“Looking for?” My voice sounded far away. “Don’t be ridiculous. I merely cleaned up the jewelry you spilled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted. We can talk more about Mr. Cantrell later today. We decided we wouldn’t suit.”
“Wouldn’t suit?” She smiled. “He offered you an escape, but I suppose you were too stupid to see it.” She reached up slowly, pushing the corner vase forward, and drew an object into the light. Her fingers curled around a silver pistol, and she leveled it at me. “You’ve done nothing but sneak around the Towers since you arrived. You and Curtis. Lud, you even intercepted the man I was to meet in Reedwick. Do you have any idea what a great deal of effort it took to reorganize all our plans?”
So that was the man who attacked me that day in town. He had seemed quite surprised by my appearance, ogling my face and dress. He had probably been waiting for Miss Ellis all along and was thrown off balance by the appearance of another unescorted young lady after dark.
Sweat gathered on Miss Ellis’s forehead. “I didn’t want it to come to this. I had planned to be your friend, but I cannot risk anything. Not now.”
The dark corners of the room grew thick around me, the seconds stretching out like a black dream. After all I’d been through tonight, everything had come down to this awful moment. “Wait.” I held up my hands. “There is something you should know.”
She shrugged. “If you mean Mr. Sinclair, he has his own troubles. If the dragoons weren’t so inept, the information I keep giving them would have finished him by now, but it won’t be long.”
So it had been Miss Ellis who tipped off the soldiers, Miss Ellis who’d been the spy, Miss Ellis who’d killed her old maid. My head ached. “No. Not Mr. Sinclair.” I met her shifting gaze. “It’s about Lord Stanton.”
Her face went ghostly still. I’d got her attention. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Stanton? What about him?”
I swallowed hard. “He’s dead, Miss Ellis. I don’t know the particulars, but he died in the West Indies.”
A slight quiver shook her hand, but she forced it under control. “I don’t believe you. You’re a liar. You’d say anything to save your own life.” Like claws, her fingers wound around a clump of her hair, her gaze flicking to the letters once again. “He’s coming for me, you know. He loves me, more than anyone ever has.”
“He can’t come for you, Miss Ellis. He’s dead.” I lowered my chin. “Think about it. Why has Mr. Sinclair received no word for weeks, no money?” The more I spoke, the greater was my sense of Miss Ellis’s emotional desperation—how alone she’d been at the Towers, how unhinged. I shook my head. “Please, don’t say anything more. Just put the pistol down. Let us talk and find a way out of this mess.”
She glared up at me with red-rimmed eyes, examining what I’d said with piercing concentration. Then a change took over her face, altering the darkness to a gray haze. It seemed the truth about Stanton’s death was sinking in.
A breathy laugh slipped from her mouth. “A way out? There’s no way out. Not without him.” Her chest heaved. “Not for me.”
I took a step forward. “Lord Stanton was a traitor to England, to Anne, and to many others—”
“Shut your mouth. I don’t care about Anne.”
I was muddling this. Keep your wits about you, Sybil. My thoughts tangled into a ball in my mind. I had no experience with a person so unstable as to pull a trigger.
A tear slipped down her cheek. “He never cared for Anne. Never! Not like me. We were beautiful together. He’s not . . . gone. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it.” Her voice cracked.
“You’re right. I don’t think he ever did care for Anne.” Recklessly, I thought of disclosing everything, who these people were to me, but I had no way of knowing her reaction. I remained silent, allowing the truth of Stanton’s death to sink in on its own. Surely in the depths of Miss Ellis’s soul, she had to have already thought as much.
Silence crept between us until she redirected the barrel of the pistol. “I was far more to Stanton than that insipid Anne. He loves me . . . my spirit, my courage. He trusts me with the very future of France. We’re two of the same.”
So she hadn’t lost complete control.
For a split second, I considered lunging for her arm, but her nerves might prove flighty, and she had killed twice before. I held my breath. If I could get closer to the door, perhaps I could open it and signal for help. I had to try something.
With hesitation, I edged my way around her, all the time keeping the pistol in my sight, talking rapidly as I went. “No one knows who killed Thompkins or Mrs. Plume. You’ve been terribly clever and gotten away with so much. Perhaps Mrs. Chalcroft could help arrange something to avoid a scandal. You do have options. Would you like to go to America?” I released the door latch.
