“Why are you here?” he demanded with none of his normal charming pretense.
I fumbled to form a reply. “I…I suppose I wanted to see you,” I said, opting for honesty, imprudent though that might be. I wasn’t sure I could prevaricate.
It was obviously not the response he expected, for his head jerked backward. He stared down at me, and as my vision improved I could begin to make out the cat-like shape of his eyes, the cleft in his chin. “Bloody woman,” he murmured in exasperation, though there was an oddly tender note to his voice. “I’ve been trying to keep you out of the marshes, not lure you in.”
It was a surprisingly candid remark.
“Why?”
He sighed. “Are you normally this nosy?”
“Never.”
The corners of his lips curled upward. “And I suppose you’re not normally this forthright either.”
I thought of all the ways I danced around ever revealing the truth of what I was thinking. How I carefully chose my words lest I upset my father, or Robert, or sometimes even Kate.
“No.”
He must have heard something in my voice, for his head tilted to the side as he searched my face. I wished he wasn’t wearing a hood. Then at least I could see him as well as he saw me.
“You visit Greenlaws a great deal.”
I nodded, wondering just how much of his time he spent observing me. Or did he have help?
“The Rocklands are friends. There’s not much society in this part of the Broads.”
I wasn’t sure why I added the last, but he seemed to understand.
“Is that all?”
At first I wasn’t sure what he meant, but as he stared down at me in anticipation I grasped his implication. “Yes. That is…there used to be more. But not for some time. It’s just…” I exhaled, halting my stammered response. Why was I telling him any of this? “Kate and I are friends. That’s why I visit so often,” I stated more succinctly.
His dark eyes saw too much. “And yet Mr. Rockland seems quite protective of you.”
I turned away, uncomfortable with the question.
“Although clearly not protective enough.”
I glanced sideways at him as his jaw tightened.
“You really shouldn’t be out here in the marshes. Especially at night. What do I need to do to make you understand the danger? Or are you always so reckless?”
I stiffened. “Why are you so intent on keeping me out?”
He loomed over me. “Because, you daft girl, I’m not the only one who roams these marshes. And the others would not be so considerate.”
“You mean the other Lantern Men?”
He sank back on his heels. “Yes, if that’s what you want to call us. I imagine you rarely encounter dangerous men, but I assure you, they are all around you.”
“I’m well aware of the damages men can inflict on others,” I shot back. I was all too familiar with the pain and suffering and cruelty people could cause. All I had to do was look at my own father. I pressed a hand to my stomach and added, more calmly, “Well aware.”
“Then why risk it by repeatedly venturing into the marsh?”
I considered the matter. “What was at stake—my friend’s health on our first meeting, and my mother’s brooch on our second—was priceless to me. I don’t think of standing on my own dock as actually being out in the marshes,” I challenged. “So by my estimate, this is the only time I’ve taken an unnecessary risk. Though I suppose you’ll have to decide whether it was for no good reason.”
He fell silent, and I began to wonder if I was a fool. Was I so desperate for companionship, for sympathy, that I would place myself at an unknown and potentially dangerous man’s mercy?
But then, there had been that first night when I was returning to Greenlaws with medicine for Kate. At the time, I’d thought I’d escaped from him. But now, having been near him several times and seen his height and the breadth of his shoulders, I was certain he could have easily caught me if he’d wanted to.
“Who are you?” I asked, trying to comprehend.
“Who do you think I am?” he replied, repeating the same response he’d given me on the dock, intentionally, I was sure.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have to give.”
I scowled in frustration. “Can you tell me why you let me go?”
His head tilted in question.
“That first night, near the river, when your friends were closing in. Why did you let me escape?”
He crowded in closer, but I stood my ground.
“Did I?” he asked silkily.
I felt the potency of his nearness, but I refused to be distracted. “Yes.”
His eyes traveled over my face, making my skin flush from their intensity. This was the clearest I had ever seen them, and I was captivated—memorizing every detail I could make out in the dim light. The slant at their corners, the depth at which they sat in his face, the heaviness of his brow. I almost didn’t hear him when he finally answered.
“I had my reasons.”
My brow furrowed. “Must you be so vague?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me one thing.”
“I’ll try.”
“Are you always watching me? How do you know where I am?”
He smiled. “That’s two things.”
I glowered.
“No, I’m not always watching. Which is why I keep warning you,” he muttered in frustration. “I might not always be the one who finds you.”
“So…you are protecting me? You did let me escape?” I asked doubtfully.
His mouth pressed together into a tight line of displeasure.
“Perhaps you should give me back my lock of hair, then,” I goaded. “Clearly it’s not working for you.”
But rather than respond in anger, his voice was thoughtful. “No. I think I’ll keep it.”
I felt a strange tingling sensation all over me, but whether that was because of the way the Lantern Man was standing so close to me or my own frustration, I didn’t know. I didn’t understand him. I couldn’t. He was being deliberately mysterious and evasive. But while part of me was urging me to run from him, that his proximity only meant danger, another part of me was urging me to move closer.
