In the Shadow of Croft Towers

by Abigail Wilson

  It took me a moment before I could place the muffled voice, but as the man slid down the length of the tree and plopped on the ground, I recognized the rag on his face easily enough. “Mr. Sinclair! You frightened me. What on earth are you doing out here?”

  “Oh, just a lazy evening stroll.” He shrugged, and then I noticed his blood-soaked shoulder.

  I gasped. He wore no jacket, and as I rushed to his side, I realized his pants were torn and his hat missing. I jerked the rag down. “Tell me what happened.”

  He shook his head. “I wish I knew. I’ve been betrayed. Ow—” He winced as he tried to adjust his position. “I believe you’d call it a setup.”

  “What do you mean? The men—I heard shouting. Were they chasing you?”

  “Yes. Apparently the dragoons didn’t approve of me searching the mail.” He gave a wry chuckle. “I suppose I had a bit of luck because my head found a tree branch that unseated me, but my noble mount kept going. They are chasing the blasted horse now.”

  “Hercules?”

  “No. I didn’t risk him today as the dragoons have been getting closer. It was a borrowed hack. And probably for the best because the devil didn’t even look back for me.”

  “This isn’t a joke. As soon as they find that horse, they’ll be back to get the rider.”

  His smile faded. “I’m well aware of that. I was in a fix until you showed up.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, partner. Do you think you can help me back to the Towers?”

  Frowning, I glanced down at his legs. “Possibly. Can you stand?”

  “Yes, but you better tie this up if I’m not to swoon on the way.” He motioned to his shoulder where the bloodstain had nearly doubled in size.

  “Oh, Mr. Sinclair.” I tentatively touched the sleeve of his shirt. “Did this happen in the fall?”

  He shook his head, and I remembered the sound of a pistol echoing in the distance.

  “I’m hoping it was a clean shot. Do you think you can tie it up?”

  I took a deep breath. “How?”

  With his healthy arm, he ripped the bloody sleeve from his shirt. “With this.”

  The bullet wound oozed with its newfound freedom and I pressed the torn cloth against his shoulder, my hand shaking. “I’m not certain I can do this.”

  “Sure you can. Just take a few deep breaths, then do me a favor and look for the exit wound.”

  “The exit wound?”

  “On my back. I’m hoping the bullet went clean through.”

  I had to lift his shirt to get a good look, but as soon as I did I looped the cloth around his arm. “Congratulations. You have two very respectable wounds.”

  “Good.” He bowed his head. “Now tie it tight. I’m already a bit light-headed.”

  I coiled the end of the fabric, then paused. “This may hurt.”

  He coughed out another laugh. “May? I’m quite certain it will. Now get on with it.”

  “Should I count to three?”

  “Whatever, I don’t care.”

  “On three or right after, like it would be four?”

  He threw back his head. “Do it right now or I may put a bullet in—Ow!”

  “All right. It’s done.”

  “You little minx. You were trying to distract me.”

  I held out my hand. “Come on. I don’t wish to meet a pack of angry dragoons.”

  His arm slid over my shoulder. “Neither do I.”

  The trip through the cold woods and up the east field was difficult. Mr. Sinclair said little, and I believe it was due to significant pain. He seemed quite easy to move at the beginning, but by the time we reached the side servant’s door, I was pretty sure he weighed a thousand pounds.

  “What shall we do if we run into someone?”

  Mr. Sinclair’s voice was barely audible. “Let us hope we don’t.” He motioned to the left. “If we take the first hallway . . . and go up those stairs, I doubt we’ll see anyone . . . They’re preparing for dinner.”

  “But do you think you can make it up the stairs?”

  “Yes . . . I have to.”

  I wished I had his confidence. The hinges squeaked as I thrust open the door, and I didn’t breathe until I was sure the interior corridor was empty. We had no additional light as the sun had set, so I carefully dragged Mr. Sinclair around the first corner in near darkness. At the dreaded stairs, I propped him up in an alcove. “Let me check that our way is clear.”

  He nodded, no longer trying to hide his grimace from me.