She mirrored my movements, the puff of cold air whipping against her auburn hair. I shrank into the corner, grasping the edge of the door frame. It was no use. The lawn stretched empty before me, dissolving into painful obscurity.
“I wish you were right, but Elizabeth knows that Thompkins was my maid. She knows I turned her off without reason or reference. She quibbled with me about it at the time, but I wouldn’t be swayed because Thompkins was far too nosy about my relationship with Stanton.”
Her free hand made its way to her hip. “And she told Mrs. Plume at some point. Can you believe it? How dare she! And that woman, shocked to find me in town after what Thompkins had told the old gossip, she confronted me, telling me the whole. She seemed to think she should report my connection with Thompkins and Stanton to the dragoons.
“I daresay she hadn’t made the connection that he and I were the spies they were looking for, but I couldn’t wait for them to come around and question me, could I?” Miss Ellis’s gaze rose to the colorless tower looming to our right. “I did it all so he could return to me. So we could be together.” Her voice grew breathless; her eyes clouded over. “You know, I always thought I’d watch him from up there, riding his horse down the main road, coming for me.”
My voice came out unsteady. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes shot to mine. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t care a fig for me.”
“You’re wrong, Miss Ellis. I know what it feels like to love and to long for it.”
She leveled the pistol once again at my chest. “No, you don’t.” She fired.
I screamed as a puff of black erupted into the room and the pistol fell to the floor. My hands hysterically swam across my chest, hunting for the bullet wound. The floor tilted and I propped my arm against the wall, gasping for air.
Miss Ellis shook her hands, crying out as if in pain.
A misfire. I’d been spared.
A loud knock resounded at Miss Ellis’s door. She shot a terrified glance into the room before stumbling backward onto the open balcony. “No. I won’t be taken in.” Her voice held a deathly chill, her eyes like those of a lost child. “It was for him. All of it. He loved me. But now—” A terrible wail spewed from her lips like that of an injured animal.
“Oh, Miss Ellis.” Desolation swarmed my already trembling frame. There would be no hope for her now.
She shook her head, tears wetting her cheeks. “It was the only way to secure his freedom. Surely you see that.”
I reached out for her, but she pushed my hand away. “Tell Aunt Chalcroft that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Fear choked her voice. “But I won’t be tried as a traitor.” She scrambled up and backed onto the stone ledge, crouching at the top like a vulture. She paused there for a breathless moment to glance one last time at the looming tower above her before tipping backward and plunging silently to her death.
I screamed at the same moment the door crashed open behind me. I rushed to the balcony’s edge. Curtis appeared at my side, urging me back into the room.
I realized I was shivering as he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders.
My voice came out in a whisper. “It was her . . . all along. The spy, the m
urders. Stanton, my father, was her lover. She did it all for him. So he could return to England and marry her.”
Mr. Sinclair said nothing, only drew me against his chest, resting his chin on my head. My hands crept around his warm back, pulling him closer—so much closer. Cradled there on the floor below the eastern tower, I let the tears fall—for my mother, for my father, for Miss Ellis. It was finally over. My questions answered. My fear gone.
Epilogue
My grandmother lived for a full six months following the morning of Miss Ellis’s death. She attended my wedding and witnessed my brother take his place as the Earl of Stanton. Though we grieved all that happened at the Towers to so many of our loved ones, we had many happy times before the end.
Harland has my eyebrows and my quick wit, as well as a propensity for getting himself into trouble. He plans to finish Cambridge but is uncertain what he will do next.
Grandmama left the Towers to me as well as money to fund Mr. Sinclair’s pet projects. Mr. Roth has returned to London, but I asked Miss Cantrell to stay on with us here. She gave birth to a beautiful baby boy we all adore. They will both have a home with us as long as necessary. Motherhood has changed her in so many ways, and she has become my dearest friend.
Mr. Sinclair’s three sisters have moved to the Towers as well, ushering in youth and vitality to the old structure. Miss Cantrell and I look forward to bringing out each locally, followed by a season in London. We have so much to look forward to.
As for my dearest husband, he is loath to leave the estate, but there is much to do these days. He pours his heart and soul into his dream, and I can’t help but admire him for it. Although sometimes if he’s late for the evening meal, I imagine him galloping across the countryside with a rag over his face. Such an idea exists only in my memories, but it’s pleasant to think of from time to time.
