In the Shadow of Croft Towers

by Abigail Wilson

  I forced the twisting feeling from my stomach. I knew very well I was being silly. It was probably just one of the men heading to his room for the night. Gradually, I allowed myself to lie back down, intending to ignore what I’d heard. But the footsteps didn’t sound like a pair of pumps. The sound was more like a whishing slide as if someone crawled along the passageway.

  Then silence.

  I waited, counting the seconds in my mind. Then . . . nothing. Whoever or whatever was out there had stopped. Possibly right outside my room.

  I didn’t move, but I watched the door, certain the person would pass on. But then I saw it. Like a flicker in the moonlight, movement of the door handle. I sucked in a breath to hold back a scream. The heavy wooden door inched open as candlelight spilled through the entryway. The hand clutching the light was unsteady, causing the room’s shadows to rise and shrink in a haunting dance.

  “Wh-who’s there?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as shaky as I felt.

  The figure didn’t answer, but soon enough, the light fell on a face—a face I’d not seen before but knew instantly.

  “Mrs. Chalcroft?”

  It could be no other. Long wisps of gray hair lay disordered around a wrinkled face. Keen blue eyes stared me down in the darkness. What was left of her thin frame bent forward as she dragged her slippered feet into the room, pushing the door closed behind her.

  I jumped up. “Is-is something wrong? Can I help you?”

  She waved me away with a flick of her arthritic hand. “Sit down.”

  Speechless, I found myself following her command. What else could I do?

  She circled my chair, her piercing gaze never leaving my face as she settled in the adjoining chair with a “humph.”

  I should have been frightened after all I’d heard, but I felt only pity. There was little left of the grand mistress of Croft Towers. I sat quietly, waiting for her to say something, but she seemed content merely to look at me. With anyone else, this strange treatment would have made me ill at ease, but there was something different about Mrs. Chalcroft—something I’m not sure I could explain. I relaxed against the chair, knowing she’d speak when she was ready.

  The old lady rested her chin on her hand. “Hair black as night, skin pale. Freckles? You’re not as I’d thought, but I believe you’ll do.”

  I offered a slight smile.

  “S-Sybil, isn’t it?” Her voice shook.

  She must still be feeling the effects of the laudanum.

  “How old are you, child?”

  I cleared my voice. “Two and twenty.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you properly.”

  My thoughts felt muddled, and I heard myself responding, “You mustn’t worry. Miss Ellis took good care of me.”

  She grunted. “She would.” Then she laughed. “So you met the lot of ’em?”

  “I—”

  “Never mind. We’ll talk more of them later, when I can stomach it. I’ve come tonight to discuss what I’ll expect from you.”

  I glanced at the clock. The words Miss Ellis said earlier rang in my ears—“not right in the head.” I wondered how far Mrs. Chalcroft’s eccentricity would go.

  She tapped her fingernails on the arm of the chair, obviously irritated at my discomfiture. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m awake at this hour, invading your bedchamber.” She watched my reaction with pleasure, then licked her lips. “I’m on to them, you know. Last time I gave it to the dog and he slept for days. This time . . . Did you happen to meet the indomitable Mr. Roth this evening?”

  I widened my eyes as I remembered the person snoring in the drawing room.

  “I see you did. Couldn’t stay awake, could he?” She turned her attention to the fireplace and laughed. “Serves him right. It was he who brought me the medicine. As if I wouldn’t know he’d put it in the tea. I, eh, switched the cups. After all I’d planned, I was afraid they might send you off.”

  “Send me off?” So I was an unwanted guest. Nothing could surprise me now. I supposed that was the real reason they’d not prepared a room. Of course, I’d arrived far too late for them to send me anywhere in good conscience. Perhaps the highwaymen had done me a good turn after all.

  “Either way, I see you’re settled. Tomorrow I’ll have someone show you around properly. You’re here to stay whether they like it or not.” She took a deep breath. “This position won’t require too much of your time. You’ll read to me on occasion and help me with my letters.” Her face changed as she narrowed her eyes. “You ride, don’t you?”