  I flew up the stairs to an empty hallway. “Thank goodness.” I returned only to find Mr. Sinclair on the floor. “Mr. Sinclair,” I whispered, but he didn’t answer. All was lost if he’d fainted.

  I grasped his good shoulder and his eyes flicked open. A tear found its way down my cheek. “Not much farther, but I can’t do this alone.”

  “Go find my valet. His name is Booth.”

  My voice was choked with emotion. “But you can’t stay here.”

  “Why not? I’m mostly hidden in the shadows. If you’re quick, no one will know I took a rest here.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “I shall take the consequences.” He pulled his feet into the dark corner. “There. No one will see me.”

  I tilted my chin. “Unless they do.” I squeezed his good arm and fled up the stairs, unable to look back for fear he was not as well hidden as he hoped.

  Booth would be awaiting Mr. Sinclair in his room as it was almost time to dress for dinner. I erupted onto the first-floor landing, nearly crashing into Dawkins in my haste.

  “What a hurry we are in, Miss Delafield.”

  I smoothed back a bit of my hair, startled she’d deigned to speak to me at all. “I am late for dressing for dinner. If you would excuse me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Certainly.”

  I waited as she walked by, but it wasn’t until she reached the side stairs that my stomach lurched. “Dawkins!”

  She turned slowly. “Yes?”

  “I-I believe Mrs. Chalcroft mentioned something about coming to dinner this evening. Have you been by her room?”

  “I have just come from there. She has instructions for Cook that cannot be delayed.”

  I rushed to the small entryway of the stairwell, barring her way. “I see, but would you mind coming with me just now? I’d like to have a word with you, um, in my room.”

  “I am not your servant, Miss Delafield.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I would like to speak with you as a friend.”

  “I have no time for friends. Now get out of my way.” Her shoulder brushed mine as she pushed past me.

  Dear, maddening Mr. Sinclair. Dawkins would alert the dragoons as soon as she saw him. “Wait,” I called, following her.

  “What instructions does Mrs. Chalcroft have for the cook? I-I could deliver them myself and save you a trip.”

  She paused. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Within seconds she was eye level with Mr. Sinclair, but she turned back to face me. “I believe you mean to curry affection with Mrs. Chalcroft, but I won’t allow it. I have been her confidant for the past twenty years. No unnatural upstart like you shall take my place.”

  “You misunderstand me. I only meant to—”

  “Don’t you dare importune me any further. I have nothing to say to you.” She plodded down the remaining steps in a flurry of black lace, so intent on leaving me, she didn’t spare a glance toward the alcove. I pressed my hand to my chest, closing my eyes for a split second. Mr. Sinclair was safe. For now.

  I found Booth as I’d expected, awaiting Mr. Sinclair in his room. I had no more interferences as I ushered the valet down the stairs like a long-lost friend.

  Booth looked to be in his thirties with dirty-blond hair and kind eyes. Thankfully he was a large man, towering over me and Mr. Sinclair’s injured form. “Well, you’ve done it now, sir.”

  Mr. Sinclair smiled. “As you see.”

  I sid
led over to the entryway. “Hurry,” I whispered.

  Booth reached down. “Up you go.”

  He brought Mr. Sinclair to his feet as if he were nothing but a sack of feed and planted his arm firmly across his master’s back.

  “Must you be so rough?” I rushed up the stairs ahead of them, cringing with each one of Mr. Sinclair’s sharp breaths.

  The hallway was empty as well as the landing, but as we neared the corridor that led to Mr. Sinclair’s bedroom, we heard voices.

  Mr. Sinclair rolled his eyes. “What is everyone doing . . . out and about before dinner?”

  I pointed to the hallway to the right. “My room . . . quickly.”

  The men shared a pointed look until Booth spoke. “Figure ’tis our only option, sir.”

  Mr. Sinclair turned his attention to me. “Booth can help me to my room after everyone is abed.”

  I nodded. “This way.”

  Booth pounded down the hall and pushed through the door I indicated, flopping Mr. Sinclair onto my bed.

  “Wait, my coverlet.” I grabbed a towel from my dressing area and slid it under Mr. Sinclair’s shoulder.

