Turning back the way I came, I walked away and decided from that point on I would avoid Miss Cantrell at all costs. It would take me a good half hour to reach the house, even if I ran as much as I could. Regardless of what she said, I intended to send someone back to help her. But who? Of course, my first thought was Mr. Cantrell, but after the way he’d railed at her last week, I wasn’t sure.
Mr. Sinclair? If he wasn’t lying injured on his bed, he would know what to do. He did seem to care for her in some way. Perhaps I could speak with him. At the edge of the trees, I took a fleeting look back and was surprised to see Miss Cantrell bending forward, holding her stomach.
I saw her painful cry before I heard it. She glanced up at me, the haughtiness stripped from her ashen face. “Miss Delafield. Please. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t go.”
Within a moment I was back at her side, using my sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She shrank at my touch, the effort to maintain her position failing. I brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes—a beautiful emerald green like her brother’s. It was strange that I had not noticed them before now.
I lowered my voice. “Miss Cantrell, we both know you merely tolerate me. I’ve come to live with that fact, however arrogant and ridiculous I think it is. But something is seriously wrong with you, and I’m the only one here who can help. Please, won’t you come down from your pretentious pedestal and find a way to trust me—even if it’s only for this afternoon?”
She didn’t speak, but I caught the hint of a smile. Then she looked at me in a way she never had before, as if the stone wall between us had crumbled at our feet. For the first time she felt like a real person to me, someone not unlike myself—alone in the world, harboring some unknown burden.
I felt her hand slide beneath my arm, and she hesitantly pulled me next to her. Her cheek felt wet against my shoulder, and her breaths slowed. In that silent moment as I cradled her in my arms like a small child, I forgave her again for whatever existed between us. She cried—not quiet tears, but those of a deep emotional release I soon learned she’d needed for some time.
We clung to each other for different reasons, bound by a new unspoken friendship. Hidden in the trees, we stayed like that for several minutes until the tears abated and Miss Cantrell was able to lift her head. “Oh, Miss Delafield.”
I offered a smile. “You don’t need to say anything to me if you don’t want to.”
“I’m afraid I must tell you the truth if you are to help me back to the house.” She blushed. “I should never have walked so far. I-I had a fight with Lucius again. And I don’t know . . . I suppose I was out of my mind. I barely remember running and falling, but”—she touched her stomach—“I think the pains have stopped now. I was so worried. I thought perhaps I had done it on purpose and all was lost. But you see, I realize now, for the first time since this whole thing started, that I may be ashamed of what I did, but I don’t want to lose the baby.”
Baby? My gaze drifted to her rounded waistline, but I forced myself to look up, hoping I’d not revealed the shock coursing through my body. Elizabeth Cantrell was pregnant—all this time. Why had I not guessed it? Her moody outbursts, her nausea and sleepiness. I tried to keep my voice steady. “Does anyone else know?”
Her hands shook as she folded them and laid them on her lap. “Not many. Mr. Sinclair has known for some time.”
Mr. Sinclair. Of course. My heart froze like a flower caught in the dead of winter, then pounded like it never had before.
She shrugged. “I-I’m glad he knows in a way. He’s been so kind through the whole ordeal.”
I didn’t speak or move, so she continued. “You see, Mr. Sinclair was once good friends with the father, who you probably saw at the dance.”
I nodded and relief washed across my tightened muscles.
“Mr. Sinclair tried to help in the beginning, but it seems the man I thought I loved doesn’t want me.”
I let out a slow breath. “I’m so sorry. And your brother?”
A spot of color reentered her cheeks. “He’s having a hard time with the news.” She picked at her skirt. “That’s the whole problem. I’m afraid I’ve made him desperate.”
“What do you mean?”
“You see, growing up, Lucius and I only ever had each other, sheltered away at our estate in New Castle. Our parents cared little for us, but we knew someday we would go to London. I would have a season and Lucius would be allowed to join the fun. That’s all they ever spoke to us about—fun.