  “Why, yes.”

  “Good. This is important, so listen closely.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I exchange letters and packages with a man in the village on occasion, but I’m far too old to take them myself.” She reached out and patted my hand. “That’s why you’re here—to be my messenger, so to speak. What do you think of that?”

  “Oh?” I couldn’t hide the question in my voice. “I’d be happy to do anything you wish—”

  “Listen. You should know straightaway I don’t trust anyone in this house, not a single one. A bunch of rats, they are. They’d snoop into my personal business as if it was their right. Oh yes. They’re all just here waiting around for me to die and see who I’ve left it all to. I have no intention of posting a single letter. They’d read every word I wrote and reseal it as if I wouldn’t know what they’d been about. So I’d better not hear of you dropping a single thing I give you onto that platter of outgoing mail.” Her eyes took on a grayish glow in the moonlight. “Each note I expect to be delivered within hours by your own hands, and you will tell no one of our arrangement. Do you understand?”

  I whispered a sad, “Yes.” But I didn’t understand her, not one bit.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You see why I came to you in the cover of darkness, my dear. I hope my trust is not misplaced. Mrs. Smith assured me you would do anything in your power to help me.” She wrapped her fingers around my hand. “I’m not long for this world, and I’ve no one but you. Will you do this for an old dying woman?”

  I looked her straight in the eye, unable to breathe . . . and nodded.

  4

  Warmth and the scent of muffins crept into the bedchamber, tempting me to open my eyes. When I did, it was almost as if the previous night’s oddities had vanished into the shadows like a bad dream, one I couldn’t clearly remember.

  I sat up to find the maid, Portia, laying out a rose-colored gown I’d not seen before. The young girl smiled at me then turned back to the wardrobe, her auburn hair shimmering in the light. “Madam says I am to help you dress in the mornings.”

  I rubbed my eyes, wondering just how much sleep I’d managed to get. “Oh?” I yawned. “That is very kind of her, but I daresay it’s not necessary. I’ve never had anyone help me before. There must be a million things you’d rather be doing. I can manage well enough on my own.” I paused. “But do you think Mrs. Chalcroft might need me for anything in the mornings?”

  Her pleasant smile faded. “No, she has Dawkins for that.”

  I was in a tenuous position as the companion—living abovestairs, but neither family nor a servant. I would have to tread carefully. “I see. I suppose that means I’ll have time to awaken at my leisure most days. That will be nice.” I stretched and crossed the room to look out the window, wondering just what it was people did when they had no morning responsibilities. I’d certainly never experienced such freedom.

  I turned around, a bit surprised by the cold look on Portia’s face. Apparently, whatever it was I found to do in the mornings, Portia meant to help me do it. The poor girl hadn’t moved since I’d spoken my mind. It seemed I’d given her the worst possible insult without meaning to. I lowered my gaze. I had a lot to learn.

  I tried a smile. “Of course, if you’d like to help me dress—oh, really I’d be more than pleased if you would—only . . .” I pointed at the frock in her hands. “There must be some mistake. That is a lovely gow
n, but it’s not mine.”

  Portia slid her finger along the edge of the fabric as if she would like to wear it herself. She lifted her eyes. “Mrs. Chalcroft had it especially made for you.” She motioned behind her. “Dawkins brought them all in this morning. She said a modiste will be by on Thursday to take them up if needed.”

  I blinked my eyes. “Them?”

  “Oh yes.” She flicked open the wardrobe.

  Gowns of pale-blue, peach, green, and white hung side by side. Day gowns, evening gowns, a jaconet pelisse, even a riding habit. And smashed in the corner was the simple gray frock I’d meant to wear as a sort of uniform in my new position. I drew a deep breath. “There must be some mistake.”

  Portia ran her fingers along the gowns. “No mistake. Dawkins knows best and the madam, well, she does as she pleases.”

  I couldn’t help noticing the hint of jealousy in her tone.

