In the Shadow of Croft Towers

by Abigail Wilson

He glanced over his shoulder. “Were you able to deliver your, uh, letter?”

  Right. The letter. I’d forgotten about it. But not Mr. Sinclair. My shoulders slumped. If the soldiers were to be believed, there was a spy at the Towers, a traitor to England. And that man who’d attacked me . . . Had he followed me to town? I had best figure out what was going on before I found myself the next victim, or worse, an unwitting accomplice to treason.

  The Towers lurked black on the hillside as Mr. Sinclair and I finished our late-night journey home. He said little on the ride, but now he seemed nervous as if questions rankled in his mind and he could no longer put them off.

  “Did you recognize that man in town?”

  “No.” I took a deep breath, guiding Aphrodite a bit closer. “I’d never seen him before, though I don’t believe he was as old as he appeared.”

  Mr. Sinclair rubbed his chin. “Neither do I. Did he say anything to you? Ask you any questions?”

  “Nothing of consequence.”

  “Nothing about that day in the coach?”

  I tightened my fingers on the reins. “Why do you ask?”

  “I—” Suddenly his hand shot up, his finger pointing toward the stables. “What the devil?” He narrowed his eyes. “Something’s wrong at the Towers. Come on.” He spurred his horse to a gallop, leaving me in his dust.

  Lights bobbed on the horizon. Voices clipped through the night air. I kicked Aphrodite, urging her to match Hercules’s brisk pace, but he was several strides ahead.

  John met me at the edge of the paddock. “Oh, miss. You must go in at once. Something terrible has happened. Just terrible.”

  Panic gripped my heart. He was trembling as he helped me off the horse.

  I grasped his shoulder. “Tell me. Tell me at once. Is it Mrs. Chalcroft?”

  He brought his shaky hand to his forehead before accepting the reins. “Oh no, miss. Not that.”

  Mr. Sinclair hurried over from where he had been speaking with Mr. Cantrell and hastily offered me his arm. A nod at John and I took it, allowing Mr. Sinclair to lead me to the far side of the fence. Out of earshot, I pulled him to a stop. “What is it? Tell me.”

  Mr. Sinclair’s face looked strange in the moonlight, his eyes an owlish gray. “There’s been a discovery in the woods behind the stables.”

  “What do you mean, ‘discovery’?”

  He paused before whispering, “A body. Partially buried.”

  I flinched, the cold truth winding its way to my core. “Who?”

  He gave me a pained stare. “You remember the maidservant from the mail coach?”

  “Of course I do.” My hand shot to my chest. “We spoke with Mrs. Plume about her disappearance that day we went to the Rose Inn.”

  “Right.” He shook his head. “It looks as if there’s more to her leaving than we thought. She’s been murdered. Here at the Towers it seems.”

  My breath caught. Was this what I’d been fearing all along? Her face when I saw her that afternoon out of Mrs. Chalcroft’s window had been not only withdrawn but afraid. My voice was scratchy. “How did she die?”

  Mr. Sinclair touched my hand. “Must you know the particulars? Really, Miss Delafield, I think it best if you return to your room at once. You’ve had a trying evening.”

  “I said how did she die?”

  Mr. Sinclair looked at his boots. “Strangled. Possibly with her necklace. There was an open wound on the back of her head as well.”

  I stumbled back a few paces toward the east fields. I had to get away. Any direction would do. My thoughts ran wild, my legs were sluggish. Who could have done such a terrible thing? Here? My head swam.

  “Miss Delafield, wait.”

  The stable door flew open and I caught a look inside. There lay Thompkins’s body on the ground. Several men in uniform were staring down at her lifeless form. Her face was stone still and dusky gray. Weakness crawled up my legs. My ears rang.

  I backed away as Mr. Sinclair’s arm slipped around my back. “We should go. Mrs. Chalcroft will need you. There’s nothing you can do here.”

  I nodded, dizziness claiming my body like a consuming sickness. I saw what Thompkins had been wearing—the same long brown cloak she wore as she scurried across the grass the day I watched her out Mrs. Chalcroft’s window.

