She gasped. “But the Barineaus.”
I finished her thought. “Were merely working for him.”
She went stone cold as Curtis paced the room behind me. A heavy curtain had fallen and I wished there was some way to smooth it away. But there wasn’t. Nephew, friend, brother—soon enough, they would all know of Mr. Cantrell’s duplicity.
Curtis grasped the poker and stoked the fire, hot embers bursting from the grate. “And Miss Cantrell?”
I touched his elbow. “As far as I know, she is innocent in all this.”
My grandmother lifted her hand. “Secrets have surrounded these Towers for far too long, trapping me in a bed of loneliness and bitter despair.” Her fingers curled into a ball. “And it’s my fault. All of it.”
“No.”
She grasped my hand, but her voice faltered. “Allow me this moment to tell you the whole, and then we shall not speak of it again. Please, don’t interrupt.” She took a deep breath, her eyes glazing over. “You see, Anne and I had an argument that terrible night, the worst we’d ever had. She stormed into the drawing room, telling me wild stories of her husband, Lord Stanton—accusations I couldn’t believe. She claimed she had discovered he was a French spy, that she had proof she meant to take to a man who worked for the Secretary of State in a secret position in the post office. The two of them planned to expose Stanton for what he was—a vicious spy.
“I didn’t believe a moment what she was saying. How could I? I knew him to be a cold, callous sort of man who had likely lost her interest, but a French spy? Unbelievable. Then the far more daring accusations started, how he’d abused her, neglected her, used her for his own pleasure. She described a terror-filled life sheltered away with a master manipulator. In my shock and disbelief, I couldn’t believe what she said. I threatened to lock her in her room. Surely it was madness, something brought on by the late state of her pregnancy. I knew their marriage had turned icy, but she’d never made such wild accusations before, not like that.”
Mrs. Chalcroft took a sip of tea to steady her voice. “I thought at the time I was doing the right thing, saving her from herself, but at the first opportunity she tore free from the house on horseback like a prisoner escaping her chains. She chose to risk death or estrangement from her family than stay at the Towers, have her baby, and the two of them be sent home to him. She wanted a life for them both—one without fear. I remember desperately climbing the Tower, calling for her to return, but the rain and wind would have none of that. She galloped away and didn’t even look back at me—her own mother.
“Hodge found her by the creek hours later, deep in labor, and brought her home to deliver the child. It was then we found the proof of Lord Stanton’s treachery tucked away in her pocket. All the things Anne had said in anger about the spying were true. I can only assume the other accusations were as well. The man was a monster, and I hadn’t believed her. There was no time for a doctor. Dawkins and I brought you and your brother into this world with tears on our cheeks. Anne never regained consciousness. She died but a week later from complications and an inflammation of the lungs.”
She squeezed my hand. “You don’t seem surprised by my story. Lucius must have told you the whole.”
I nodded. “I knew much of it.”
“If my nephew was the blackmailer, then you know all.”
A chill wound its way across my shoulders. “Not all. May I ask why I was sent away?”
“Ah. A valid question, though it pains me to speak the truth. It was a decision I’ve wished a thousand times I could make again. Almost immediately after the birth, we knew something had to be done and much concealed. We had no wet nurse in the house, so you were both taken to the village to a girl who could care for you there, Mr. Aberdeen’s niece.”
Mr. Sinclair sat up. “Ah . . . I’ve been wondering for months how Aberdeen fit into all this. I knew the two of you kept regular correspondence, but at the dance I decided he was not the spy I was looking for—that is, until Sybil asked to see him.” He narrowed his eyes. “She gave him something that night, didn’t she?”
“Yes, I have sent regular payments to the Aberdeens for Harland’s board and upkeep over the years. Mr. and Mrs. Aberdeen were not able to have children, so they stood in for Harland’s family and raised him as one of their own. I am greatly indebted to Mr. Aberdeen.”
I touched her hand. “But if we were brought to the Aberdeens that night, how did I end up in London?”
