In the Shadow of Croft Towers

by Abigail Wilson

  Mrs. Chalcroft cleared her throat and I turned back to face her. Dawkins eyed me for a moment then reached around Mrs. Chalcroft’s frail body attempting to plump the pillow, but Mrs. Chalcroft popped her on the arm.

  “Enough with all this ridiculousness. I’m not on my deathbed yet.” Mrs. Chalcroft flicked her fingers in the air. “Now, get on with you. I will speak with Miss Delafield alone.”

  Dawkins cast me a sideways glance as she left the room. Was it curiosity or anger she attempted to hide behind those narrow eyelids?

  Mrs. Chalcroft waited until the door closed before moving the bedside candle near her face. “So you see me now as I truly am, child. A pitiful, frail creature hidden away in this torturous room day after day, reduced to the sniveling attentions of servants.”

  I opened my mouth to deny it, but I would have no lies between us. “As you say.”

  She grunted, then laughed. “What does a young girl know of such things?”

  I folded my hands at my waist. “Not much, I assure you.”

  “Humph. Never mind. I’ll not bore you with my troubles. They’ll find you soon enough.” She reached for a sewing bag lying beside her on the bed. “Have you settled in, had something to eat?”

  “Yes. Thank you. And Mr. Cantrell gave me a tour of the house.”

  “Good, because a pressing matter has come to my attention.” She wrinkled her nose as if she’d tasted something bitter. “I had hoped to give you a few days before I needed your assistance, but it seems you must deliver a letter for me tomorrow morning. There will be no delay. Do you understand?”

  “A letter? Oh yes, but—”

  “Don’t gape at me like that, gel. Of course you’ll have a horse to do as I bid you and a groom.” She shot a quick glance upward. “My godson, Curtis Sinclair, has agreed to make the necessary arrangements—secure you the horse and groom for whenever you need them. Thank goodness he is here. I don’t know what I would do if I was left to bungle my way through all this with those unnatural nieces and nephews of mine.” Her hand shook as she retrieved a slender envelope from the bag. “Listen. This must go to the milliner in Reedwick. Mrs. Barineau is her name. It contains instructions about a hat trimming I ordered a few weeks ago. She won’t question you when she sees what you’ve brought her.”

  If I could have sat down, I would have, but I was forced to conceal a reaction, pinned by Mrs. Chalcroft’s thoughtful gaze. My feet itched, my palms felt wet. Even Mrs. Chalcroft seemed tense, her head stiff on her pillow, her gaze fixed to the underside of the poster bed, looking for all the world like a wooden doll.

  Mr. Sinclair would secure me a mount? I wondered if I shouldn’t disclose the terrible truth about him right then and there. Goodness knows I itched to expose him. But again, that feeling that I should remain quiet fought its way into my consciousness.

  Mrs. Chalcroft’s slender fingers clenched into a fist. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, gel? You’ve been staring at the fire now for nigh on two minutes.” She leaned forward. “You’re not the addled type, are you?”

  I took a deep breath. “No. I am sorry. I-I was woolgathering. Do you have a message for the milliner, or do I simply hand her the note?”

  “Pay attention. This is important. You must find a way to be secret. No words need to be exchanged, my dear, only . . . no one must see you give it to her.” She held out the sealed letter between her thumb and forefinger; the Chalcroft crest was visible in dried wax.

  I took it blindly, a million questions swimming through my head. “And the groom?”

  She leaned forward, that look of wildness returning to her eyes. “I said no one, child.”

  “I-I understand.” But I didn’t.

  “In the morning, find your way to the stables first thing. Curtis will await you there and see that everything is arranged properly.” She squinted her eyes. “You did say you could ride?”

  “Oh yes. It’s not that. I . . .” It was my one chance to tell the truth, to reveal his secret, or I would be guarding it forever. Yet how could I finish such a bold statement? Umm . . . I do believe your godson, the man you obviously care greatly about, is a notorious highwayman. In fact, he robbed the mail coach only yesterday. I closed my mouth.

  “Then what is it, child? I can’t stand mindless babbling.”

