A winding shiver ran across my shoulders. In my distress I’d forgotten how chilled my body had become, and now more than ever I wanted to cry. “I’m not sure I can make it all the way back. Could we not get two rooms at the inn and return in the morning early?”
Mr. Sinclair gave me a hard look before taking a step back. “If only it were that easy. I’m afraid you’re not considering everything. First, you are dressed as a man, but not a very convincing one. And you know as well as I if the two of us stayed at the inn . . .” He paused. “You’d be ruined. How could you account for your absence at the Towers?”
“I’m only a lady’s companion. I doubt anyone would give me a second thought. Or perhaps we could—”
“What?” A winding smile curved his lips. “Do not tell me you mean to hide me in your bed again. I could not bear to have you sit on me all night.”
My eyes grew wide, my fingers flying to my lips. “You were awake!” Warmth filled my cheeks.
He blinked. “Delightfully so. Nevertheless, I would not let you stay at the Rose Inn without a chaperone for all the world.” He rubbed his forehead then jerked down his mask. “You know as well as I it is essential to return tonight. Portia must find you in your room in the morning. No one must know we’ve been alone together. I see no other options.”
Properly put in my place, we left the town on horseback without another word, the rain chilling the space between us and allowing me an uncomfortable string of time to think back through all that had happened and what had been said.
“Not for all the world,” Mr. Sinclair had declared as if the two of us were in solemn agreement. But we weren’t—not a bit. I wanted to believe something had changed between us; however, Mr. Sinclair’s words had been clear enough. If I were to be ruined on our adventure, as a gentleman he would be honor bound to marry me—and from what he’d said, he found the notion unbearable. We would return home tonight, whatever the cost.
The next few miles seemed interminable as if the Towers had disappeared into a winter’s dream. No dragoons barred our way. I figured Mr. Sinclair had been taking steps to avoid them all along as we continually changed direction. The snowflakes had ceased, but the horses left a trail of disturbed snow that disappeared into the darkness behind us.
I had no idea where we were; I’d not paid attention. Not that it would have helped. Everything appeared the same in the dark and the snow, and he’d made me promise to remain silent, so silent I rode, frozen to my horse, feeling sorry for myself until a small barn appeared beyond a broken fence.
There was no farmhouse to accompany the failing structure. Mr. Sinclair, it seemed, meant to ride on past, but I decided to take a look, steering Aphrodite to the open door and peeking inside. The shack was abandoned. Paint peeled from the boards, and the roof was rotting at the edges. But it was quiet and it gave me a moment’s rest from the frigid wind, so I headed inside.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Sinclair trotted Hercules in behind me.
“I need a minute. I’m sorry. I know how much you want to get back, but I can’t feel my feet. They only hurt at first, but then numbness took over. I was becoming scared I might fall from Aphrodite.”
I blinked and Mr. Sinclair was at my side, pulling me from my horse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I tried to take a step but tipped right into his arms. “You said I should be quiet.”
He gave me an angry look, but his voice came out kind. “Why don’t you sit here?” He wriggled from his coat, tossing it onto the ground. “It’s the best I can do with this cold ground.”
“I most certainly will not. You’ll freeze.”
“As you can see I’m fine.” He lifted me up as if I weighed nothing and set me on the coat before turning away.
I watched him pace the room, apparently unable to stay still. He was striking in his white shirt and brocade waistcoat. I adjusted the borrowed trousers around my legs before running my finger along the edge of the coat Mr. Sinclair had laid on the ground, wishing it was around my shoulders. “You’re angry, and I’m sorry. I promise it will only take a minute to warm my feet and—”
He stopped midstride and crossed his arms. “I’m not angry, Sybil. I’m furious. Furious that Mrs. Chalcroft would send you out on such a night. This whole delivery business must end. She’s been using you. To what purpose, I’m not certain.”
The flame to his tone startled me and I remembered the terror I’d felt when a young man wearing a mask forced me from the mail coach. “What do you plan to do?”
