Lady Blue

by Helen A Rosburg

  The morning’s event was likely the most exciting thing that was ever going to happen to her again. The black-eyed bandit was probably the last real man she’d ever see.

  The three years stretching in front of her seemed an eternity. She had not come to a green and fertile island nation and the arms of a loving, if long lost sister, but to a parched and barren desert of grief, hostility, and loneliness.

  Chapter Four

  My name is Mrs. Rutledge.”

  Harmony looked up from the hard, straight-backed bench on which she had perched. Though older, and gray, Agatha’s housekeeper looked astonishingly similar to her mistress. She had the same thin, dry appearance; her face was long and her features small. Her expression seemed perpetually disapproving. Harmony remembered her manners and rose to her feet.

  “I’m Harmony Sim—”

  “I know who you are. Follow me, please.”

  Harmony was completely put off by the housekeeper’s manner, and had half a mind to say she’d stay right where she was. But when she glanced around again, she decided that following Mrs. Rutledge was, by far, the better idea.

  The parlor in which she had been told to wait, while a nearly prostrate Agatha was escorted to her room, was dank and airless. Even in the near dark she could see that everything, aside from the ponderous mahogany furniture, appeared to be maroon, from the faded oriental rug to the thick velvet drapes pulled snugly across the tall windows. It was the most cheerless space she had ever been in and she wondered, grimly, what her own room would look like. Reluctantly, she followed the retreating housekeeper.

  From the parlor they re-entered the black-and-white-tiled entrance hall. A large and elaborately carved circular table stood at its center. A tarnished suit of armor leaned against a far, paneled wall. Heels clicking sharply, Mrs. Rutledge left the foyer and disappeared into the dimly lit corridor, the walls painted an unhealthy-looking dark green shade, above mahogany wainscoting. The wall color reminded Harmony of mold growing in some dark and airless place. Like a dim and dying forest, perhaps. Or her sister’s home. Harmony shuddered.

  Only an occasional candle sconce decorated the halls, and only a few of the candles were lit. The pale light flickered eerily on the walls and on doors to rooms unseen. Then Mrs. Rutledge turned left and started up a steep, narrow stair. It was so dark at the top, Harmony could see nothing, and she hurried so she didn’t lose sight of the housekeeper. If she did, she feared she might wander forever in the shadowed

  corridors that appeared to wind on forever.

  The second floor was much like the first. Mrs. Rutledge finally stopped in front of a door identical to all the rest and opened it with a key that hung from a ring attached to her belt. The housekeeper gestured her inside and Harmony stepped over the threshold.

  “This is your room. The bell rope is next to the dressing table. I will bring your lunch shortly on a tray. If you require anything in the meantime, you’ve only to summon me.”

  Harmony did not miss the faintly grudging tone in the woman’s voice. “I’m sure I won’t need to … disturb you. And I don’t care for any lunch either, thank you.”

  Mrs. Rutledge responded with an almost imperceptible lift of her sparse, nearly white eyebrows, as if she had been warned what to expect and was not in the least surprised. “As you wish.” Without another word, the housekeeper left, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Harmony turned slowly, inspecting the room that was to be her prison cell for the next three years. Like the rest of the house, the room was dark: dark, heavy furniture, dark and heavy fabrics. There was a huge armoire and a dressing table that might double as a desk. A large Turkish carpet covered most of the wood floor, and her trunk had been placed at the foot of a high, wide, canopied bed. Everything smelled slightly moldy and damp. Disheartened, Harmony crossed to the window and peered between the tendrils of ivy that sought to block out any ray of light that might try to find her.

  Woods stretched for as far as she could see into the distance. Nothing moved. Not the whisper of a breeze to disturb a leaf, or the silky flash of a squirrel’s tail. No bird rustled in the branches. It was exactly as a prison was supposed to be: colorless, lifeless, cheerless. Harmony turned from the window. And caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

  By the time she whirled back to the ivy-covered glass, whatever it was had vanished. The woodland had returned to its uncanny stillness.