  I nodded, a newfound resolution forming in my head. “I will do my best to deliver the letter and anything else you need me to do.” Then I leaned forward, my arm resting on the coverlet, my jeweled bracelet glinting in the candlelight. “Mrs. Smith is like a mother to me, and I will do anything to help her dearest friend.”

  Something flashed in those dark-brown eyes. “Good girl. I’ll expect you to report back when you return. Perhaps then you can begin to read to me in the afternoons.” She patted my cheek. “I find I like the sound of your voice.”

  6

  The following morning Mr. Sinclair stood at the door to the stable complex, a riding crop gripped in his gloved hand, his chin tilted in the way I imagine a rake would appear if I ever really saw one.

  Avoiding his gaze, I followed the gravel path around the paddock, running my fingers along the wall’s edge. He watched my approach with the same cynical look he’d worn the previous night. There was a hint of a smile, however, captured by the early-morning sun. I imagined it to be quite like the one he’d hidden beneath his mask on the day of the robbery.

  The arrogant wretch.

  I stopped a few feet from him and he paused before addressing me. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

  Ha! I lifted my chin to meet his gaze. “No? Yet somehow I get the strangest feeling we already know one another.” I waited for a reaction, but he didn’t even blink. “I mean to say, Mrs. Chalcroft spent yesterday afternoon singing your praises.”

  “Ah.” He gave a satisfied sigh. “My one admirer. Then again, she did take a vow at my birth to like me.” He leaned against the stable wall, an air of distracted levity about him. “How long do you suppose it shall be before she discovers the truth?”

  “I do wonder.”

  We stood there for a quiet moment, a nearby robin filling the space between us. The worthless impostor was appraising me. Strangely enough, I didn’t mind his critical eye. Of course, I was annoyingly glad I’d not been forced to wear that hideous gray gown this morning. I glanced down at my fine new pale-blue riding habit of Georgian cloth, which matched perfectly the ribbons on my bonnet. Mrs. Chalcroft had chosen well.

  A tangy scent filled the breeze, almost as if it might rain, but the sky was filled with puffy white clouds and blue sky beyond. Taking a long breath, I wondered if the worst was over. By the looks of things, we were to pretend our little encounter on the mail coach had never happened.

  I motioned toward the stables. “Mrs. Chalcroft indicated there was a horse I might ride. I understand I’m to travel with a groom to Reedwick.”

  “Yes. I spoke with John moments ago, for I too have business in town. I thought it best that we should travel together. It would be absurd not to.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not certain what is taking him so long. If you would be so good as to wait here, I will go find him.” He disappeared through the stable door as a cold wash of fear surged into my mind.

  So my highwayman had wheedled a way to escort me to Reedwick. The image of Mr. Sinclair with a rag on his face flashed into my mind, followed by the image of his sharp blue eyes and the feel of his steel grip on my arm, my back pressed to his chest.

  How could I allow myself to be at that man’s mercy again? In truth, he hadn’t harmed me the day of the robbery, not really. He had also been kind in an arrogant sort of way in the drawing room the night of my arrival, and the groom would be with us. But Mr. Sinclair was a liar and a thief, and a . . .

  He reemerged from the stables with two horses in tow, the groom still fiddling with his saddle.

  I recognized the black beast in his right hand from the day of the robbery. He snorted then tossed h
is head as if to say his own version of good morning. He looked even more imposing in the bright sun with his shiny coat and broad back. Beside him pranced a beautiful chestnut mare, light and fresh, with a look about her I couldn’t resist.

  “What a darling.”

  Mr. Sinclair rubbed the horse’s nose. “Miss Cantrell told John she wouldn’t mind if you exercised Aphrodite. Liz isn’t one for riding much these days.” He turned to observe his own mount.

  Miss Cantrell? I swallowed my distaste. So I was to share her horse. I covered my disappointment in a smile and sauntered over to the mare’s side.

  I ran my hand along Aphrodite’s neck before giving her nose a rub. It seemed unlikely Miss Cantrell had agreed to such an arrangement, but I tried not to hold my feelings against her beautiful horse. Aphrodite seemed a gentle soul and deserved exercise as much as Mr. Sinclair’s beast.

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I will have to thank Miss Cantrell when I see her next. It was kind of her to think of me.”