He kicked one of the wall posts as he passed. “I haven’t decided yet, but I have no intention of standing idly by while secrets are traded at the Towers.”
“Are you not . . .” How to say it? He was involved somehow. We both knew it.
“What you must think of me, I can’t image—highwayman, gentleman, French spy? Goodness knows I’ve been nothing but trouble for you from the start.”
A quick smile pricked my lips. “Yes, a great deal of trouble. But, Mr. Sinclair . . .” Serious now, I met his eyes. “You know I trust you. I always have, but there is something I must understand before we return to the Towers.” I searched his face for how to proceed. “What part do you play in all this?”
He gave me a small nod. “More than anyone, you have a right to know.” He tossed a small stone he’d acquired across the barn and watched it settle into the corner. “I should have told you everything long before this, but I’ve found I haven’t the knack for trusting others. Very few people in my life have turned out to possess any strength of character.” Glancing up, he added, “That is, until I met you.”
I held my breath as the shifting moonlight poured through a side window, making the tiny barn feel that much smaller. Part of me wished I could hide from his words, but at the same time, my heart lightened. “Thank you. Your good opinion means a great deal to me.”
“As does yours.” Mr. Sinclair gave me a wan smile, but he was unable to meet my eyes as he continued. “If I may, I’d like to clear the air.” He paused as if he searched for the right words, then gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Can you imagine me of all people—speechless?”
I gave my head a little shake. “Not at all.”
“Well, I am.” He rubbed his forehead. “What I have to tell you should come natural enough—goodness knows I’m proud of it—yet I find it hard to begin.”
“Please. I’d like to know.”
He drew his shoulders up and took a deep breath. “For the past few years I’ve been involved in the intelligence service—it being my only recourse to serve England since Lord Stanton won’t allow me to join the cavalry.”
My hand moved to my lips, and I was unable to respond for a few seconds. “You work for the Crown?” Instinctively I clutched the bag to my side. “Why on earth are we hiding from the dragoons then?”
“It’s complicated. I have no official position per se. I’m an informant really. There’s a small group of us who work in the dark, gathering what information we can, stopping the mail coaches to search.”
“Then you weren’t robbing us.”
“No. Looking for communication rather—information on its way to France.”
I felt disoriented as everything I thought I knew about Mr. Sinclair dissolved into pieces. He was a spy—for England. It all made sense. His interest in my letters, his returning Mrs. Plume’s necklace, his nightly rides.
“What about my grandmother—does she know?”
“I’ve an inkling she knows I am up to something, but we have never spoken of it. To this day, thankfully, she remains in the dark.”
“Is there anyone else involved?”
“Actually, you have encountered another one of our little band of misfits.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“The man you saw in the woods the day you fell in the brook. You may know of him. Mr. Lewis Browning. He was also one of the highwaymen who robbed the mail coach. Unfortunately, the other was a hired thug.”
“Browning? He doesn’t at all look like a gentleman. Of course, I’ve never met the man, but—”
“He stays well disguised and his identity must not be exposed as his estate is not far from here, and his role is too important to the cause.” He rubbed his chin. “He and I have traced a treasonous spying network through Reedwick.”
“The same one the dragoons are looking for?”
“I’m afraid so.” His gaze drifted to the bag at my side. “However, you and I have something in common. I came to the Towers because I too wish to protect Mrs. Chalcroft.”
I gasped, and I thought I saw his hand twitch.
“Quite right. A worse situation I cannot image. I’ve had to work both sides, hoping I can find a way to stop the flow of information and shield my godmother in the process. I’ve been riding as a highwayman all over these parts trying to come to the root of who is involved.”
I felt drained as I digested his words. “But”—I drummed my fingers on the ground—“if my grandmother is what you fear, you place yourself in a dangerous position. You could be implicated as well. You helped me to Reedwick after all—twice.”