  14

  Miss Ellis caught me four days later and ushered me into the library to look over some fashion plates. Very little had been said about the terrible discovery. None of the women seemed a bit affected by the murder of a maid they didn’t know. An investigation would begin and the truth sought. There was nothing to worry over.

  She smoothed out her peach morning gown before perching on the settee by the window and flicking open Ackermann’s Repository on her lap. “I want this one.” She planted her finger on a pale round robe with white crape. “And Lucius will have none of it, as if it is not even my money.”

  I took a deep breath before settling down at her side. Though Miss Ellis, with her fairy innocence and childlike beauty, proved a shining light in the otherwise dreary house, she also possessed an unfortunate tendency toward selfishness. I gave her a wan smile. “It is a lovely gown, but”—I slipped the magazine closed—“you have so many beautiful gowns already, and as Mr. Cantrell reminded you at the dinner table the other evening, no one around here has ever seen them.”

  “Yes, but soon enough I shall have to wear black and Lucius will probably demand I commit to three or even six months. Can you imagine? Me—wasted on half a year of mourning?” She tossed the magazine onto the side table and huffed. “It’s my money after all. Why Papa thought Lucius a suitable guardian I will never know. I’m quite certain he never meant for every notion I have to be thwarted. I begin to wonder if Lucius is determined to spoil any opportunity I have. If I were given half a chance, I daresay I might be able to marry before Aunt Chalcroft, well, you know . . .”

  “Miss Ellis, Mr. Cantrell is only doing what he feels is for the best. You cannot deny he treats you well, and after what has happened, I—”

  “Well enough, I suppose. But he’s far too busy trying to find a husband for Elizabeth when he should be focusing on me.” She splayed her hand across her chest. “I haven’t even had a season yet. Elizabeth has had two and not one offer. I know I could do better.” She leaned over until our arms touched. “Before we left London I had a great deal of interest from a particularly fine gentleman, although I shan’t say any names. What do you think of that?”

  I hadn’t the least clue who she meant and didn’t care, but before I could answer, she flopped back against the sofa as if she’d been blown over by the wind. “And then—poof!—here I am waiting attendance on a great-aunt I’d never even met, miles from anyone I care about.” She held up two fingers. “With any luck, I’ll miss two seasons.”

  Considering she would be only nineteen in two years, I shook my head. “Miss Ellis, you’re young and beautiful and full of possibilities.” I tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “You still have plenty of time to realize your dreams. I think—”

  She jerked away and gave me a scathing look, as if advice from a single woman of two and twenty, who had already failed in such an endeavor, must only give credence to her point.

  She dabbed her nose with a handkerchief. “When I first learned I was to be trapped here, I thought to amuse myself with Mr. Sinclair, but I believe Elizabeth was already ahead of me there. I can’t know why because she is grouchy and horrid. And as far as I know, Mr. Ashworth actually cut her at the last ball of the season.” She arched her eyebrows, turning to meet my gaze. “And what about you, friend?” Her voice sounded pointed. “Have you also set your sights on my Mr. Sinclair? I daresay most would consider the two of you a terrible mésalliance, but after I saw you standing in the doorway the other day, I did wonder.”

  I swallowed hard, a bit off balance. “Goodness, no.” I searched her eyes for what could have brought about such a question. “I would never have you think that. Mr. Sinclair enjoys teas
ing me, nothing more.” Her back stiffened and my heart sank. I’d discovered the reason Miss Ellis asked me to the library in the first place. It had nothing to do with gowns.

  I bit my lip. If Miss Ellis had detected a familiarity between Mr. Sinclair and me, who else might have come to the same conclusion? Mr. Sinclair, of course, meant nothing to me. A friend, yes. But certainly not a romantic interest. He was far from an amiable suitor like Mr. Cantrell. Of course, Mr. Sinclair would inherit a title one day, but I cared nothing for such things.

  I thought of his dark countenance, surprisingly kind eyes, the feel of his fingers in my hair. “He was only following his godmother’s instructions.”

