by Cindy Anstey
Then Mrs. Thompson spoke. “Oh my, I had thought the worst. It’s been nigh a week since last we chatted. I had begun to think you had done yourselves an injury.”
Caroline stiffly addressed her neighbor. “I regret the delay, Mrs. Thompson.” She perched on a free corner of the settee. “We have been dealing with a difficult situation at Hardwick.”
“Oh my, yes, Daisy Bartley,” Mrs. Thompson said bluntly. “Such a shame.”
Beth pushed an ornate paisley cushion aside and dropped down onto the settee beside Caroline. She glanced around the room in a bid to hide her surge of anger brought on by Mrs. Thompson’s callous comment.
“We feel her loss still, Mrs. Thompson, and would prefer not to discuss it as yet,” Caroline said firmly.
Mrs. Thompson frowned and closed her mouth with a snap. Sophia took up the conversation with comments about the weather, but her mother quickly recovered from the set-down. “Oh my, it is a shame that you delayed your call. My brother is not here today. He is out visiting friends, as we are to London within a fortnight. We shall have to forgo the pleasure of your company for a month or two. But fear not, we shall have a grand affair when we return.”
“We are to begin arrangements for my coming out.” Sophia’s eyes sparkled.
“Yes, indeed. My brother, Mr. Renfrew, petitioned Mr. Thompson on Sophia’s behalf. I myself have mentioned it to Mr. Thompson well over two dozen times.”
“Perhaps you’ll be seeing the Barlows in town,” Caroline added casually, ignoring the snip at Mr. Thompson. “The girls must be of an age.”
“Oh no.” Mrs. Thompson barely disguised her horror. “The Barlow girl is older, nigh on twenty. Such a shame about her looks. Rather insipid from what I hear, though I have never met her. Hair so pale it is almost white.” She looked across at Sophia’s dark curls. “It would be unfair to outshine the girl.”
Caroline glanced at Beth and then at her brown hair. Beth shook her head pointedly while they endured an uncomfortable lull in the conversation.
“Did you see the new ruins?” Mrs. Thompson asked eventually, waving toward the window. “Are they not the very thing? I am sure such a building would vastly improve your grounds. I could set you on the heels of our builder. Although, I am told he is very busy. It was, in fact, my brother who undertook the project, when it threatened to fall through.”
“It even has a dungeon,” Sophia added.
“Dungeon?” Caroline looked amused.
“Yes, indeed. A folly has to be authentic.”
Beth almost lost her composure. An authentic fake! She stared at the fire for a moment, trying to get her amusement under control. She dared not look at Caroline. Glancing instead at the ornate clock sitting on the mantel, she observed that it been a quarter hour since their arrival; duty had been done, penance served.
* * *
THE CARRIAGE HAD only just started down the Risely drive when Beth turned to Caroline. “I am not Pamela Barlow.” Beth pulled at a small tuft of hair that had escaped from the bottom of her bonnet.
“It would seem not, but Mrs. Thompson might not be our best source of information. Let us wait upon Miss Morris’ reply before deciding.”
Beth glanced at Caroline, hesitant to speak but feeling compelled to do so. “I have been wondering if perhaps I was not a good person.”
“Whatever makes you say that?”
“Why would this man, asking after me in town, not march up to the front door and demand to see me? It seems rather furtive. And who were the men on the road? Who has been following me?”
“It could be that we were reading more into the attack than was meant. That would be my fault. My imaginings and weakness might have enlarged a trifle event. The men looked desperate enough that they may simply have wanted our horses.” Caroline patted Beth’s restless hand and then relaxed against the seat back, allowing the motion of the carriage to rock her.
Beth turned back to her window, ignoring the curious glances of the townsfolk as they crossed through Welford again. She was lost in thought—planning and, yes, scheming—without her friend’s knowledge. Caroline would not approve a plot to ensnare those that, even now, she could feel watching and waiting—like a vulture waiting for its carrion.