“I’m still not certain of her guilt, which is why I’ve continued searching for the others concerned. And the murders—they just don’t make sense. Even now, that parcel there isn’t right. Yet if Mrs. Chalcroft is indeed involved, you, Miss Postal Carrier, are just as culpable.” He shook his head. “What a bramble this has turned into. Everyone who resides within the Towers could be questioned, charged. I dare not give the dragoons anything to work with. Captain Rossiter only means to make a name for himself, whatever the cost.”
He knelt at my side, his voice soft in the chill air. “You are no more a traitor to England than I am. Neither of us wanted to deliver a package bound for France, not if it had any chance of furthering the war.”
I shook my head, trying to make sense of what he said.
Mr. Sinclair slid closer to me on the coat, his voice at my ear. “Whatever happens, there can be no more secrets between us. We walk a difficult road, you and I, and we need to be able to rely on each other.” He took my hand, and my thoughts scattered.
“Sybil, I’ve loved Mrs. Chalcroft since I was a small boy. I promised long ago that I would do everything in my power to keep the people I care about safe, and nothing will change that.” A far-off look came into his eyes before he dropped his gaze to the floor. “There’s something more . . .”
“More?”
“Yes, it’s not easy for me to say, but it will be harder for you to hear it.”
I stiffened. “Go on.”
“Who told you that you’re the heir to the Chalcroft fortune?”
My pulse raced. “Dawkins.” I swallowed hard. “She said she took me as a baby to London after my mother died.”
“Has no one else confirmed your claim?”
I shook my head, my scalp prickling.
“I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you. Anne gave birth that tragic night to a boy, not a girl.”
“What?” I felt dizzy. “How could you know that?”
His hand found his forehead. “Mrs. Chalcroft and I have had a special bond since my birth. As her godson, I believe she took an added interest in me as I was the only one she could openly care for. Several years ago, when she had a bad illness, she decided that it was time I was made aware of my position in the world, that I could not go on thinking I was the heir to Stanton’s vast holdings. She knew the truth would affect not only me but also my sisters, and she wanted to give me time to make arrangements, for she knew quite well all the facts would eventually come out.
“I know it was difficult for her, but she decided to trust me to keep her secret, which I have done these many years.” Thunder cracked across the sky. “I’ve met him, Sybil. Mrs. Chalcroft told me his name, and he looks just like her.”
25
The last stage of the journey home seemed endless. We were forced to change route twice to avoid the patrols. And worse, Mr. Sinclair had said nothing following his revelation in the barn. The bag I’d been sent to deliver to the Frenchman hung heavy around my neck.
I finally understood his decision to return to the Towers tonight and avoid a scandal. I was not Mrs. Chalcroft’s granddaughter. I was nobody once again—penniless and desperate. A fine catch for any man. Mr. Sinclair’s sisters would starve. My fingers tightened around Aphrodite’s reins.
The clouds had broken into stringy clumps above our heads, and the full moon, which had been hiding all night, peeked through the mist from time to time, a steady eye watching our progress. We neared the brook’s bank, and Mr. Sinclair yanked Hercules to a stop.
I pulled up beside him. “What is it?”
“Tracks.” He motioned to the soft ground at our feet. “A great many.”
Snowy hoofprints littered the path. Several horses had indeed taken the narrow crossing before us. The question was, why?
A cold fear settled into my chest. “Do you think they’ve discovered our absence? Could the dragoons be at the Towers already?”
Mr. Sinclair patted his horse then slipped from Hercules’s back in one graceful movement. “I don’t know, but either way it doesn’t bode well for a quiet entrance.”
He raised his arms to lift me down, but I held up my hand, holding him off for a second. “I have a suggestion if you will hear me out.”
“I’m listening.”
“Would it not be best if you were to go on ahead? You could take the horses back to the stables, possibly draw a bit of attention to your arrival. In the meantime, I can find my own way back with this wretched bag.”
Mr. Sinclair gave me a knowing look, then slapped Hercules on the rump. “Get on, old boy.” Then he turned back to face me. “Not a bad plan, but I’ll not let you go it alone, no matter how well you present it to me. We agreed to do this together, remember?”