  Yet Harmony was gripped by the most peculiar sensation. Someone, something, was watching her. She could not escape the notion that a pair of eyes spied upon her from within the shadowed shelter of the trees.

  Harmony’s fingers tightened on the dusty windowsill as a vague chill shivered through her limbs. Unbidden, the memory of a dark-eyed thief swam before her eyes. She shook her head.

  She must not, she chided herself, allow her imagination to run wild. It was too easy in a place like this. She didn’t need to add to her woes. The bleak vision of her immediate future was as much a burden as shecould bear at the moment.

  Nor did she need to dwell on the fantasy of a chance encounter with a lighthearted bandit at the side of a lonely, country road. She had more important things to think about. Like how to endure the next three years. Determinedly, she turned from the window and began to unpack.

  Even as she pulled her clothes from the trunk, however, Harmony found herself remembering the way he had looked at her when he had asked for the ring … to remind him of the lady in blue with the sapphire eyes …

  Harmony jumped, nearly falling over a pair of shoes, when Agatha burst, unannounced, into the room. She sniffed and eyed the clothing strewn over the furniture.

  “I trust you are planning to tidy up this mess?”

  “I was unpacking, Agatha.”

  “At least you weren’t idling away your time.” Agatha smiled tightly. “Just be quick about it. I’ve sent for the authorities and they’ll arrive shortly.”

  “The authorities!”

  “Of course the authorities. Why are you acting so surprised? That dreadful man stole a valuable sapphire ring, did he not?”

  “Agatha, that ring wasn’t terribly valuable. It’s hardly something to bother the authorities about, especially since nothing else—”

  “Hussy!” Agatha spat as she backed from the room. “I’ll not stand here and listen to you defend that criminal!” The older woman stepped into the hallway and slammed the door. A moment later, Harmony heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  “Agatha!” Harmony flew to the door and tried to open it, but the latch turned uselessly in her hand. She heard the rapid thud of footsteps fade down the hall. “Damn you,” she whispered. “Damn you, Agatha!”

  Her curse evaporated into the dank and heavy silence of the chamber.

  The short, round, and entirely bald man who represented the law in the nearby village of Millswich shifted uncomfortably on the hard, horsehair sofa. Agatha eyed him with disapproval from where she sat, rigidly erect, on a chair of similar fabric and contour. If the situation hadn’t been so grim, Harmony would have laughed out loud.

  When he appeared to have found the position of least discomfort, Mr. Henry cleared his throat and returned to the question he had asked Harmony moments earlier. “You said, um, let me see.” He glanced at his notes. “You said the thief then got on his horse and simply rode away?”

  “After I’d gotten back into the coach, yes,” Harmony replied quietly. She glanced quickly at Agatha to see if she would have an amendment to this response, as she had to all the others before it. But her sister remained silent this time. Mr. Henry continued.

  “Now, Miss Simmons, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to try and give me a more complete description of this individual.”

  “I don’t mind at all, Mr. Henry. Except the man wore a kerchief over his face. Therefore, I can give you very little detail.”

  Agatha cast her sister a withering look. “My sister’s memory seems to have been affected by the … horror
… of the experience,” she said in a scathing tone. “Actually, Mr. Henry, there’s quite a bit I can tell you about the young man’s appearance.” Agatha’s glare slid from Harmony back to the constable and transformed into a smile. “And I’d like to be as helpful as possible.”

  Flustered, Mr. Henry glanced between the two women. “Well, please, go on then, Miss Simmons.”

  It was Harmony’s opportunity, and she seized it. She pushed to her feet.

  “I think I’ve told you all I can, so if you don’t need me any longer, Mr. Henry, I—”

  “Sit down,” Agatha ordered.

  Harmony ignored her and concentrated her most fetching smile on Mr. Henry. “I’m sorry, but this has been a very trying day. If you don’t mind, I’d like to return to my room.”