  With a pointed huff, Portia motioned me over and guided the frock onto my shoulders and fastened it in place. I turned to the mirror, unprepared for what I would see. I had come to terms with my freckles and small mouth ages ago, but apparently—I leaned a bit closer to the mirror—the last few disquieting days had left their own marks. If possible, I’d grown thinner and a bit paler. No wonder Mrs. Chalcroft seemed repulsed the previous night. The gown, however, was nothing but beautiful.

  Portia’s voice at my shoulder startled me. “The family breakfasts on the ground floor. I will show you the way.”

  Rolls, breads, and preserves lay across a high table at the back of the room, their scents heavy at the door. Several members of the Chalcroft family had already found their way to the breakfast room and sat in relative silence—all absorbed in their own little worlds.

  Though I was dry and comfortable, I hadn’t completely shaken the uneasy feelings of the previous night. I paused at the threshold, hoping to gain my bearings before entering the room, but Mr. Cantrell must have been watching the door because he rose to greet me. “Miss Delafield. I hope you’ve passed a pleasant night.”

  Something about the turn of his voice made me wonder if he knew of my late-night visitor. But how could he? “Yes. I’m feeling much better today. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. You must be famished. Please, come get something to eat.” He extended his arm and led me to the narrow side table with all the ease of an old friend.

  I cast a quick glance about the room, searching for the dark-haired highwayman, but I’d been given a gratifying reprieve. He was nowhere to be seen.

  Mr. Cantrell seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice and prattled on about nothing in particular. I suppose he still felt sorry for me, for the treatment I’d received the previous night, but it felt good not to have to carry the conversation.

  He motioned down the length of the table filled with platters and dishes of various breakfast foods. “We serve ourselves most mornings here at the Towers. Far easier that way.” Then he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall as he waited for me to make my selections. “My aunt has tasked me with showing you around the house and grounds this morning. Did you know?”

  A slice of bacon slid from the serving spoon onto my plate. “No. I-I didn’t.” I wondered when my employer had time to arrange the tour considering she’d been in my room till one o’clock in the morning. I glanced up. “Will Mrs. Chalcroft be joining us for breakfast?”

  It was then that I caught Miss Cantrell’s piercing glare from her perch across the room. Her tight face framed what I could only call wolf eyes, which by morning’s light had taken on a kind of arrogant seriousness. Apparently, her sentiments from the previous day hadn’t changed.

  I took a deep breath, placed a muffin on my plate, and found a seat as far away from her as possible. She must not approve of me eating with the family, and for once, I agreed with her. Abovestairs or not, at the first opportunity, I would speak to Mrs. Chalcroft about taking breakfast in my room or the kitchen.

  The older, crow-headed man who’d been asleep the previous night sat to my right. He picked up the paper beside his plate. After a moment he said, “It seems our little band of ruffians has struck again.”

  “Again? So soon?” Miss Cantrell asked.

  “You don’t say.” Mr. Cantrell wandered over, hovering just above my right shoulder and the paper in the man’s hands. He paused to review the article, then looked down to catch my wandering eye. “Miss Delafield, I don’t believe you’ve met my cousin, Mr. Roth.”

  I couldn’t help but remember what Mrs. Chalcroft had said about switching the teacups the previous night. He looked to have had a nice sleep. “No, I—”

  Mr. Roth gave a sort of snort as he dipped his chin. Apparently Miss Cantrell had already told him all about me. He pointed to the bottom of the Morning Post and spoke as if Mr. Cantrell had said nothing at all. “Seems it was a courier on the same road as the mail coach.”

  I stretched to see if I could read anything. “I wonder if the robbers found what they were looking for this time.”

  All eyes in the room shot my direction as if I harbored a secret I hadn’t disclosed the previous day.

  I added quickly, “I mean, they must have been looking for something.”

  Mr. Cantrell took the Morning Post and crossed the room only to toss it on a side table. “Well, it’s none of our affair, thank goodness.”

  Mr. Roth wrinkled his nose but added nothing more.

