpretentious mixture of breathlessness, excitement, and horror.

  “They found a body in the bay,” he announced.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Conspicuously Absent

  “I was coming back along the shore road,” Walter said in a rush. “I was about to turn off at Shepherd Lane when I saw Mr. Hodges up ahead. He and young Foster were staring over the cliff and pointing. I couldn’t make out what they were shouting at first—the breakers were thundering—so I took a closer look.”

  James heard Caroline’s sharp intake of breath.

  “Oh, Walter, you didn’t see—”

  “No, indeed, I couldn’t make out a thing—a white smudge. The moon is only a quarter and their lantern didn’t reach the base of the cliff. Hodges said it was a body. Only they couldn’t get at it until the water settled. They’ll be waiting all night.”