In the Shadow of Croft Towers

by Abigail Wilson

  Miss Cantrell leaned forward to pour herself another glass of tea from the nearby tray. “Heavens, Lucius. You’re not only boring me, but poor Miss Delafield as well. It’s quite obvious she took no notice of the robbery, or so she says. I am certain I would remember every sordid detail of something so odious, but we don’t all possess such clarity of mind.”

  I gritted my teeth, certain how Miss Cantrell would react should her carriage be held at gunpoint.

  “But I daresay I would never be in such an unfortunate situation—alone on the common stage.” She pursed her lips as if she tasted something sour. “No. You, dear brother, always provide me the best protection whenever I travel.”

  Mr. Cantrell took no notice of his sister. “Can you remember anything else? Anything that might be important? I’m sure the authorities will be here in the morning to speak with you.”

  “I don’t know.” I thought back to the woman who’d sat across from me and her spiteful maid. “They did take a lady’s necklace, but one of the men said they didn’t find what they were looking for.”

  Mr. Cantrell raised his eyebrow. “Intriguing. I suppose that means the group shall strike again.”

  I looked up. “Again?”

  “Yes. Our little band of ruffians is proving quite a nuisance.”

  “They have robbed before?”

  Miss Cantrell wafted the back of her hand across her forehead. “Don’t look so alarmed, Miss Delafield. We are quite safe here, I assure you.” Then to her brother, “Heavens, you’re a wretch, Lucius, to treat the poor girl so after all she has endured.”

  Mr. Cantrell strolled to the side table. “Elizabeth is right. I do apologize. I should be offering you something to drink, not questioning you like a Bow Street runner. Let me do so now.” He held up a teapot. “Tea?” he asked, that smile winding across his face once again. “Or something else?”

  I cleared my throat. “Tea would be wonderful.”

  A door thudded closed at the back of the room. Another man had entered and stood latching a pair of French doors. Rain was sprinkled across his coat, mud splashed on his buckskin breeches. He shook the drops from his dark hair then turned to face us.

  Miss Cantrell swayed to her feet, her slender hand settling across the white crape on her bosom. “Why, Mr. Sinclair, I had no idea you were in this part of the country. What an unexpected delight.” She cast a sideways glance at her brother. “Really, what a rogue you are to keep us all in the dark.”

  Mr. Cantrell tilted his chin. “Yes, Sinclair. Awful late to be traveling . . . on horseback.”

  The man stalked across the room, pausing at the sight of me.

  Miss Cantrell flitted to my side. “Come, Mr. Sinclair. You must meet our newest friend, Miss Delafield. She’s to be my aunt’s companion. She has been entertaining us with stories of the local highwaymen. It is all quite romantic. You would love it above all things. Please, do continue, Miss Delafield.”

  I froze, cowering under the room’s watchful eyes.

  “Highwaymen, you say?” Mr. Sinclair took a decanter from the side table and filled a glass. “In the rain?” He edged down onto a cushioned chair and held his drink to me as if in a toast. “Sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure.”

  Mr. Cantrell mumbled to himself on his way back to the sofa. “I wonder why Evie’s not back yet.”

  I wondered the same thing.

  Mr. Sinclair rubbed his forehead, seemingly uninterested in the story Miss Cantrell had declared he would love above all things. “Where is my godmother? I must beg my pardon for being so late.”

  Miss Cantrell pursed her lips. “She is . . . well . . . I suppose you will hear of it soon enough, only you mustn’t be angry with us.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Go on.”

  “She was a bit agitated this afternoon, and we were forced to give her the merest drop of laudanum. Nothing too serious, mind you, but she has yet to wake.”

  “Laudanum? Is someone with her?”

  Mr. Cantrell threw his head back and huffed. “Don’t go off in the boughs, Sin. Of course someone’s with her. Dawkins wouldn’t leave her side.” He breathed out a sigh. “I know if you’d been here you wouldn’t have advised starting it again, but—”

  “No, I wouldn’t have.”

  “Listen, we did it all nice and proper. Dr. Knight prescribed the stuff.” Mr. Cantrell rolled his eyes. “And you don’t need to look at me like that. She’s been left to my care. He said it would do her good to get some sleep. She’s had quite a few of her starts of late.”