CHAPTER TEN
The Post
Inside Hardwick’s library, James and Mr. Strickland sat in contemplative silence. Mr. Strickland—a quiet-spoken man in his mid-fifties with a broad face—sported pure white hair and a matching mustachio of grand proportions. The spectacles that he wore pushed tightly to his face magnified the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. His clothes were well made, but older in fashion, and gave off the slight aroma of camphor.
James had spoken of the burglary, assault, and Beth’s mysterious origins, as well as Mrs. Bartley’s accusations. Lastly he had brought out the silver button, which Mr. Strickland was still considering.
“In the water, you say?”
“Yes, just at its edge.”
“Well, it weren’t there long, no weathering to it at all. Could be a remnant of the accident. This here etching looks to be quite detailed. If I may, I’ll take it with me. Try to identify it.”
“By all means.”
Mr. Strickland dropped the button into his waistcoat pocket. “Would it be all right with you, Lord Ellerby, if I spoke to the ladies about the assault, or would it cause a difficulty?”
James smiled when he thought of how resilient Beth and his sister were. “Not at all, they are quite recovered and, in fact, paying Mrs. Thompson a call this morning.” With only a few strides, he crossed the room. “I will see if they have returned.”
James opened the door slightly and was about to call for Robert when he saw Beth and Caroline descending the stairs. They were chatting easily, and it disheartened him to think that his request was likely to introduce a touch of disquiet. Caroline caught his movement and gesture. Within moments they were both greeting Mr. Strickland with the formality that was dictated on such occasions.
“I apologize for the interruption, Miss Ellerby, but if I’m to investigate and—God willing—catch these here villains that waylaid you, I best get some details.”
“I’m afraid there is not much to tell, as the man that hung on to my horse was so very ordinary,” Caroline said. “He had brown eyes, was covered in dirt, and in need of a shave. He wore workman’s clothing, was of medium height and build. His jacket was brown and mended. No scars, rings, not anything of value … It happened very quickly; that is all I recall.”
Caroline’s voice had taken on a strained note. It drew Mr. Strickland’s attention. “Not to worry, Miss Ellerby, we’ll get these blackguards. Strangers are not hard to find in a town such as Welford Mills.”
Caroline smiled. “I think you are in your element, Mr. Strickland.”
The mustachio curled upward. “I didn’t know it until this morn, miss, but I believe I have always wanted to be a parish deputy.” The fleeting expression of pleasure was again replaced with a serious demeanor. He turned to Beth. “Could you describe the man who attacked you, Miss Dobb…?” He hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. “Your name isn’t Dobbins.”
James watched the mild expression on Beth’s face dissolve and a flush creep across her cheeks.
“My sister has a friend by that last name,” James answered for her. “She thought it would elicit fewer questions if Beth had a name that might be recognized.”
“And the name ‘Beth’?” Mr. Strickland asked.
“It was the first name that came into my head.”
“Dear, dear.” He turned to James. “Was a man not seeking the location of a young woman matching Miss—Be—her description?”
“Yes.”
“He might have been put off by the name. He has no reason to know that the young lady is without her memories.”
Caroline bit her lip and frowned. “In trying to protect you, I have unwittingly prevented your return to your family,” she said with a shake of her head.
>
Beth reached over for Caroline’s hand and squeezed. “Do not distress yourself, Caroline. The circumstances of my journey were cagey at best. Anonymity is my protection.”
“Perhaps.” Caroline glanced to James for reassurance while Beth began her description.
“The man that tried to seize me was substantial but not corpulent. His hair had been cut in a ragged fringe. Filthy, dressed in rough work clothes. And toothless … yes, toothless.” She shuddered.
“Yes, indeed. This is most interesting.” Mr. Strickland looked over at James, who had taken up a position near Beth’s chair. “I will cast about town for strangers, both the ruffians and the elderly gent what came by, and I’ll speak to Mrs. Bartley. Think that will make a beginning, and then I’ll take it where it leads.”
James walked the new parish deputy to the main door. He surprised Robert by waving him away and opening the door himself. He continued to the drive with Mr. Strickland and waited with him until his pony-chaise was brought around.