I remembered, but I’d made that deal as Mrs. Chalcroft’s granddaughter. Now . . . everything was different.
The conversation vanished as we listened to Hercules’s retreating gallop intermixed with the trickle of the creek. Mr. Sinclair’s voice came out in a whisper. “Don’t ask me to leave you again, because I never will. Hop down so Aphrodite can find her own way back to the stables. The horses’ arrival alone may give us the distraction we need to find our way in unobserved.”
Mr. Sinclair helped me from Aphrodite and supported me as I worked the numbness from my legs once again. His touch was bittersweet—a glimpse of a dream I should never have indulged in.
When he was sure I could hold my own, he sent my horse scampering off in the same way as Hercules, snow flinging into the air from her hooves.
He rested his hand on my shoulder, misreading my emotions. “Don’t worry. The horses know well enough where they are and only wish for their beds. Once I have you settled, I’ll return to check on them. In all likelihood they’ll wake old John and he’ll do the work for me.”
I wasn’t sure he really believed what he’d said, but I allowed him to paint a pleasant picture. In all likeliness someone would be there to take care of the horses—the dragoons. I shrugged my shoulders, my voice a bit more despondent than I intended. “Then lead on, Captain.”
He offered me a weak smile before turning down a thin line of trees, our sheltered path to the east garden’s far wall. It was slow going through the icy undergrowth, but soon there was a break in the trees and I caught sight of the Towers. Light burst from every window on the ground floor. Wind ruffled the nearby trees. A battalion of dragoons swarmed the lawns, torches in their hands, straight sabers at their sides. I could hear Mr. Cantrell’s dogs barking and growling from the rear of the house as if they too wanted to join the hunt—for us?
Mr. Sinclair grasped my hand. “This doesn’t look good, but if we can duck into the hedgerow and take it around to the far side of the garden, we might stand a chance going in through the east servants’ entrance.”
“Yes. It’s possible. I left that door
unlocked.” I squinted into the pale night. “But we can’t be sure our way is clear to the door. Suppose they found it open and a soldier is in hiding. Would it not be safer to wait them out?”
Mr. Sinclair pressed his lips together. “I’m afraid we haven’t a choice. We’ll start that way, hoping they’ve yet to discover the door, and change course if need be.”
He sounded confident, and I followed his steps, keeping to the shadows as best I could until we reached the hedgerow. There we were forced to crawl in the snow-covered dirt, escaping into the small space at the base of the plants between the wall and the thick greenery. The ground was like ice against my elbows and knees, and it felt as if it might swallow me whole and bury me deep within the earth. I was glad for the trousers, but soon they became so wet and caked in mud, they too took on the frigid night air.
Mr. Sinclair stopped suddenly in front of me and I careened into his leg. Carefully, he maneuvered around just enough to reach my ear. “You were right. Soldiers on watch at this door as well. I can see one crouching in the bushes and a plume just passed through the dormer window, which means they lay in wait on the inside. It’s as if someone alerted them of our plans.”
As the words left his lips, the image of Mrs. Chalcroft came to mind. Grandmother or not, I still cared for her. Would she do such a thing to us? Every sensible notion in my brain fought to deny the thought, but I couldn’t completely will it away. Trust was as difficult as Mr. Sinclair had said, and as far as I was concerned, I felt it slipping away.
He touched my shoulder. “I see your mind working, but I don’t think it was Mrs. Chalcroft who sounded the alarm. Someone knows something in that house.” He met my eyes. “We need to speak with my godmother as soon as possible.”
“She told me she planned to wait up for my return. That is, if we aren’t forced to hide in the bushes all night.”
Like a flash, Mr. Sinclair’s hand slammed against my mouth and he pulled my feet as far into the plants as possible, chills following the movement of his fingers.
Within seconds, four black boots trudged by a few feet from the hedgerow. Two men’s voices cut through the breezy night air, the first a baritone. “I’m beginning to think this whole night was a farce.”
In the Shadow of Croft Towers Page 24