  “By all means, Miss Simmons.” Mr. Henry rose with stiff politeness, oblivious to Agatha’s furious motions for Harmony to remain where she was. “I only hope my questions haven’t tired you excessively.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Henry. But I do have a headache. So if you’ll excuse me …?” With a sweet, sad smile, Harmony exited. Her smile vanished.

  She had absolutely no intention of going to her room. Her cell.

  Harmony recalled the sound of the key turning in the lock, and her blood heated. The only thing for it was to take a walk. She needed to cool her temper and gather her thoughts. Life with Agatha simply could not go on like this.

  The massive front door swung inward with a groan and Harmony winced. But no one was around to notice, apparently. Distantly, she heard her sister’s shrill voice whining away to Mr. Henry. She stepped outside into the cooling shadows of the summer dusk.

  The immediate area surrounding Agatha’s home was only slightly more enticing than the interior of the house. All around stood the grim, dense woodland. To the right of the house, also covered with creeping vines, was a low, stone stable. Remembering the coachman, and not wishing to be seen, she went to the left and followed a narrow, pebbled path that seemed to lead to the back of the house.

  Overgrown weeds plucked at Harmony’s skirt as she continued along the path. She rounded a corner and saw what had once been an undoubtedly lovely formal garden, but what was now merely a tangle of wildflowers and long, sharp-bladed grasses. Beyond the edge of the garden the wood began again.

  There was nowhere else to go. There were no gardens to stroll, and there was certainly no refuge in the forest. Besides, Mr. Henry would be done with Agatha soon and her sister would surely discover Harmony was not in her room. The thought of enduring another of Agatha’s tirades was simply too overwhelming. She’d had enough for one day. She was tired. Maybe she’d take a bath and change out of her blue traveling suit.

  As Harmony turned on her heel, however, she heard the unmistakable click of a door latch. The sound seemed to have come from the terrace doors off to her left. She automatically stepped back out of sight and, a moment later, heard her sister’s voice.

  “There’s no one out here, Mrs. Rutledge. You must have been mistaken.”

  Harmony held her breath. Should she run around to the front, slip in the door, and hurry to her room before they discovered she wasn’t there? Her dilemma was solved an instant later.

  “All right then, Mrs. Rutledge. Lock all the doors. If she’s not in her room, it will serve her right having to beg to be let in. Or she just might spend the night in the stable. It would do her a world of good. Maybe then she will learn to follow my orders and appreciate my hospitality.”

  The terrace doors clicked shut. Harmony’s hands balled into fists at her sides.

  The thought of spending the night out of doors in this gloomy, forbidding place was nothing compared to the anger she felt toward her mean and shrewish sister. She would not give her the satisfaction of knocking on the door and asking to be let in. Nor would she sleep in the stable. She would not now, or ever, do anything Agatha wanted or expected. And that included spending the night outside.

  The village of Millswich couldn’t be too far away. She’d march herself into town and find herself a bed for the night. An inn, perhaps, that would take payment on the morrow. Or a kindly family. Then let Agatha explain why she had locked her only sister, come only the day before, all the way from America, out of her house.

  Courage and determination bolstered, Harmony picked up her skirts and hurried along the path back to the front of the house. She glanced at the windows, saw no one, and ran into the trees along the side of the road. She was soon lost among the shadows.

  Harmony knew that if she followed the drive back to where it had left the main road, she must eventually run into the village. Barely aware of the now rapidly advancing darkness, she started on her way. She was careful to keep her distance from the road in case someone came along.

  But the way seemed a great deal longer on foot than it had seated in a plush carriage. Nor were her narrow shoes, so perfectly matched to the dark blue suit, made for walking any distance. Brambles and bushes plucked at her skirts, and her soft-soled shoes turned on every pebble. When she feared she could not go another step, she let herself sink to an area of leafy ground, back propped against the bole of a tree. The eerie stillness of the forest closed around her at once.