In my heart I know he is happy. He’s made plans to move forward with his horse breeding program, but he will never join the cavalry as he once dreamed of. He has found the one thing in the world he loves more than his duty to England—me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There have been so many who have been a part of my journey to publication. I could not have walked this road alone.
Megan Besing, my fabulous critique partner, encourager, and friend, there is not one step in the process of creating this book that you have not been a part of. Thank you for your enthusiasm, your spirit, your wisdom, your support, and your humor. I thank God every day that he brought you into my life. #iheartyou
Mom, you are not only an awesome librarian but my first and best teacher, and lifelong friend. Thank you for instilling in me the love of stories and the unending support to follow my dreams. Angi, can you believe it all started with Gonderay Ooflay and the creation of our fantasy stories as children? Thank you for always understanding me. Bess, thank you for rooting for me to succeed and supporting me along the way. Audrey and Luke, I could not have asked for two more wonderful children. You’ve been my biggest cheerleaders and greatest joy. Thank you for allowing me the time to write and encouraging me at every step. I love you all.
Mrs. Roberta Brooks, thank you for your excellence in teaching. Your love of British literature was contagious. I’ll never forget the Scottish tea party you shared with our senior class.
And to my wonderful friends and family who have supported me over the past few years. Allison Moore, Karla McGinnis, Jerry and Wanda Lewis, and Tony and Ronda Smith, thank you for being excited for me over and over again during the long process of learning the craft of writing.
Mary Sue Seymour, thank you for taking me on and giving me my first glimmer of hope of publication. You encouraged me to write this very story. Nicole Resciniti, my agent extraordinaire, your knowledge, support, and passion inspires me every time we talk. Thank you for holding my hand and guiding me through every aspect of launching my first book.
Becky Monds, my amazing editor, words cannot express how thankful I am that I get to work with you and learn from you. Your insight was instrumental in shaping this book. And to the entire team at Thomas Nelson, thank you for your guidance and support. At every step, you all have been phenomenal.
And to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, to You alone be the glory.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1.There were several mysteries presented throughout the novel: the secret letters, Sybil’s parentage, Mr. Sinclair’s strange behavior, the murders. Did you figure out any before they were revealed? Which ones eluded you till the end?
2.Sybil finds it difficult figuring out who to trust at the house. Would you trust any of the characters at the beginning? In what ways do strangers earn your trust?
3.Sybil was forced to step out of her comfort zone at the school to investigate her connection to Chalcroft Towers. Would you make the same decision with so little to go on?
4.In what ways did Sybil change over the book?
5.Sybil ultimately decided to carry the final letter for her grandmother because she felt it was the right choice. Have you ever made a similar difficult decision? Even against another person’s advice?
6.Sybil did not open the letters throughout the book because such an act would be an invasion of privacy and a direct violation of her employer. Would you open the letters? Even after you became concerned about what might be inside?
7.Sybil and Miss Cantrell have a strained relationship throughout the book until Miss Cantrell’s secret is revealed and everything changes between them. Have you ever misjudged someone who later became a friend?
8.Mrs. Chalcroft carried overwhelming guilt for her role in her daughter’s death. Do you think her emotional turmoil played a part in her choosing to send both of the grandchildren away? How could she have handled the situation differently with her volatile son-in-law, Lord Stanton?
9.Curtis is “robbing” the mail coaches, Sybil using her position in the house to investigate her past. Neither of these things was wrong in and of itself, but both led to lies. When is it okay to use a white lie or hold on to a secret?
10.Did you find yourself having any sympathy for Mr. Cantrell? What about Miss Ellis?
11.Do you agree with this line: “People are curious creatures indeed, a unique mixture of good intentions, scarred nature, and bad decisions”?
12.What do you think Sybil did with the Chalcroft fortune? Did she fulfill her desire to help other orphans?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Abigail Wilson combines her passion for Regency England with intrigue and adventure to pen historical mysteries with a heart. A registered nurse, chai tea addict, and mother of two crazy kids, Abigail fills her spare time hiking the national parks, attending her daughter’s gymnastic meets, and curling up with a great book. In 2017, Abigail won WisRWA’s Fab Five contest and ACFW’s First Impressions contest as well as placing as a finalist in the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense. She is a cum laude graduate of the University of Texas at Austin and currently lives in Dripping Springs, Texas, with her husband and children.
Connect with Abigail at www.acwilsonbooks.com
Instagram: acwilsonbooks
Facebook: ACWilsonbooks
Twitter: @acwilsonbooks
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