“You can imagine our shock when we learned from our solicitor ten years ago that they passed away in a carriage accident. We were further shocked when we learned the true state of the affairs we had been left with.
“Lucius came to my room one evening, looking so mature and smiling as I’d never seen before. I was only thirteen, but he was entrancing. He’d cut his hair and bought a new tailored suit. You can image what a figure he made, suddenly with the world before him. More importantly, he had a plan.
“First, he would take what was left and gamble wildly, hoping for some kind of payout to live on the next few years. When I was old enough, he meant for me to have a season where I was to make a brilliant match. And last, we would come to Croft Towers to find some way into Mrs. Chalcroft’s will.”
She shook her head. “He was so sure of himself then. I wanted to believe him. He looked so young and handsome, and he paid such attention to me. He swore that even if only one part of his plan worked, we would be fine. But it hasn’t. None of it has. His gambling drove us further into debt. Aunt Chalcroft seems to care nothing for me or him. And then the baby. There will be no marriage for me—not ever.
“I will have nowhere to go soon. I cannot conceal my situation for long. I told him about it only last week. He wasn’t pleased.” She held up her hand. “Don’t judge him. He’s been under quite a bit of duress. If Mrs. Chalcroft forgets us in her will, as I believe she plans to do, particularly after she finds out about the baby, Lucius will be forced to make a new plan. And I shudder to think what it will be this time.”
21
It took several long, arduous hours to assist Miss Cantrell back to the house, stopping as we did often to rest. Considering her surprising condition, I believed we couldn’t be too careful. The return of her pains would have spelled disaster for her and the baby.
By the time I relinquished her care to her maid, we were both tired and, though we nursed a budding friendship, a little cross. I promised to check on her later that evening and hurried down the hall to Mrs. Chalcroft’s room where I had been absent for far too long.
As I caught my breath, I began to wonder whether she might be irritated with me. I had never missed afternoon tea without telling her in advance. A retreating sun cast long rays on the carpet through the hall window, stretching past my toes to the end of the corridor. Resting my hand on the latch, I planned my words, then inched open the door and tiptoed inside.
Late-afternoon darkness had overtaken the room and a chill hovered on the floor. Any second I expected to hear Mrs. Chalcroft’s brittle voice as she called to me from somewhere within the bedsheets. However, only silence greeted my arrival. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I glanced around the room, which seemed far more foreboding than usual in twilight’s silver light.
I took a step toward the bed and the shadowy figure lying there. I’d worked out a speech that highlighted Miss Cantrell’s fall to the difficult journey back. Surely Mrs. Chalcroft wouldn’t be angry if I woke her and explained. Besides, it wouldn’t be long before she must dress for dinner.
Like a mother would wake a child, I reached out and touched what I thought was her sleeping form, only to realize such an explanation might not be necessary, for I was alone with nothing but pillows. Relief washed over me. I might have a few minutes to rest before dinner. But as I fluffed the pillows and laid them in their proper place, uneasiness crept into my mind.
Why were Mrs. Chalcroft’s bedsheets
tossed about, her fire left to smolder in the grate? Where could she have gone? And with whom? I stood there completely still for several seconds, listening to the wind rattle the windowpanes, before all at once I got the uncomfortable feeling I was not alone.
Slowly, I shifted to the right and forced myself to look. Above the fireplace, on top of the mantel.
Anne. The curtains had been flung back and her painting exposed. I backed away, a fluttery feeling taking over my stomach. Oh no.
I darted out of Mrs. Chalcroft’s room, conscious only of my desire to find her. Of course, my hasty retreat propelled me straight into Dawkins’s path on her way down the corridor.
I stopped short, my thoughts racing. “Pardon me. I apologize for . . . well . . .” I glanced back at the open door behind me, guarding my words. “Do you know if Mrs. Chalcroft decided to leave her bedchamber? I thought she said this morning she planned to spend the day in her room.”
Dawkins narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you responsible for the mistress in the afternoons?”