* * *
BETH WATCHED THE men quit the room and rose with Caroline to make her way to the back of the manor. As they rounded the corner and entered the little hall, they found Mrs. Fogel awaiting them in front of the morning room door. Dressed primly, as always, she had a brown cloak slung over her arm and the post in her hand.
Caroline acknowledged the housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Fogel?”
Passing Caroline the post, which required no explanation, Mrs. Fogel held up the cloak, which did. “The cloak, Miss Ellerby, appears to belong to no one.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I have asked all around.” She looked at Beth, indicating that she had followed Beth’s request. “But no one claimed it.”
“How peculiar. Where did it come from?”
“We thought it was Daisy’s, Miss Ellerby. It had fallen beside her bed. Harriet hung it behind the door.”
In an instant, Beth remembered the brown cloak. She reached out, relieving Mrs. Fogel of the heavy garment. “Thank you for your trouble, Mrs. Fogel. I have just recalled where it came from.”
Mrs. Fogel nodded, turning back to the servants’ hall.
Head down, Caroline flipped through the post as she walked into the morning room. Following her, Beth sat down on the settee and began searching the pockets of the cloak.
“Here at last.” Caroline sounded triumphant. She cast aside the other letters and quickly broke the seal of one. Unfolding the page, Caroline squinted at it. “Oh dear, Miss Morris doesn’t have the best of penmanship.” She huffed a sigh and began to read.
While she did so, Beth searched. She had yet to find more than a square of white cloth within the folds of the great cloak. However, she knew there to be another pocket, as she could feel the crispness of paper beneath her probing fingers. She just had to find the right fold among the many.
“Aha,” Caroline crowed. “In answer to your question in regard to Pamela Barlow. It is unlikely that the young woman you met last year is my Miss Barlow, as Pamela’s complexion is not dark but very fair. Her hair is a soft blond, her eyes bright blue. She has indeed disappeared, but the mystery of that disappearance is but a ruse. The sweet child has ruined herself and eloped with a penniless charlatan.” Caroline stopped reading. “That is a wonder.”
Beth was unsure of Caroline’s meaning. “What is?”
Caroline looked up with a broad smile. “A wonder that Mrs. Thompson was right.”
Beth chuckled. “Yes, a wonder indeed.” She continued kneading the cloak.
“What are you doing, Beth?”
“I believe this cloak came from the trunk—the one that wasn’t mine. It must have slipped behind the bed unnoticed.”
“What a happy accident.” Caroline dropped the letter on her desk and crossed the room to Beth. “Have you found anything?”
“Not so far, but I know there to be another pocket somewhere, as I can hear the rustle of paper. See—” Beth ran her hands along the brown material and produced a faint but distinct crinkle.
“Let us spread the material out.” Caroline took one corner while Beth took the other and spread the cloak out like a sail between them.
Just then James entered the room. “Have you seen the post, Caro— What on earth are you doing?”
“Sleuthing.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Caroline laughed. “This cloak was in Beth’s mysterious trunk. We are checking the pockets.” She explained how it had come into their possession.
James shrugged, clearly intent on other matters. “Have you seen the post?”
“There,” Beth exclaimed. She lifted a slip of paper into the air as if it were a grand prize.
She dropped the cloak, and it fell into a puddle at their feet. Caroline, with more haste than grace, sat beside Beth.
James found the letters and began opening them and then tossing them aside. “Anything?” he asked, looking up from the mail.
Beth stared at the scrap of paper and sighed deeply. “It is just a calendar of appointments. It looks to have been torn from a log or ledger.” She dropped her corner, allowing Caroline sole possession. Picking the cloak up from the floor, she slung it across the top of a chair.
Caroline sighed, too. “Perhaps the only mysterious aspect of this list is that it is a woman’s list in a man’s pocket.”
“How do you know that?” James’ voice was distant and distracted.
Caroline leaned closer to Beth as if it were she who had asked the question. “This is a milliner, this a glove shop. In fact, James”—she stood to show her brother—“all these shops are in London. I know of a few, and have even frequented Fitzroy’s.”