  “I suppose. I’ve had a hard time understanding him at all. If I even mean to understand him. And I’m not sure I do. Men are usually so easy to read, but Mr. Sinclair keeps me guessing. In and out of the Towers at all times of day. I watch him from my window sometimes.” She seemed to consider her words. “I suppose he would make a wretched husband—here one minute and gone the next, and he has little time for society and few friends. I daresay I would prefer someone more like Lucius. Always in the know, always trying to please in just the right way. He is received everywhere. In fact, there shall be quite a line of young ladies when we return to London, particularly if he has inherited all the money.”

  I wondered if she had brought Mr. Cantrell into the conversation for my benefit, or if she had softened toward him in only a few minutes.

  She bobbed the edge of her skirt with her half boot then paused. “You do know that is why we came here. For the great Chalcroft fortune, or whatever it is Lucius likes to call it—who it shall go to, I mean. It is all a great mystery. One I don’t believe my aunt will betray before the end. She enjoys having us fawn all over her far too much. It makes me fairly sick to watch Lucius at her beck and call. If only Anne’s child hadn’t died so long ago, everything would be different. I certainly wouldn’t have left London for this desolate place. The money is nothing to me. Although that would mean other things, as well.”

  My body tensed. “What do you mean? Anne’s child?”

  “The heir, of course.” She cast me a curious glance. “I guess you wouldn’t know. Years ago my cousin Anne gave birth to a child a few days before her death. The child died in his infancy, poor soul. At least, that is what I heard. No one seems to want to speak of it. Elizabeth says it is all Aunt Chalcroft’s fault, or at least she thinks it is. I don’t know how my great-aunt could have been the cause of her own daughter’s pneumonia or the child’s death.” Mindlessly, Miss Ellis rolled a stray ribbon from her gown through her fingers. “I suppose Dawkins was Lady Anne’s abigail at the time. She could tell you more about it. I don’t wish to drudge up the past, particularly about Anne.”

  Dawkins? Anne’s tragic story had perked my interest since I’d learned of the connection to Lord Stanton. So much sadness in one house, and I was no closer to discovering my place in all of it. But the thought of asking Dawkins anything sent a flutter of apprehension to my stomach. “I don’t suppose it is any of my business. And as to your future—”

  “Don’t scold me, Miss Delafield.” Miss Ellis widened her eyes. “I know you are about to and I wish you wouldn’t. Goodness, the look on your face has chastised me enough. It reminds me of a beastly governess I had a few years back.” She pressed her lips together. “And I am determined that we will be friends.”

  Miss Ellis reminded me of a wild filly—flighty, beautiful, but unharnessed and certainly uncontrollable. I had to be careful or she would bolt. I didn’t want to lose what little companionship I had at the Towers. “I’m sorry. Who am I to scold?” I touched her hand.

  “Good. Then you will make it up to me by asking Lucius about the gown.” She squeezed back. “You will, won’t you?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. She’d managed to change from perfect seriousness to frivolous gaiety in one breath. I knew if I refused, our relationship would never be the same, so I reluctantly nodded.

  Her eyes brightened as if she’d anticipated my acquiescence the minute she’d proposed it. “I knew you had a kind heart the first time I saw you and that we would get on so well together.” She kissed my cheek. “I don’t care what Elizabeth says. I’m glad you have come to the Towers.” She rose from the sofa like a butterfly and waved her hands for me to follow. “Lucius should be in the drawing room. You know how my aunt joins us on the first floor after her nap, and he of all people wouldn’t miss a chance to bestow his attentions on the old lady. Let us go before she arrives.”

  We found Mr. Cantrell in the drawing room as well as Miss Cantrell, who promptly vacated the gilded sofa for the window seat after heralding my arrival with a snide, “I thought you’d be with Mrs. Chalcroft. You were hired to entertain her after all.”

  Mr. Cantrell stood the moment he heard my name, running his finger down the lapel of his blue superfine coat. “Ah, Miss Delafield.”

  If I said my fingers didn’t tingle, or that Mr. Cantrell looked anything other than perfectly handsome, I would be lying. His smile could win anyone’s affections. I hated that he directed it at me so often, but at the same time I searched for it anytime he was near, as if his very presence proved a secret intoxication forbidden only to me—the companion.

  He was forbidden to me and I knew it well enough, only I’d had a difficult time convincing my heart. Miss Ellis was right. He would make the ideal mate—for some other highborn, gently bred girl with money.