She licked her lips. “You see, when Dawkins and I returned to the Towers, Lord Stanton had arrived in our absence. He’d learned from the staff that his child had been born and demanded to see him. I was frightened and grieving, and most of all I was concerned what Stanton would do with the boy—his heir. A misogynist at heart, I knew he’d care nothing for a girl.
“I told him the only thing that came to mind, that he’d had a girl and she was being cared for in the village. At first he instructed me to leave you there, but then he seemed to change his mind. I’d gambled wrong. Fear racked my body for your safety, though an idea came to me through my haze of grief. Lord Stanton was a French spy and I could prove it. I wouldn’t allow a family scandal, but I knew I could blackmail him.
“A lengthy discussion ensued, I intending to fulfill Anne’s wishes and keep the two of you apart, and he unable to bear the thought of me winning. In the end we agreed to a school in London at his expense, and I would never reveal the proof I had of his infamy. Your identity would remain anonymous and neither of us would contact you in the future.
“Over the years, I kept correspondence with Mrs. Smith and heard of all your accomplishments. Anne would have been so proud. I told myself it was best that you were away, that I couldn’t care for you with my mind the way it was. Only, when I learned I was dying, I had to send for you, even if I had to conceal your true identity for a few months. I needed to see you, to know you. I’ve been able to watch your brother from afar as he was in Plattsdale, but not you. My daughter’s daughter.
“Harland has much to learn of his true identity, only I dare not reveal anything until Lord Stanton can be located in the West Indies.”
“Grandmama.”
She smiled. “Yes, child?”
“Mr. Cantrell revealed to me tonight that my father is dead, and that he has been for a month or more.”
Mr. Sinclair met my eyes. “Are you sure?”
“He had no reason to lie.”
Mrs. Chalcroft’s shoulders relaxed. “Then we are free at last, and your brother is the new Earl of Stanton.”
Mr. Sinclair laughed. “Thank goodness.”
“That would also explain why Mr. Sinclair has received no letters from him.”
“Yes.” Mr. Sinclair grasped my hand and the movement tumbled my bracelet down around my wrist, the cool metal stinging my skin. I stared at it a moment, mesmerized by the firelight’s dancing reflection and the hundreds of little metallic lights pulsing in and out of the garnets, before averting my gaze to my grandmother.
She was looking at the bracelet too. “I see you haven’t taken it off.”
“It was my mother’s, wasn’t it?”
“A favorite of hers and mine.” She took my hand, running her fingers along the circular pattern. “My husband, your grandfather, the captain, gave it to me soon after we wed so long ago. He’d bought it with his first round of prize money in the navy.” She paused, slipping into her thoughts once again.
“When Anne was a baby she couldn’t keep her hands off it, and then when she was a child I allowed her to wear it for short periods of time. I decided to give it to her as a gift on the eve of her marriage. She wore it every day from then on. Stanton teased her about it in the first year of their marriage, tempting her with far more spectacular jewels, but she would have none of that. I believe it reminded her of her father and the simple joy of childhood.” Her smile faded. “She wasn’t wearing it when she arrived at Croft Towers that awful day. I always wondered what became of it.”
She raised her chin. “I imagine he wanted to make mischief, to send Sybil here to cut up my peace, to force me to confront my past.” She turned to me, a brightness filling her eyes. “Only, he had no idea I wanted you here desperately.”
“I suppose we shall never know his motives.” I glanced once more at the delicate band. “I do wonder though. I suppose it is equally possible that he wished to do right in the end. That he sent it to me because he truly thought I should have it.”
My grandmother grunted. “I doubt it, but you can think so if it gives you comfort.”
“He did keep it all those years.”
Mrs. Chalcroft tugged the embroidered bell rope, her tired eyes meeting mine. “I daresay what you say is possible, but you shall find me hard-pressed to believe it. At this moment, however, I’m afraid I am unable to stay awake any longer now that I know the two of you are safe. We can talk of everything else in the afternoon, my dear, sweet granddaughter.” She touched my hair. “You don’t look like Anne, you know, but you have her courage and her spirit.”