  Chastised, I turned back to my muffin, but what had once been warm and soft now felt dry in my mouth. It was interesting that Mr. Cantrell had all but interrogated me about the robbery the previous day, but now—now he thought it none of our affair. Quite a change of heart. Perhaps I was right to keep the highwayman’s identity a secret. And where was the constable Mr. Cantrell said would come by light of day?

  I could tell he was pondering something as he paused midstride, but whatever it was passed soon enough and he shot me a grin. “Would you like to see the gardens on our little tour?”

  I mirrored his light tone. “Yes. As long as it doesn’t take too long. Mrs. Chalcroft might need me for something. I-I wouldn’t wish for her to be looking for me.”

  “Good morning. Has the mail come?” Miss Ellis’s sweet voice rang out at my back. I hadn’t heard her come in. She touched my arm like a fairy as she flitted across the room. “And don’t worry, Miss Delafield. Aunt Chalcroft won’t be up until later this afternoon. Plenty of time for a tour of the house. And who better to do it? Lucius knows all the best places. Don’t you, Lucius?” She added a mischievous smile. “Do you think it proper to show her the east tower?”

  The two cousins held a knowing look until Miss Ellis laughed. “I’ll never forget that time you scared Elizabeth and I—”

  Miss Cantrell shoved to her feet. “Evie! If you intend to be ridiculous so early in the morning, I shall bid you all good day.”

  Mr. Cantrell slid the chair out at my side, seemingly unaffected by his sister’s outburst. “Really, Elizabeth, Evie’s only having a bit of fun.” He raised his eyebrows. “I think it quite likely Miss Delafield would enjoy a tour that includes the home of our resident ghost.”

  Nothing about Mr. Cantrell’s demeanor gave me cause for concern, but my muscles twitched. Perhaps it was the excitement of the tour or the way he looked at me as if I was the most interesting person in the room. I couldn’t help but smile at him. “So you do have a ghost here? I wondered.”

  He cast one last glance at Miss Ellis. “Of course.” Then he drummed his fingers on the table. “Finish that muffin you’re eating like a bird, and we shall begin in the gardens.”

  “Not the tower?”

  “Ahh.” He winked. “We shall save the best for last.”

  The morning was crisp and cool, but the sun hovered on the horizon as bright as ever. A few distant birds cried out amid the tugging breeze. It seemed the closer England crept to winter, the quieter the country became.

  “Are you warm enough, Miss Delafield?” If it was possible,
the flush to Mr. Cantrell’s cheeks made him look even younger and more alive. I tried not to stare. He probably knew his attraction well enough without the unwanted attention of his aunt’s companion.

  I wondered if my own nose had changed color too. It never did behave properly—not in the cold. “Yes, I’m warm enough for a short stroll.” I pulled the peach pelisse tighter around my shoulders. I’d found the coat with the other clothes in the wardrobe Mrs. Chalcroft had filled so kindly for me. It fit perfectly, and I would require something warm if she meant for me to take letters into town at this time of year.

  Mr. Cantrell swung open an old iron gate nestled between a pair of stone pillars. Miss Ellis, though full of ideas for my little tour, had decided not to join us due to the cold weather, so it was only the two of us in the quiet morning.

  He led me to the garden’s center then stopped and waited for my reaction.

  I looked around, not quite sure how to respond. The unbridled hands of nature had made over the small space, each wild plant interweaving into the next, the hardiest species fighting for control. Even the small pond felt crowded out by weeds.

  “There’s not much to it, as you can see. The gardener was turned off years ago for economy. My aunt didn’t think to keep it up since she’s no longer able to enjoy it, but it’s somewhere to come if you need to be alone.”

  I walked from one corner to the next, breathing in the scent of grass and leaves. I could see them all now, each individual plant that had fought neglect to survive and flourish. The chaos was beautiful in a way, as if the plants had struggled against uniformity and won—as if this might be the way it was created to look before man bent it to his will.

  I smiled, thinking of Hyde Park and my own little garden back at the school. Hopefully it too, if left unrestrained, would work to find its own balance. I doubted anyone would care for the plants as I had.