  Even the faint rasp of Harmony’s breath sounded loud to her, so quiet was the darkened wood. A tremor of fear shivered through her torso.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to spend the night in the stable after all. Wincing at each small sound she made, Harmony pushed to her feet. And heard a distinct rustling in the undergrowth behind her.

  Heart in her mouth, Harmony whirled. But she could see nothing, and heard no other sound. Only the thundering of her heart came to her ears.

  It was probably only some harmless forest creature, she told herself. She would, however, make her way back to the road at once and return to the stable.

  But even as she turned, Harmony realized she had become disoriented. She no longer knew in which direction the road lay. Concentrating totally on which way to go, she heard nothing, saw nothing, until a hand snaked out of the darkness and clamped over her mouth.

  Chapter Five

  The world ceased to exist. Stark terror reigned. The ebon stillness of the forest was as nothing compared to the void into which Harmony fell. It was as if her body, her senses, had shut down completely. There was no sight, no sound, no touch, no smell. Only fear. Paralyzing, heart-stopping fear. Then animal instinct took over and she began to fight for her life.

  Wildly, Harmony clawed at the hand pressed over her mouth. It was becoming difficult to breathe, and the more she struggled the tighter the hand’s grip became. Harmony felt herself being pulled closer and closer to a lean, hard body.

  Suddenly the pressure of the restraining arms relaxed. The grip eased steadily, and now the hands that held her were gentle. She felt herself being turned, slowly and carefully, in her captor’s arms.

  She saw the black eyes first. They flashed at her in a pale shaft of moonlight that had found its way through the trees. As her heart pounded frantically against her rib cage, Harmony lowered her gaze to the rest of the face she had only been able to imagine. The straight, aquiline nose. Shapely lips that might have been drawn by an artist’s hand, the bottom fuller than the top. Even as she watched, they curved into a smile.

  Harmony gasped, a belated reflex. The hold on her arms tightened, though not painfully.

  “Sssshhh.” He pressed a finger softly to her lips. “Come with me,” he whispered. “And don’t say a word.”

  Reality was instantly suspended. Harmony was not the properly raised American girl living with her prim sister. She was not the well-bred child of a wealthy family. If she was, she would have to kick and scream and attempt to escape. But she did none of those things, so she must be someone else. Rather than call for help, she held on to the stranger’s hand and followed him as he picked his way through the trees.

  Farther and farther they wound their way through the woods and still went on. Where the
sharp branches of the undergrowth would have pulled at her skirts and torn at her flesh, the stranger held them aside for her to pass, never letting go of her hand. And when, exhausted, she stumbled, he swept her into his arms and continued on at a more rapid pace.

  After what seemed quite a long time, the stranger slowed. Harmony was unaware she had closed her eyes until she felt herself lowered to the ground. Vaguely disturbed by the fact she had lain so comfortably in his arms, cradled against his broad chest, she opened her eyes wide and looked about her. Looked anywhere but at the handsome stranger.

  They had come to a small clearing. A tall, big-boned chestnut mare grazed a few feet away. The animal looked familiar. It was, in fact, the very horse she had admired when the gunman had held up the coach. If she had entertained the slightest shadow of a doubt that her captor and the bandit were one and the same, it was banished as effectively as the moon behind a passing cloud.

  “What … what’s going on?” Harmony whispered. “Why have you brought me here? What do you want with me?”

  “First, allow me to introduce myself. Anthony Allen, at your service.”

  Anthony Allen. Harmony repeated the name to herself. It was beautiful. But maybe she had fallen asleep against that tree trunk and was dreaming all of this.

  It was simply not possible she had been carried off into the woods by an incredibly handsome stranger, the man who had earlier stopped their coach, and who now introduced himself as casually as if he were an elegant gentleman in a London parlor.

  Yet he had. And just as she had not been asleep and dreaming in the coach, she was not asleep and dreaming at the present. For lack of anything better to do, Harmony responded.

  “Anthony,” Harmony murmured, tasting the name on her tongue. “But why … why have you brought me here, Anthony?”