His presence here, wandering the marshes at night, masquerading as a figure of myth, could only mean he was involved in something nefarious. And yet, still, I didn’t hurry away from him. My body seemed determined to listen to the half that trusted him, that wanted to move nearer to the welcome heat his body produced. If he had been fae, I would believe these impulses were his doing.
I shivered in my cap-sleeved gown.
His hand rose to the clasp of his cloak under his chin and then stilled. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I nodded, knowing he was right, and suddenly felt too disconcerted to argue. But I couldn’t take my eyes from his.
He inched a step closer. I could feel the length of his cloak pressing against my skirts. “Can you find your way back?”
I nodded again, tilting my head back farther to see into the darkness of his hood.
His eyes glittered as he leaned down toward me. My breath caught as he hesitated, as if he was waiting for something. For me to move closer? To push him away? When I did nothing, he closed the distance himself.
His mouth was warm and assured, and made my insides flutter like the leaves of our sycamore tree in the evening breeze. I had been kissed before. Robert and I had exchanged fumbling kisses and more than a few inappropriate embraces in the years before he married Olivia. But none of his caresses had made me feel anything close to this.
The Lantern Man pulled back and opened his mouth as if to tell me something, but then he stiffened. I could tell his gaze was fastened over my shoulder, and I turned to see what he was looking at. In the near distance there was a hazy orb of light hovering over the marshes. It flitted and danced in the midst of the fog.
One of his as
sociates? Or something else?
Either possibility made the blood that had been flowing hotly through my veins suddenly run cold. Especially when the Lantern Man whirled me back around to face him and pressed something into my hand. “Go quickly,” he whispered. “But wait as long as possible before you use that.” Then he turned my shoulders toward the path leading to Penleaf Cottage. “Now go.”
I stumbled forward as fast as I dared, glancing over my shoulder only once, just long enough to see him move off in the direction of the light. His body seemed to dissipate and scatter in the mist.
I rounded a turn and then another and another before I risked another look. There was nothing but fog surrounding me, and yet I still felt a tingling sensation along my neck as if I was being watched by someone I couldn’t see. I opened my palm to see what the Lantern Man had given me. It was a tinderbox.
I stared at it a moment in surprise before fumbling it open. I knelt to light my lantern, feeling the seconds tick away like water through my fingers. My hands shook, making it harder than it should have been to light the wick. When it finally caught, I pushed to my feet and hurried toward home as swiftly as the mist allowed. I had no idea if anything was still following me, but my instinct drove me onward as if there were dogs snapping at my heels.
When I pushed through the reeds onto our lawn, I nearly tripped over my feet at the change in incline. I righted myself and finally dared to glance behind me again. Nothing stared back at me as I half expected. There was only the white wall of fog deflecting my lantern light about me and the heaving sounds of my own breath.
Nevertheless, the relative security of the cottage suddenly seemed very appealing. When I passed through the garden gate it creaked comfortingly, like it always did, and the green scent of herbs permeated the air even through the damp of the fog. I stopped just outside the kitchen door and stared up at the weathered wooden exterior of the cottage. In the mist it appeared as if it stretched upward forever, the roof disappearing in the veil of white. I inhaled deeply once, steadying my quivering nerves, and then reached for the door handle.
I doused the lamp before entering, and propped it carefully on the shelf inside. The latch on the door was old, and often rattled, but I fastened it as quietly as I could and then turned to creep through the house. Which was when Mrs. Brittle shifted in her seat at the table, making her chair creak.
I lurched to a stop. Guilt washed over me. Even in the dim light I could sense her disapproval.
“Ye ken ye’re courtin’ trouble?”
Mrs. Brittle never raised her voice. Whether scolding me for stealing a biscuit or tracking mud onto the floors, her words had always been measured and even, and tight with condemnation. It was a sound I’d learned to loathe, and it sparked my temper.
I was no longer a child. She had no right to question my actions.
“I’m well aware,” I replied in a clipped voice.
“Are ye?” she challenged. “Because I’m no’ so sure.”
I wasn’t certain what she thought I’d been doing, or if she suspected something even close to the truth, but I was not about to apologize or explain myself. So instead I ignored her, taking another step toward the hall.
“I’ve half a mind to tell yer father.”
I rounded on her. “Do that. I’m sure he’ll rouse himself from his stupor for half a minute to care,” I snapped sarcastically.
She slowly pushed to her feet. “Dinna talk so disrespectfully aboot yer father, lass. It doesna become ye.”
The comment stung. I crossed my arms and turned away.
“Yer father just might care aboot this.”
“Well, he can’t have it both ways,” I said, speaking to the wall. “He can’t ignore me, and the house, and everything that matters for almost four years and then suddenly decide he deserves an opinion. But it’s of no concern anyway,” I added before she could refute my statement. I glowered at her through the gloom. “He doesn’t care. He’s made that abundantly clear.”
I left the room before she could censure me for my angry words or, worse, before she tried to comfort me.
~ ~ ~
A pounding sound woke me the next morning. I blinked up at the ceiling, trying to clear my head of sleep. Below, the front door opened with a groan and then the heavy tread of footsteps crossed the floor, followed by the sharp sound of raised voices—first Mrs. Brittle’s and then a rough, masculine jeer.
I bolted upright. I knew that voice.