  “I see.”

  I thought this Mr. Sinclair meant to say more, but he stood, placing his hand on the back of a chair, his fingers gripped tight. His voice sounded different. “I need to dress for dinner. And Miss Delafield should be shown to her room. I don’t know what she’s doing in here, shivering like she is.”

  Miss Ellis appeared in the doorway. “I quite agree. Miss Delafield, if you would follow me?”

  I let out a long breath as I stood and crossed the room, conscious of nothing but the thought of a glorious bath and a warm bed. As I passed Mr. Sinclair, I caught a glimpse of his wrist. Just beneath the edge of his York tan glove was a triangular mark—one I’d seen before.

  All at once, the feel of the room shifted. My stomach lurched. I didn’t want to give life to the thoughts racing in my mind, yet how could I ignore them? I met the man’s icy glare and all too quickly I knew the truth. He was the highwayman who’d held me at gunpoint, who had wrenched me against his chest and now stood two feet away from me, calculating my next move.

  3

  Miss Ellis took my hand. “Why, Miss Delafield, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I had, of sorts.

  Mr. Sinclair didn’t move. Only his eye twitched as if he dared me to tell anyone what we both knew—that he was one of the wretched thieves they had been talking about. I glanced from Miss Cantrell’s haughty face to her brother’s skeptical grin, and I pressed my lips together. Would anyone believe such a declaration? As Miss Cantrell had said, my story was too fantastic. And worse, such threatening words could mean the end of my position at the Towers. If I was turned away, I would learn nothing of my past.

  Deep down, however, a darker thought fought for my attention, forcing my silence in a way nothing else could. What if everyone in the room already knew? I needed time to think.

  I squeezed Miss Ellis’s hand. “I’m simply tired and cold.”

  Mr. Sinclair narrowed his eyes, and for a moment I thought he might stop my leaving. He had that look about him as if he possessed the power to control everyone around him, but he smiled at me easily enough. “We must not keep you from your room.”

  I lifted my chin in an attempt to look confident. Did he know I’d recognized him? How close he’d come to exposure? As I passed his formidable presence on my way out the door, somehow I knew he had. I forced myself to resist the urge to look back and followed Miss Ellis into the hall, pretending my entire world hadn’t flipped upside down.

  The entryway loomed as quiet as before, the hush of evening taking its toll on the ancient walls, the long, leaded windows darkened for the night. Nothing seemed settled in the dim space, not the crisp air or the moving shadows. It felt as if even the furniture waited in anticipation. I couldn’t help but wonder if a house such as the Towers ever slept.

  Miss Ellis led me up the central staircase that curved along multiple floor-length wooden panels, which were framed by the same dark stone as the exterior. A draft from the upper floors greeted me on the landing and wound its way around my wet frock. Miss Ellis paused. “I’m ghastly sorry it took me so long to get back to you. You must be terribly uncomfortable in that gown.”

  I nodded, unable to stop my teeth from chattering.

  “You poor dear. Your room’s right ahead.” She held out her candle as if she’d forgotten the way. “We would have brought you here directly, but there was some confusion about what bedchamber you were to have. Mrs.
Knott had prepared the blue one on the upper floor, but Dawkins insisted that my aunt specified the room next to hers. It set off quite an argument. And, well . . .” She met my gaze as we turned down a narrow hall. “You must understand, surely.”

  Oh, I understood. No one wanted an orphan of uncertain birth to be housed with the rest of the family, regardless of Mrs. Chalcroft’s order or where a companion was typically housed. I forced a smile and nodded.

  “And with my aunt asleep and not to be wakened, we were left to sort it out on our own.” She pushed open a door to our right. “Of course, Dawkins won. She always does.” Miss Ellis led the way into the room using what was left of her guttering candle to light a fresh one by the door, then she crossed the room to light another.

  Still shaken by the revelation in the drawing room, I inched inside. My lips parted. Never in my life had I seen such fine furnishings or such a well-laid space. By now Miss Ellis had the room aglow and stood watching me with a strange excitement.