  I averted my gaze from Miss Cantrell, for I knew his attentions would only make her sour attitude worse. Talk would consist of Miss Ellis’s gown, nothing more, then somehow I’d find a way to make it clear to him he need not address the companion from now on.

  The thought stung with a fresh barb, and I tried my best to appear unaffected. I took a deep breath. Hopes and dreams were reserved for the wealthy.

  Mr. Cantrell found his way over to my side, ignoring everyone else in the room, and took my hand. “Have you come for your dance lesson?”

  Shock surged through my body and for a moment I was speechless. I’d forgotten all about Mrs. Chalcroft mentioning such a thing. After the murder, I thought the family might not attend the assembly.

  Miss Ellis squealed with delight. “Oh yes, yes,” she said, clapping her hands. “We must teach her at once so she shall have time to practice.” She leaned to my ear as she floated into the room. “This is just the thing to put him in a proper mood before I ask to have the gown made.” Then louder for everyone else to hear, “But who shall play? We must have music. Elizabeth?”

  Miss Cantrell turned her cold glare on Miss Ellis. “I have no intention of—”

  “Well, of course you do. Don’t be a peagoose, Elizabeth.” Miss Ellis paused. “But I suppose you cannot play and make up a set of four at the same time. We need at least four dancers for proper instruction.”

  “Evie’s right.” Mr. Cantrell shot me a quick smile. “Elizabeth, we need you to dance opposite Evie in the set.”

  Men seemed to be the only creatures capable of bringing Miss Cantrell from the confines of her icy shell. She took a quick breath and rose gracefully to her feet. “I will help if it brings you joy, dear brother, but only for you.”

  I wondered what she meant, but before I could say a word, Mr. Cantrell was bowing before me with an alarming smile. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me in the next dance?”

  Miss Ellis giggled. “Yes, we must do this quite proper.” She bowed to Miss Cantrell and spoke as low as her little voice would allow. “Miss Cantrell, are you free for the next dance?”

  Miss Cantrell let a slight laugh slip out. “I am not engaged.” Then stepped over next to me as our partners took their places opposite us.

  Miss Ellis spoke first. “Do you remember the quadrille, Miss Delafield?”

  “A bit.”

  “I’ll count it out as I show you the figures.”

  I watched then repeated, the familiar patterns still buried somewhere
in my brain, just waiting to get out.

  Mr. Cantrell smiled. “I believe you were fibbing to Mrs. Chalcroft when you told her you did not dance.”

  “No, it has been some time, and I have never had a chance to dance in company, let alone at an assembly.”

  He grasped my hand. “Then let us do so now.”

  “What’s all this?” A man’s voice sounded from the doorway and I thought I felt Mr. Cantrell’s fingers stiffen.

  Miss Ellis waved her arms. “Mr. Sinclair. You are just the person we need. Come in here at once.”

  Unconsciously, I slipped my hand from Mr. Cantrell’s grasp, realizing belatedly how it must have looked to Mr. Sinclair, who held a peculiar expression as he entered the room.

  Miss Ellis grasped his elbow and led him to the pianoforte before he uttered another word. “You must play us a quadrille, Mr. Sinclair. We are reminding Miss Delafield of her steps.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you?” He scanned the room for a moment before taking a seat on the bench.

  Everything about his tone of voice, the way he spread out the sheets of music on the pianoforte, and how he nodded at his cousin, all seemed quite amiable, more so even than I had seen him before. But just before he began, he met my gaze across the room, and I couldn’t help but sense irritation. At what? Dancing a few days after a murder? I had far more cause for discomfort than he did. The last thing I wanted was another spectator for my dance class.

  The music started abruptly and I struggled to remember the steps I’d perfected just moments ago, turning first the wrong direction, then on the wrong count. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cantrell. Perhaps I’m not able to focus as well with the music.”

  “Nonsense. I’m here to help you in any way I can. If you would but watch my face, I may be able to help you remember.”

  Slowly, I lifted my gaze and smiled, glad to realize the flutters I had before experienced in his presence had been subdued. He was handsome to be sure, but out of reach and, quite frankly, comfortably so.