I nodded, adding a bit of a smile for good measure. “Yes, generally she likes me to read to her, but today she decided to take her nap early. She suggested I go for a walk, and since the weather was fine, I agreed at once to do so.”
The muscles in Dawkins’s jaw twisted within her thin face.
I had made an error. “What is it, Dawkins?”
Her fingers tightened around the small jewelry bag she held in her hand. “You mean to tell me you went for a walk and left her all alone?”
“Why, yes. It was her idea. I meant to be gone less than an hour, but I was late returning because Miss Cantrell—”
Her voice turned to ice. “And did you tell a maid of your plans before you left?”
A slight shiver ran across my shoulders. “No, I didn’t think it necessary. Why? Should I have?”
Dawkins sucked in a deep breath through her nose, the kind that lasts far too long, and left me wondering if the air in the room had thinned somehow. She tipped her chin. “I knew this wouldn’t work. A lady’s companion barely out of the schoolroom. Ridiculous. I’ve never seen the likes of it before.” Her gaze met mine. “You better be careful not to take too many liberties and forget your place. You may sleep abovestairs, but you are not one of them. You are not family.” Then she flicked her fingers down the hall. “Well, Miss Delafield.”
She lingered on my name and I felt like I was shrinking under her glare.
“I suggest you find her.”
Find her? “What do you mean? She couldn’t have gone far. If she felt well enough to take a brief walk, I don’t understand what business it is of either of us.”
Something changed in her eyes. “Surely you are aware of her spells, Miss Delafield.”
My stomach lurched. I had only seen the one spell shortly after my arrival. No one had even mentioned them since that day. In a way, I’d forgotten all about them.
Dawkins leaned forward as if she’d read my thoughts. “One time we found her down in the cellar—incoherent for hours afterward.”
I thought I saw the slightest look of satisfaction cross her face. She planted her hands on her hips. “I certainly hope that’s not the case this time, as Mr. Cantrell and Mr. Sinclair are in residence . . .”
And the dragoons. I finished the sentence in my head, unwilling to consider what Dawkins might know, and more importantly whether she could be trusted. “Would you help me?”
She stared then slowly nodded, and I wondered if I might not want her help. But I had no time to lose. “Thank you. I suppose we should split up to cover more ground. I’ll start here on the upper floors and then head to the gardens. If you—”
“I’ll take the kitchens and servants’ quarters as I have business there.” She lunged forward, then halted as if someone had pulled her back by the shoulders, meeting my gaze with a callous smile. Her voice sounded strange. “Be careful who you tell the mistress is missing. That she’s had another of her spells . . .”
Leaving the statement there in the hall, she turned to the landing, where she descended the central staircase without looking back.
My palms were wet, and I paused to wipe them on my skirt before launching into my search. The hallway felt empty, and I looked first one way and then the next. Either way I chose to go, I knew now I had to find her before anyone else.
I started like a mouse, tearing down the hallway, popping my head into each room, calling out her name at every turn, but nearing the end of the family wing, I’d already turned a few servants’ heads. If I continued in such a manner, I would do nothing but alert everyone in the house of Mrs. Chalcroft’s disappearance.
I crossed the landing to one of the large rear windows, hoping I might see her in the gardens below, her cane gripped in her fingers. But as I neared the corner, I caught sight of Miss Ellis in the sitting room, flipping through a magazine. I opened my mouth to call out when Dawkins’s words came to mind—“Be careful”—and I slipped away, or at least I tried to.
“Good afternoon, Miss Delafield,” Miss Ellis called.
For a split second I teetered on pretending I hadn’t heard her, but something made me reapproach the threshold. “Good afternoon.” My voice sounded hollow.
Quickly, she folded a slip of paper and tucked it into her reticule. “I suppose everyone is too busy these days to spare a second for me.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Ellis, truly I am. But at the moment, I’m working and haven’t much time for pleasantries.”