  Booth wasted no time in unbuttoning Mr. Sinclair’s shirt and removing what was left of it. I handed him my water pitcher and stopped midstride, unprepared for what I saw. “Perhaps it would be best if I fetched more towels.”

  Booth glanced up. “No. I’ll clean the wound thoroughly with the water, but I also need some alcohol, ointment, and bandages. I’ll get it all in a moment while you stay with Mr. Sinclair.” He meticulously poured what was left in the pitcher onto the wound, then brushed past me in his haste to leave, stopping at the door. “Keep it locked. I’ll knock three times when I return.”

  I didn’t speak or move. Mr. Sinclair seemed to be in and out of consciousness. He lay so still on the coverlet. A chill slid across my shoulders, causing the hairs on my arms to rise. I crossed the rug to the window, keeping my back to the bed. What was I thinking bringing Mr. Sinclair in here? To my bedchamber?

  He cleared his throat. “You know . . . you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

  My hand flopped to my side. “I’m not afraid.” But I didn’t turn.

  “Then come over here and keep me company. I am in a great deal of pain.”

  I gripped the chair from beneath my escritoire and dragged it to the side of the bed. “You’re hardly decent.”

  “Oh . . .” He glanced down. “I’d forgotten.” He pulled a towel over his chest with his good arm. “Better?”

  I laughed. “A little.”

  He took my hand. “I owe you so much more than I can repay at present.” He kissed my fingers. “You were wonderful. Thank you for everything.”

  My face felt hot and I was sure I was blushing. “Shh. You should be resting.”

  A slow smile spread across his face as he glanced down at my hand. “My arm doesn’t hurt so bad right now.”

  “Nonetheless.” I smiled, meeting his firm gaze.

  Two knocks sounded at the door.

  My pulse vanished for a moment and I was unable to speak. I cleared my throat. “Who is it?”

  The doorknob rattled. “It’s me, Miss Ellis.”

  I cast a quick look at Mr. Sinclair, but he’d closed his eyes. “I-I’m indisposed at present. What is it?”

  “Miss Delafield, you’ll never believe it. The house is in an uproar. Soldiers are here at the Towers, waiting downstairs, and all the men are away. Mr. Cantrell, Mr. Roth, and Mr. Sinclair—not a one to be found in our time of need. Mrs. Chalcroft wants you to accompany her to meet the officers.”

  I shook my head as if in denial.

  Mr. Sinclair must have heard, because he pulled me close and whispered, “You better go down.”

  “But what shall I say?”

  “Whatever comes to mind. You’ve a great deal of sense. You’ll think of something. I trust you . . . with my very life.” He tilted his head to the door. “Go.”

  I stood on shaky legs, smoothing my skirt as if I’d been invited to meet the king. “I’ll be right there.”

  18

  My heart pounded as I waited on the landing. The dragoons were here. In the Towers. And Mr. Sinclair appeared lifeless. Was it possible they already suspected him somehow? Of what? Treason? Murder?

  Hodge joined me from the hall with Mrs. Chalcroft on his arm. She looked older in the candlelight, her back crippled, her gait slow and unsteady. I moved to her other arm, and she seemed pleased to greet me.

  I kissed her cheek, breathing in her stoic strength. I would need it if I was to fool the soldiers. My hands were clammy with sweat and I ran them down my skirt. “Do you know why they are here?” I tried to sound flippant, but her eyes sought mine with a pointed glare, sobering me in an instant.

  “Not the least idea, child; however, we must be careful.” She drew out the last word as if she too feared the dragoons’ presence in the house.

  She couldn’t know about Mr. Sinclair. Could she? Thoughts raced through my mind. The letters. Mr. Aberdeen. Was I right in my earlier suppositions about her? Or was there something Mrs. Chalcroft might not want the soldiers to know? Nausea settled in my stomach as we reached the banister.

  It must have looked like a great production, the three of us descending the main staircase—Mrs. Chalcroft in her elderly dignity; Hodge with his arrogant, butler airs; and me scared out of my wits.

  One foot in front of the other. Help Mrs. Chalcroft balance. I’d done it often enough. Of course, this time I had to contend with my nerves.