  Rose-papered walls made the perfect backdrop for the four-poster bed and matching wardrobe. Crimson curtains draped what I could only assume were three small windows at the back of an alcove, which housed a darling little escritoire. Unsure what to do or say, I found myself drawn to the scrolled fireplace, the only thing that felt familiar in such a room.

  Miss Ellis unexpectedly flopped down on the bed, her cream skirt disappearing into the eiderdown’s dark shadows. “Do you not like it?”

  I settled onto a slat-back chair, trying to hide my exhaustion. “I-I like it very well . . . but surely Mrs. Knott was right and I should be given the other room.”

  “It is quite grand, isn’t it? I daresay it’s a good deal nicer than mine, but that is neither here nor there. They say it was once my aunt’s bedchamber, that at the time she wanted to be close to . . . well . . .” She pointed at the far wall. “She’s been in that room there for some time.”

  “But surely . . .” I found I couldn’t speak another word as I noticed the promised copper tub a few feet away from me on the Aubusson rug. Its cold metal sides had already been draped in white towels. Soon the servants would bring the hot water. A sigh came from somewhere deep inside as I imagined the warmth wrapping my chilled body.

  I began to stand but decided not to. Perhaps it would be best to accept the room for the night and speak with Mrs. Chalcroft in the morning.

  Miss Ellis seemed ahead of me. “Say no more about the accommodations, Miss Delafield. My aunt needs you near her. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” Her easy smile faded as if she’d remembered something. She took a quick glance at the open doorway and lowered her voice. “I-I’m not sure what Aunt Chalcroft has planned for you or why she decided to send for a companion. I mean, I probably have no business telling you, but after what happened today, you more than anyone must know what goes on around here.”

  She bit her lip. “And I don’t care what Lucius says; I’m old enough to have an opinion in this household. It’s not as if he’s my father—only my guardian.” She crossed her arms. “Goodness, he acts like it’s all a big secret, but he doesn’t have to sit with Aunt Chalcroft day after day and listen to her ridiculous rambling . . . Well, you see . . . we all fear . . . rather, we’ve come to realize she’s not entirely right in the head.” She glanced down at her hands as if suddenly embarrassed. “She hasn’t been for some time.”

  I can’t say I was surprised by her words, only saddened. “Oh?”

  Of course, Miss Ellis followed her whispered declaration with a nervous laugh, one only a young girl, spoiled for far too long, could produce. “Oh, Miss Delafield, you look positively dreadful. I-I didn’t mean it to sound quite like that. Heavens, I can’t exactly explain it.” She cast one more peek at the doorway. “We should discuss this again later when you’ve had time to settle in. Don’t let it worry you. In fact, forget I said anything at all. Aunt Chalcroft is not really much trouble when you have a bottle of laudanum on hand.”

  I thought of what Mr. Sinclair had said in the drawing room about the medication—not that I could trust a man who’d just robbed the mail coach.

  “ . . . and for the time being you have all of us here at the house, even Mr. Sinclair, who is wonderful with her. We all adore it when he comes to stay.”

  To stay—for how long? I tried not to show the alarm pounding in my chest. “Yes. He mentioned the medication earlier . . .”

  I thought I saw a flash in Miss Ellis’s eyes, but she continued talking easily enough. “Did he? Well, in general such a thing is not needed. And certainly with you here it will be so much easier.”

  Easier? I wished I could believe her. Nothing had gone right since I boarded the mail coach. What a position to be in. Had Mrs. Smith known about her dear friend and sent me here anyway? Surely not.

  Miss Ellis jumped to her feet as if she were nothing but a bird, too self-absorbed to grasp the levity of my fears. “I’ll tell Lane to send up a tray for your dinner. Portia should be here soon enough with the hot water.” She pooched out her lip. “I am sorry again this seems to be taking so long. If Aunt Chalcroft had only let us know she’d hired a companion before this afternoon, we would have . . .”

  I froze. Mrs. Chalcroft hadn’t told anyone of my arrival till today? No wonder the room wasn’t ready. “Miss Ellis, I—”

  She was pacing now with a sort of nervous hop until she eyed the tub. “I’m quite certain you have been wishing me gone for some time. Oh good, here is Portia. I will leave you to your bath, and we will talk more in the morning.” She held up her hand to stave off a reply. “I’m so glad you’re to stay with us, Miss Delafield.”