James glanced over from the letter that had taken most of his attention. “Does it have a date on it?”
“This might be a reference.” Caroline pointed to the A15 scrawled at the bottom of the paper. “But it doesn’t give a month.” She passed it to her brother for a closer look.
However, James didn’t give it another glance, but folded it with the letter in his hand. “I will see if any of these shops retain records of their clients’ appointments. Perhaps we will be able to return the cloak to its rightful owner after all.” He smiled at Beth’s puzzled look. “He might find himself appreciative enough to answer a few questions about the coach and its occupants.”
“Are you to London?” Caroline asked.
James lifted the letter in his hand. “Indeed. I must talk with Lord Levry and Lord Wolcher about repealing the letters of marque. I believe I mentioned it earlier. Worry not, we will have heard from Mr. Strickland before I have to go.”
Beth’s stomach flip-flopped and her heart raced uncomfortably. It was the loss of James’ clear thinking and helpful involvement that sent her spirits plummeting. She knew it couldn’t be the thought of his absence that filled her with despair.
* * *
“MY, HOW YOU’VE GROWN.”
Beth giggled as the pup she had come to adore climbed all over her, licking and squirming. Looking around the stable yard, Beth tried to determine the best place to release the wiggling creature, but found the decision moot when the puppy squeezed out from under her arm and dropped, first to her quickly bent knee, and then to the ground. The little retriever raced around the corner in the blink of an eye, trailing the rope meant to keep her under control.
“No!” Beth yelled futilely, giving chase. She nearly collided with a tall young man on the other side of the yard. He was holding the puppy’s lead.
“Would this be yours?” Walter asked with mock disinterest.
Panting in a most undignified manner, Beth nodded. “Tem … porarily.”
“Does she have a name?”
“No. Indeed. Not.” She took a deep and calming breath. “That would be most presumptuous. She is not mine.” Beth knelt down and patted the dog, who greeted her as if she had not just run away.
“I don’t know why you say so; the dog clearly thinks you are hers.”
“Sh
e is but three months old and has a lot to learn.”
Beth turned, and with a slight tug on the rope, directed the pup to follow. Walter fell in beside her and the three strolled into the gardens. “You have only to ask. I’m confident James would give her to you.”
“He might, but asking would be unconscionably rude.”
“I will speak for you.”
“No, Walter,” she laughed. “Thank you, though, for the offer.”
They wandered through the newly planted beds in silence. The tulips, mostly spent, were drying, and soon the gardeners would begin their overplanting.
“I wish we could take a walk by the water. It would be more private.” Walter sounded wistful.
“You know your brother has forbidden it. Unless, of course, I take seven grooms, five footmen, ten field hands, and a partridge in a pear tree.”
Walter grinned.
“However, it’s of no consequence,” she continued. “The garden is lovely and I am sure our culprits will be caught soon.” Now was the time to lead in to her request, but she was not sure how to do so. Fortunately, Walter gave her the opening that she needed.
“I wish there was something I could do.”
“Yes, I feel the same way.” She looked across at him as he swung his arms loosely. “I have thought of something that we—you and I—might try.”
Walter’s arms stopped moving and slowly came to rest at his sides. “Yes?” His eyes sparkled with interest.
“I had thought that, if Mr. Strickland had no luck … that is, if the ruffians were not found … I might … entice them. Provide an opportunity for them to reach me again.” But even as Beth spoke the words, self-doubt intruded. It left her wondering if it was wise, or safe, to involve Walter.
“Bait! You want to use yourself as bait!” Walter stared at her, mouth gaping. His expression was of dismay, not eagerness, and then his lips lifted in a slow, lazy smile. “It is a foolish, idiotic, and asinine idea. Indeed.” Then he grinned. “Something I might suggest.” He laughed heartily. “You almost had me. I thought you were serious for a moment. But no, you would not be so impetuous. James would have our guts for garters if we tried any such thing.”