  Finally, we reached the white drawing room—the very room that had determined my fate the night of my arrival. Before Hodge could open the door, Mrs. Chalcroft’s hand shot out. “What is that?” She pointed to a long brown stain slashed down the right side of my frock.

  My breath caught, and the dizziness I’d held off until now threatened to overtake me. How had I not seen the blood on my gown? It was so obvious—so incriminating.

  Like lightning, I folded the fabric closed around the stain and held it in place. “It is . . . well . . . just a bit of mud. I walked to the churchyard today.”

  Mrs. Chalcroft narrowed her eyes, searching for far more than I cared to reveal. “Unfortunate indeed. Keep it covered. I don’t want any unwelcome questions concerning my companion. I would have preferred for you to change, but it can’t be helped now.”

  “I’m sorry. There wasn’t time.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “No. I suppose there wasn’t. But I thank you for making haste to join me. I need your youth and strength right now.” She motioned to the door. “Let’s get this ridiculous intrusion over and done with. We hide no ghosts in our closets, and I’m famished. I don’t want to hold dinner.”

  Hodge thrust the door wide and the tiny flames of a nearby candelabra winked back at us as we passed over the threshold. Mrs. Chalcroft seemed to straighten, affirming her position as mistress of the house, as she walked inside and I followed her lead.

  Three dragoons lingered by the fireplace as if they felt right at home in the lush room. They watched us, waiting for Mrs. Chalcroft to take a seat. I cringed when I recognized one of them. Captain Rossiter.

  He smiled as he bowed, but his whiskers barely moved above his tight lips. It was a formality, which he clearly took no pleasure in performing.

  “Mrs. Chalcroft, it is good as always to see you.” He raised his chin. “However, I have not come tonight on a mere social call.” He glanced at the casement clock. “You know I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you at such an hour, but it cannot be helped.”

  I held my breath as I took a seat on the sofa, wondering if Booth had returned to my room with the bandages, if Mr. Sinclair was being cared for in my absence. I could still picture the gunshot wound oozing on his shoulder, him trying his best to walk back to the house as I supported him. He looked so weak lying there on my bed.

  The captain waited for the door to close behind Hodge before continuing. “I don’t wish to alarm you ladies, bu
t we have cause to believe a fugitive has taken refuge within the Towers. A dangerous man, armed, a traitor to the Crown.” He paced the long carpet that stretched across the room, his fingers forming a triangle in front of him, his polished boots reflecting the firelight.

  Then he stopped cold, turning his piercing gaze on Mrs. Chalcroft. “I am sure you would wish to be a help to your country. The premises must be searched at once.”

  A sudden cold hit my core. Mrs. Chalcroft gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Heavens, you shock me, Captain. This has always been a quiet community—loyal, hardworking, honest. You must have patience, as I find your story a bit hard to believe. This man you say, this traitor, why would he be inside my house?”

  “A good question.” Unhurried, the captain drew his shoulders back. “Why indeed. After a murder was discovered on the estate. Will you also be surprised to learn, madam, that it has been many months now since we began following a spy route through this ‘loyal’ town? A trail of blood this very evening has led us to your doorstep. As you can see, my patience runs thin.”

  Breathless, I clenched my skirt. Mr. Sinclair was trapped.

  Mrs. Chalcroft leaned forward. “Do you accuse us of helping this man?”

  A smile played at the corner of Rossiter’s mouth. “Not at all. I spoke merely as a courtesy to you, to explain the search of your house, though I need not have done so.”

  Mrs. Chalcroft gripped the arm of the sofa. “Of course the man should be looked for, the house searched. I assure you my servants are quite thorough. We’ll find this traitor of yours if he’s here.” She turned to Hodge. “Gather the staff and begin the search. We don’t wish to keep the good captain waiting.”

  Captain Rossiter picked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “My dear Mrs. Chalcroft, willfully or not, I see you misunderstand me. Such help will not be necessary. My men stand ready to search at my command.”

  She lowered her chin. “But at such a time? You ask too much, Captain. The household is preparing for dinner. You may return and search in the morning with my goodwill.”

  He tugged on his jacket. “I’m sorry, but my orders are clear.” He nodded to the other officers and the three left the room in a rush, their swords banging against their legs.