  I forced a half smile, and she knelt beside my chair in a flurry of muslin and lavender and rested her hand on mine, her brown eyes sparkling in the firelight. “You and I shall get on famously. I decided so when I first saw you in the drawing room. You see, I’m determined to find some way to be happy—even though I’m stuck here at the Towers and made to miss my London season.”

  As if such a statement required no answer, she rose and skipped from the room. Portia, the maid, mumbled something under her breath as she poured the bathwater before she too left me to the silence of my strange new surroundings.

  I had been alone many times in my life but never more so than in that moment. Mindlessly, I crossed the room to the wardrobe, slipping the bracelet from my arm. I held it, twisting the jewels in the candlelight before depositing it in a top drawer. My head ached, and I pressed the palm of my hand to my forehead, determined not to cry.

  What had I done?

  I’d left the only people I knew in the world. Because of a letter and a bracelet from a complete stranger? Did I really believe I could learn the identity of my parents? After all, I’d never been able to wrestle the information from my teacher, Mrs. Smith, and she loved me far more than anyone else. More than likely, it was just as I’d supposed all these years. That I was one of many illegitimate children born out of wedlock, discarded and forgotten. Yet someone had paid for my schooling. And the bracelet.

  All at once I needed to read the missive again—to be sure I’d made the prudent decision. My hands shook as I pulled the lid open on my trunk and felt along the edge. What would I have done if the highwaymen had taken that letter too?

  The farther I reached, the harder my heart pounded until the tips of my fingers scraped the folded paper I’d hid in the lining. I let out a sigh of relief, pressing it to my chest. One quick glance about the room and I crossed the rug to the chair by the fire, where I slowly opened the note I’d read a hundred times before.

  My dear Miss Sybil Delafield,

  Regardless of what they will think at Croft Towers or what I promised to conceal, I have sent you this bracelet as I believe it is only you who should have it.

  Your Servant,

  Lord Stanton

  I awoke with a start. My neck felt sore and my back stiff. What had been a healthy blaze now smoldered in the grate. I blinked for a moment, trying to remember
where I was. The fire’s remaining embers lit the room in a sort of red haze.

  I rubbed my eyes, recalling the whole frantic day quite vividly now. I had taken a bath—yes, a glorious bath—then eaten my dinner and curled up in the chair by the fireplace and fallen asleep, some time ago if the ashes in the grate were any indication. The room had grown cold around me, but the scent of woodsmoke lingered in the air. I pulled my robe tight and made my way to the bed.

  An owl called from somewhere beyond the windows. The sound of my bare feet slapping against the floorboards seemed out of place on such a still night. Just one more thing I would have to become accustomed to about living in the country. London was a world of endless noise. Here each sound demanded my full attention.

  I found a small clock on the side table. Half past midnight. As I expected.

  The grand poster bed welcomed me in a cold flurry of softness. I tucked my knees to my chest and snuggled into the eiderdown, hoping sleep would creep up once again and claim me before my worries had a chance to take over. I’d spent enough time thinking about my present situation.

  I plumped the pillow beneath my head and tried to relax. I closed my eyes and listened to the clock on the side table. How I adored clocks. The steady beat calmed my nerves. But before long, my thoughts drifted back to Winterridge and my former life. Tears welled and for the first time in weeks I let them come, coursing down my cheeks, each one wrought by a wonderful memory now painful to think of.

  My life had changed. I knew I could no more cling to the past than anyone else, but as I lay there, I wanted to feel the memories one last time before saying goodbye in my heart.

  Out of the darkness I heard a crash that brought me roaring from my reflections. My eyes grew wide as I lay still and listened.

  There it was again. Someone. In the hallway.

  The sound of footsteps followed and I bolted into a sitting position, unconsciously grasping the covers to my chest. Who would be up at such an hour and near Mrs. Chalcroft’s room? I thought back to the ghostly whiff I’d seen on the landing upon my arrival. My gaze fell to the door latch. Why hadn’t I thought to lock it?