Miss Ellis picked at the overlay on her white skirt. “I understand, really I do. But after Mr. Sinclair refused to go riding with me and Mr. Cantrell left for town, I’d hoped to spend a bit of time with my aunt. But do you know, when I asked her to join me for tea, she didn’t even bother to respond. It was as if she’d not even heard me. Of course, I knew she had because she looked at me in that blank way she does sometimes when she says she’s ‘forming a plan.’ I can only hope this time it includes me.”
A spark of hope lit inside my heart. Perhaps my search had a direction after all. “Oh, Miss Ellis. I am so sorry you’ve been neglected.” I motioned to the hallway. “But you said your aunt passed by this way?”
“Yes. A good half hour ago, I suppose. Looking stronger than I’ve seen her in some time. Can you believe she edged down the stairs on her own power? I watched her the whole way. It made me wonder if the doctor might not be wrong about her.” She bit her lip. “We can hope, can we not? I—”
I crossed the room to grasp her hands and sat beside her on the sofa. “Never stop hoping.” Attempting nonchalance, I tried to make my voice light. “Did you perhaps see her leave the house?”
“Goodness, no. At least, I don’t think so. I gave up watching her after she turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, heading into the servants’ wing. I figured it was none of my business what she was about.”
“No, I suppose not, but thank you. I-I need to speak with her at present.” I flew to my feet. “You’ve been incredibly helpful. I do have to go straightaway, but I promise as soon as I get a spare second, I shall spend some time with you. We could go riding or shopping in town. Maybe John Coachman could take us to Reedwick.”
Her face brightened. “I’d like that very much. Perhaps they’ll have word of the murder investigation.”
It took all my patience to walk away, hide my pounding concern, and descend the stairs like a lady of fashion, but the minute I was out of sight, I hoisted up my skirt and rushed into the kitchens. I nodded at Cook but didn’t slow until I reached the door at the end of the servants’ hallway. Somewhere in the middle of Miss Ellis’s speech the thought had come to me where Mrs. Chalcroft might be.
The tower room. The chair by the painting.
I had no desire to see Lord Stanton’s disagreeable face again, or to feel what I’d felt the day of my discovery, but I swung open the narrow door without another thought. A gust of stale air wafted into my face, and I peered up the rounding stairs. Could it be poss
ible that the passageway was darker than before?
I secured a candle from the kitchen. With a quick glance back at the empty corridor, I took a deep breath and slipped through the door, inching it closed behind me.
Silence pressed against my ears, and I lifted the candle. One . . . two . . . three. The flame flickered, but the light held. The dust covering the walls and stairs lay so thick I could taste it. As if waiting for the faint light of sunrise, I watched as the dark stone stairs took shape before me, conscious only now of how alone I felt.
I climbed quickly, driven by a primal instinct to reach the top. But the farther I went, the more the damp smell of mold fought me back. A muffled crack of thunder found a way through the thick stone. I tried not to listen, but I remembered the storm that had threatened Miss Cantrell and me on our walk back, so I picked up my pace. What little time I had to find Mrs. Chalcroft was fading away. Round and round, the stairs narrowed and darkened until I was forced to slow my steps.
But I didn’t have much farther to go. All at once, I was at the door.
I pushed it open and raised the candle to eye level, the Holland covers and piles of rubbish taking shape in the shadows of the room.
Nothing. The room was empty. I’d climbed the wretched stairs for my own exercise. I took one step forward to be sure, eyeing the horrid painting in the corner where Lord Stanton waited to stare at me with those cold eyes.
I had just turned to leave when I heard a creak.
My body went motionless.
It sounded again. Not an echo from far away like the thunder that followed me up the stairs, but an eerie crunch that reverberated down from above my head. Without thinking I ducked as if the wooden beams stood poised to fail at any moment.
That’s when I saw the small door in the corner swinging open. The one Mr. Cantrell had indicated led to the battlements on the roof.
I hadn’t heard thunder or wind. It was footsteps. Someone was up there—on top of the tower.
In the Shadow of Croft Towers Page 20