I wondered if Mr. Cantrell’s betrayal hung heavy on her heart as she stood, but she said nothing more. Hodge answered the call and escorted her from the room, leaving Curtis and me alone.
He knelt at my side. “No doubt the authorities will question Lucius, and I’m sure everything will come out eventually.”
I knew he meant the murders and my shoulders relaxed. “Yes, Mrs. Plume was the person who told Mr. Cantrell about Stanton’s child. I suppose he found the need to silence her at last as well as her maid.”
“Let us think no more on it tonight.” He kissed my hand. “Get some sleep, my love. The worst is behind us.”
28
I reached the hallway to my room in an almost trancelike state. So much of my life had been altered by the choices of others, but for the first time I knew who I was. I had plans for the future and much to look forward to.
My hand rested on the latch to my bedchamber, but I paused at what sounded like a flurry of movement behind me. Miss Ellis’s door stood wide open. It was strange that I’d not seen her downstairs. My shoulders relaxed. We must have woken her.
All at once, I wanted to share my news about Curtis and me. There was no denying Miss Ellis’s feelings were complicated regarding him, but I hoped in the end she would be pleased. “Miss Ellis,” I called out quietly, making my way to her room and pushing the door inward. “I’m so sorry if we woke you. I—”
Her pink room lay empty in the early-morning light. Her bed was made and the long curtains were pulled back to reveal a balcony beyond a pair of closed French doors. I cast a quick glance behind me down the hall. Miss Ellis had said nothing about any plans for the night, let alone the early hours of the morning. I thrust a candle inside to be sure and followed its glow to the center of the rug. The room felt warm but ruffled with papers on the floor and a few books tossed about.
Goodness, what a messy girl she was. Curious by the state of the room, I entered and gathered the loose papers into a small pile, kneeling to retrieve the whole. However, at the edge of the great poster bed, I noticed a box tipped on its side, jewelry scattered across the floor. I shook my head. Poor, neglected Miss Ellis. She’d been sifting through her necklaces again, probably selecting one for the next dance. She didn’t have many friends and no romance sequestered here all alone at the Towers, and more than anyone, she reveled in such games.
I stopped to right the box, placing the spilled pieces back inside one by one. A pearl necklace—quite right for a girl of seventeen. It would look lovely with her white gown. A diamond brooch—it must have been her mother’s. An emerald ring.
My hand froze, seized by a memory. An emerald ring? Could it be? The emerald ring—the one Thompkins had hidden for Mrs. Plume the day of the robbery. I hadn’t thought of it since that infamous day, but I remembered it well. I held the band into the light, my hand shaking.
The gold filigree, the large center stone. There was no mistaking such an intricate piece. But how on earth did Miss Ellis come to have it in her possession?
Moments with Miss Ellis flashed through my mind, but nothing made sense, not about France, not about the murders. And the ring . . . Here it was in Miss Ellis’s room. Had I missed something? Something vitally important?
I rolled the ring over and over again in my fingers, the cold metal weighing down my hand, the emerald winking at me in turn. The dragoons had been looking for a girl the day I traveled alone to Reedwick, not a man, and I hadn’t even bothered to take their comments into consideration. And the day of the murder, when I saw Thompkins in the garden—Mr. Cantrell hadn’t even been home. If he could be believed, he had been miles away.
I stared off into the dim corners of the room, at nothing and everything. My fingers curled around the ring. Mr. Cantrell couldn’t have killed Thompkins or Mrs. Plume . . . but Miss Ellis?
I shook my head, the image of her sweet face coming to mind. There was no way she would do such a thing. She had no reason. I stared at the loose papers in my hands for a moment in disbelief, hiding my pounding thoughts as best I could. And for a few seconds I was able to do so, resting back against the wall.