  Mr. Sinclair coughed. “Suit yourself, but I wouldn’t bother if I were you. I daresay you’re doing the poor horse a favor.”

  Turning back to Aphrodite, he checked the saddle and bridle to make sure they were secure, then cupped his hand beside her flank. “Now, shall we get on with this?”

  I walked right up and settled my boot in Mr. Sinclair’s outstretched hands. Highwayman or not, I knew now the reason Mrs. Chalcroft longed for his presence at the Towers. Mr. Sinclair possessed an intensity one couldn’t ignore and the authority of a man who got things done.

  Honestly, if I hadn’t seen the scar on his wrist, I would have been hard-pressed to identify him as the robber who held me at gunpoint that day in the rain. In all likelihood that was the gentleman’s greatest asset—the ability to act convincingly in a role. I grasped the pommel. What role was Mr. Sinclair playing now?

  He lifted me into the sidesaddle easily enough, and I settled my habit around my legs as he mounted beside me. I forced myself not to look to see if he’d brought a pistol for our little ride. I motioned to his horse. “What do you call him?”

  “This brute here is Hercules. He’s been with me the last few years.” He settled the reins in his hand then tugged to the right. “I daresay there’s not another horse like him.”

  Hercules edged forward, and Aphrodite moved in alongside him with John following behind at a respectful distance. We crossed the paddock and passed through the gate onto the main drive. Freed from fence and stable, I could tell Hercules itched to run, but Mr. Sinclair held him back, motioning for me to ride up ahead of him.

  Aphrodite trotted beautifully with a bit of encouragement, and Hercules matched her stride until the horses found a comfortable pace next to one another. Mr. Sinclair rode tall in the saddle, the reins taut in his hands, and made no move to engage me in conversation. I’d not forgotten what he looked like that day, galloping toward the mail coach, a pistol in his hand.

  Today, however, he was all gentle ease. His lithe form joined with Hercules’s smooth muscles, breaking the trot for a canter. I urged Aphrodite to match stride, and I felt the heaviness of my present situation lighten in a way only riding on the back of a horse can accomplish.

  The icy wind met us head-on, chilling the tips of my ears beneath my bonnet. The horses’ breaths came out in little puffs of air that floated for a moment then disappeared. Away from the house, woodsmoke hung on the breeze. The damp morning had left a light blanket of dew on the ground, which the horses trailed through as if they ran on water.

  Every now and again, I’d hear a small animal scamper somewhere in the undergrowth along the road, or a bird swoop near. Mr. Sinclair didn’t seem to take notice of much but the road ahead.

  I pulled Aphrodite to a trot, hoping to elicit conversation. However, it seemed it would be up to me if anything was to be said. I licked my lips and called out, “Tell me, Mr. Sinclair. Do you ride much?” I immediately pressed my gloved hand to my mouth, but the question was out before I had a chance to stop it.

  He shot me a probing glance before nodding. “I do, as a matter of fact.”

  He frowned at first, and I feared the daunting silence would return, but he angled in his saddle to look at me, assessing me with those eyes of his. “Miss Delafield?”

  It felt as if my name lingered on his lips.

  “I believe we would do each other a favor by dropping this ridiculous charade. I find I haven’t the patience for it.” He paused, but I couldn’t manage a word, so he went on, “I, uh, hadn’t planned to discuss that day any further, not with anyone. Certainly not with my godmother’s companion.” He cast me a wry glance. “But for reasons I can’t explain, I’ve decided it imperative to take you into my confidence.”

  A gust of wind fought its way into my habit, chilling me to the core. Aphrodite slowed as if I’d pulled her reins. I glanced down at my clenched fingers. It seemed I had.

  Mr. Sinclair leaned toward me. “We’re both adults here, Miss Delafield. Surely we can discuss this situation rationally. Come to some sort of understanding, I hope.” He took a long breath. “Considering Mrs. Chalcroft’s present illness, I will be forced to remain at the Towers for some time to manage her care. We’re likely to meet on several occasions, and I don’t wish to continually wonder where I stand with you.”

  Mr. Sinclair slid his reins into one hand and reached out to grip Aphrodite’s as well.