Panic flooded me as I leapt out of bed and pulled on my rumpled dress from the day before. Leaving my hair in braids, I dashed down the steps. My heart plummeted as I saw Father’s study door standing open. The young, dark-haired revenue man stood in the hallway just outside of it and he flushed when he saw me. I ignored him, knowing the real cause for concern was inside.
Sergeant Watkins stood over Father where he still sat slumped in his chair, triumphantly brandishing the empty bottle of brandy. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to throw out the bottle when I’d checked on Father before venturing into the fens the night before. If only I’d sunk it in the marsh there would have been nothing for the odious man to find.
Mrs. Brittle was doubled over on the settee, her hand pressed to her chest as she wheezed. I hurried over to take her hand, not liking the mottled color of her cheeks.
“Ah, Miss Winterton,” Sergeant Watkins boomed. “How good of ye to join us.”
I glared up at him. “What did you do to her?”
His eyes narrowed. “She was attemptin’ to impede the lawful search of His Majesty’s agents.”
“So you injured her? An old woman?” I demanded in outrage.
“We…moved her aside.”
“He shoved me into the wall,” Mrs. Brittle panted. Her eyes burned with hatred. “The cur.”
Sergeant Watkins’s face reddened. “I’ll have ye thrown in jail, ye old hag.”
“What are you doing here?” I interrupted, before Mrs. Brittle could egg him on further. “We paid the fine.”
His attention swung to me. “Aye. I heard. But apparently ye didn’t learn yer lesson.”
Father pushed himself upright with some effort, seeming to finally grasp the import of our conversation. “What are you doing in my house? You have no right to be here.”
“Oh, but I do.”
I hated the way he stared down at my father, as if intent on squashing an insect.
“’Specially after that scene ye caused in front of all the good people of Thurlton yesterday.”
Father’s waxy face turned even paler and I feared he might cast up his accounts all over Sergeant Watkins’s shoes. As satisfying as that might have been, there was no telling how the riding officer would react.
I began to wonder who had informed on my father, but then realized there were really only two possibilities, and Reynard would never have made the effort.
“I suppose Archdeacon Soames was concerned for his flock,” I sneered.
Sergeant Watkins grinned. “He confessed to being worried about Mr. Winterton’s corruptin’ influence.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him there wasn’t anyone in the village left to corrupt, including our vicar, but I bit it back. Watkins already knew what was going on in Thurlton, and he didn’t care so long as he received his bribes. Perhaps I should have told Mr. Fulton to pay our fine to Watkins. He could’ve taken his cut and then maybe he would have left us alone.
Or maybe not, given the censorious archdeacon’s complaint.
Watkins tsked. “Under the circumstances, I’m afraid I have no choice but to fine ye again.” The spiteful twinkle in his eye told me he wasn’t the least bit sorry. And when he named a sum even more outrageous than the last time, I nearly staggered.
“But we can’t possibly pay that,” I gasped.
“Well, now, ye said that afore and yet ye found the money somehow.”
The look he gave me made my face burn with indignation at his insinuation.
“I’m sure ye’ll find it again.”
Father failed to notice, but Mrs. Brittle did not. Her hand squeezed mine. “How dare you!”
“I won’t pay it,” Father protested, finally struggling to his feet. “You’re a grasping blackmailer, and I won’t give you a farthing.”
“Then ye give me no choice but to arrest ye,” Watkins replied as if he’d been waiting to do just that. He reached out to grab his arm, but Father shook him off.
“Take your hands off me! I’m not going anywhere.”
“Resistin’, eh? Well, if ye don’t come with me quiet-like now, I’ll just have to return with a warrant and more men.”
“No!” I moved to place a staying hand on Father before he said anything more. “We’ll pay the fine.”
“No, we—”
“We’ll pay the fine,” I shouted, making Father wince and cradle his head.
Watkins glanced from me to him, as if willing Father to fight this outcome. I glared back, letting him know I wasn’t about to let him do that.
Watkins grunted and leaned in threateningly. “I’ll be back,” he murmured, letting his gaze drift down my body insultingly.
This time Father did see it. He stiffened and I had to tighten my grip on his arm.
We stood rigidly side by side, listening to Watkins’s and the younger revenue man’s footsteps as they retreated down the hall and out the door. I released Father’s arm and sank back down on the settee next to Mrs. Brittle, pressing a hand to my brow.
What were we going to do? There was nothing else of significant value left to sell. My mother’s brooch wouldn’t even fetch a quarter of the amount. There was the cottage, but then where would we live?
Mrs. Brittle’s hand covered my other hand where it rested against the cushions of the settee.
I inhaled to steady myself and turned to her. “Are you well? Shall I fetch the surgeon?”
“Nay, lass. Just winded. I’ll do.”
I searched her face to be sure she was telling me the truth. She did already look recovered.
Father stood looking down at us, as if he wasn’t sure whether we were real or he was dreaming. I waited for him to say something, anything, but he remained silent. His gaze drifted to the wall behind his desk and I frowned, making a mental note to search it later for any hiding places Mrs. Brittle and I had missed earlier in the week.
Secrets in the Mist Page 14