But then I saw something, and everything shifted.
My darling,
Two simple words scrolled across the top of one of the papers in Miss Ellis’s handwriting, nothing more.
A heaviness rolled into my stomach, and I laid the candle on the floor. Then the questions came. The memories. Miss Ellis’s trill laugh from the drawing room. She’d been the only one interested in news of the murder investigations, asking daily if we’d learned anything new. I remembered the look of longing on her face when she looked at Lord Stanton’s painting in the tower. Did she know him? Did she know he was a spy so many years ago?
If she did, she would have been an easy target for a man like my father and, worse, would have been heading to the perfect location to do real damage to England, situated for the time being at Croft Towers, so close to the coast. My tangled thoughts took further root as more memories emerged. She was the only one who waited for the mail every day, was always the first to handle it, and was desperate to find one addressed to her. I flicked through the pile of papers before me with unsteady fingers, holding one in her handwriting into the wavering light.
My dearest love,
I’ll go mad if you do not write to me. I cannot think but of you and our love. It’s like a fire meant to consume me. I’m frightened without you, of what I have done. For what I might have to do so that we can be together. But do not worry, my darling. I remain as steadfast as I was in London. My heart aches. I will do anything to see you safely return to England. All is well at present. But oh, my dear, come back to me as soon as you can or I may die for waiting.
I turned the note over. There was nothing more.
I looked at another letter folded beneath the stack and shook my head as I picked it up. It was worn at the corners and heavily creased. Clearly it had been handled a great many times. Carefully, I opened it, my nerves clamped tight as I awaited what I might find inside.
My love,
I write this note in haste, and it shall be the last for a great many months. I’m to set sail at once for my plantation in the Caribbean under the guise of business to avoid something far worse at home. Guard my troubles with your life. You have my heart, and I can trust no one but you. I do not deserve your loyalty, yet I must ask once more of your service. Will you stand my friend and lover? I know your answer as I know every piece of you. Deliver these missives from my operatives as planned and when I return, I shall carry you off. Then we will be together as I dreamed and promised. I am a lucky man indeed and more so if you present me with the heir I’ve always wanted and needed. We shall not be so long away. Napoleon shall be triumphant soon and the world our plaything.
I fear I will
not be able to write from the West Indies as I have come to learn our postal service is not safe and Whitehall is closing in on my connection with France, but my heart will remain constant until I hold you in my arms once more. Be extremely careful, for if anything should happen and my identity as a spy exposed, I fear I won’t be able to return to England. I am counting on you to fulfill my work. There will be more important missives you will need to pass on if I am unable to return for some time. That military information both now and in the future could turn the tide of this war.
I was forced to make a hasty decision and send this letter and the missives by the hands of your old maid, Thompkins, hopeful she will incite the least attention as she attempts to visit you, but I trust no one and neither should you. If I was wrong to allow her into my confidence, please take whatever steps you feel are right. I trust you with my very life.
Your devoted servant,
Stanton
The letter slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. Miss Ellis. Naïve, young, heedless girl. What had she done?
The bedchamber door slammed shut and I shot to my feet, my pulse snapping to life.
Miss Ellis tilted her chin, her voice a dull monotone. “Why, Miss Delafield. Whatever are you doing in my room?”
My mouth went dry. The expression on her face was so completely unlike her. I answered as quickly as I could, as convincingly as possible. “I was looking for you, of course. I have news.”
Her gaze drifted from the letters on the floor to my face, but her mind seemed elsewhere. “News?”
“Yes . . . about . . . several things.” What was it I had come to tell her?
“Hmm . . . You’ve been a bit busy tonight.” She ran her finger along the mantel as if checking for dust.
I took a few steps back. “What do you mean?”
“I know you were supposed to leave for France with Lucius. Yet here you stand, rifling through my private things. What were you looking for exactly?” Her eyes were wide now, assessing my every move.
In the Shadow of Croft Towers Page 28