  We came to a full stop and my eyes widened. Instinctively, I glanced behind me down the narrow lane. We were sheltered from the groom by a grove of oak trees and the road beyond by a small hill. He’d found the perfect spot for this tête-à-tête.

  The cool air made his voice sound edgy. “Come now, we’re both well aware it was me that day at the mail coach.”

  “Yes.” I raised my chin. “You pointed your pistol at me.”

  He pressed his lips together. “You do understand that I had no idea you were in that coach.” He released Aphrodite’s reins as if he only now realized he’d been holding them. “Would it help if I told you I had no intention of firing the pistol?”

  I let out a pinned breath. “No.”

  I wasn’t sure if I imagined it or if he looked down at the place where he’d held my arm that day in the rain. “I am sorry. But you must admit, you didn’t make things easy on me.”

  “Easy!” How dare he? “I was frightened to death.”

  “Sure you were. I saw you watching me through the window as I came up to the coach. You looked at me as if I were playing the part in some great adventure of yours.”

  My legs tightened around Aphrodite of their own accord. “I did not.”

  “Hmm. As you say.” He waved me off. “It is fruitless to discuss what cannot be changed. What I’d like to know is the reason you’ve kept quiet. I expected you to expose me the instant you saw me in the drawing room. But you didn’t. Why?”

  “It seemed the best course of action at the time. I wasn’t certain you were the same man until I saw your wrist.”

  “My wrist?”

  I pointed to his right arm. “You have a scar there, just beneath your glove. I saw it when you were, um, holding me.” Warmth rushed to my cheeks. I added quickly, “You’ve been in a fight before?”

  His shoulders slumped and he looked off into the distance. “Well, at any rate, I stand in your debt.” After a moment he added, “Tell me, what is it that brought you to the Towers, Miss Delafield?”

  I paused to consider my answer. The letter from Lord Stanton was none of his concern or the fact that the anonymous patron who had been funding my living expenses at the school had suddenly ceased payments. “I had no other offers of employment.”

  “None? That seems unlikely. A girl your age with a fine education should find it simple enough to secure a position.”

  “Perhaps . . .” I didn’t like his questioning. He was too close to the truth. “I needed something straightaway.”

  “And you came here?”

  “One of the teache
rs at the school is an old friend of Mrs. Chalcroft’s. It was she who arranged the position for me.”

  “I see.” He tapped his finger on his horse’s mane. “I must admit, I was a bit surprised to read your letter that day in the rain. You see, Mrs. Chalcroft never said a word to me about hiring a companion. We . . . She’s quite important to me, and in general, she discusses everything with me first.”

  Discusses everything indeed. I thought of the letter in my reticule—the one I was to deliver without anyone’s knowledge. I daresay I was privy to much that would surprise him about his godmother.

  “Miss Delafield.” His voice was lower now. “It is important that you should know something. The last time the doctor came to visit, he informed us—all of us—that Mrs. Chalcroft has but a few months left to live, and her mind is not what it once was.”

  “A few months.” The words struck me with a force I’d not expected. “And Mrs. Chalcroft has been told this?”

  “Yes.” He sat back in his saddle. “I was concerned you were not aware. And finding out your situation is as it is . . .”

  “I-I understand.” I swallowed hard. “Thank you. I appreciate you giving me the time to make proper arrangements for my future, but you mustn’t worry. When the time comes, I’ll have somewhere to go.” If only that were true.

  “If you’d like me to put in a word for you, I can speak to a few families I know in the neighborhood who might be able to find you a governess position, if that is something you would be interested in.”

  I stiffened, my gaze never leaving his face. The man was serious. And I, caught up in the moment, found I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Mr. Sinclair seemed taken aback. As well he should. I was acting outrageously. But honestly, how could he expect me to discuss my future with him, a highwayman, the very one who only two days ago held me at gunpoint and forced me to empty my pockets?

  “Put in a word for you”—he was lucky I hadn’t turned him over to the authorities.

  Recovering as quickly as possible, I made sure I phrased my next sentence carefully. “Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. I would appreciate any help you can offer. But if I may be so bold, I would like to ask you something first.”