by Syrie James
“Not yet.”
“Oh! But you must! If you find a house in London, will you make your home there, or will it be a holiday residence?”
“We shall see. I have, for some time, desired a change of scene—and your great country is truly the centre of the world.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “Now that I have…seen it…I think it quite possible that I shall move here permanently.” He gazed at me with such intensity that a heat rose to my face, and I had to force myself to look away.
“I hope you will be happy with whatever choice you make.” A small silence fell as I stared at the distant moon. A sudden stab of guilt pierced through me. What was I doing, dancing and talking the night away with Mr. Wagner, while the man to whom I was promised was missing—perhaps ill, or in danger? I stood, all at once feeling quite ashamed of myself. “It is getting late, sir. I had best find Lucy now and return to our lodgings. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
He rose with undisguised regret. “I have enjoyed your company, Miss Murray. May I have the honour of escorting you and your friend home?”
“Thank you, but our house is just up the road, and—” And, I thought, it would never do, if Mrs. Westenra or our landlady, Mrs. Abernathy, were to observe us returning at this late hour in the company of a strange, handsome gentleman. Knowing the physical reaction I always experienced at his touch, I did not trust myself to put my hand in his; so I only dipped my head and curtseyed, as I said: “Good-night, Mr. Wagner.”
He bowed. “Good-night, Miss Murray. Pleasant dreams.”
His deep voice seemed to echo through me as I hurried off to the pavilion, where I was obliged to issue some very stern threats to pry Lucy away from her latest dancing partner. With a sigh, she finally issued her good-bye and allowed me to lead her outside. As we headed in the direction of our lodgings, Lucy twirled about in the street, clasping her hands to her chest in delight, and uttering breathlessly:
“Oh! What an evening! I danced with six different partners, Mina. Six! At one point, I had at least twelve different men who all wanted to dance with me at the same time. They were all so sweet and earnest and attentive. But I admit: none were half as handsome as your Mr. Wagner!”
“He is not my Mr. Wagner,” I returned, my cheeks reddening.
“Oh, but I think he is.” Lucy took my arm and went on: “Your Mr. Wagner is the most attractive man I have ever seen! I used to think Arthur was handsome; but now he seems quite plain to me in comparison.”
“Lucy: I agree that Mr. Wagner is good-looking, but that is not the most important quality in a man.”
“Of course not! Mr. Wagner is also a brilliant dancer. All the women were looking at him—he was the best man on the dance floor. I would have died for a chance to waltz with him if you had not monopolised him all evening.”
“I did no such thing—”
“Mr. Wagner also has exquisite manners, and such a lovely accent. It is so funny; when I first heard him speak, his voice sounded strangely familiar, and I thought: have we met before? Then I had to laugh, for that is quite impossible. I would surely remember it were I to have ever met a man like him! What a find you have made, Mina!”
“Please—I have made no find. Mr. Wagner is a friend, and nothing more.”
Lucy giggled. “You may consider him as a friend, my dear, but he is entirely besotted by you!”
The heat in my cheeks spread to my entire face now. “That is not true.”
“Mina: are you blind? Did you not see the look in Mr. Wagner’s eyes as he crossed the room to you, or when he held you in his arms? I watched you while you were dancing. He made no attempt to disguise it. Mark my words: Mr. Wagner loves you—or is falling in love with you. I should know. I have had any number of men look at me in precisely that manner, and three of them went on to propose.”
“Lucy, you must not tell me this. It is not right. It cannot be!”
“But it is! I assume—since you so freely tell everyone about my engaged status—that you informed Mr. Wagner about Jonathan?”
“Of course! At the very first opportunity, on the day we met.”
“Hmm. He is not a man to give up lightly, then. He must hope that somehow he can win your favour and steal you away.”
“If he does, he is mistaken. I have never given Mr. Wagner the slightest indication that I—” I broke off, unable to finish.
“Mina, do not look so mortified. Just because we are engaged, it does not mean we are dead! We can still look and appreciate other men, can we not? We can still dance with them at a sea-side pavilion, without fear of reprisal! If Mr. Wagner believes that you are more interested than you really are—well, I am quite sure you did not mean to lead him on.” With an impish grin, Lucy added: “I must admit, though: I am almost sorry that you are engaged to Jonathan, for I think Mr. Wagner would be a wonderful catch.”
“Oh! You are too, too wicked!” I cried; but I could not prevent myself from joining in Lucy’s burst of laughter. When I at last regained a measure of self-control, I said soberly, “You know nothing about Mr. Wagner—and I do not either, really. I am honoured to be engaged to Jonathan. He is my closest friend in the world, other than you, dearest; and I love him—and I miss him.”
“I know you do. I love and miss Arthur. And I have no doubt we will both be married by October.”
We reached our lodgings. I stopped by the front steps, lowering my voice. “That being the case, Lucy: I hope it goes without saying, that we had best not mention anything about to-night’s activities to your mother—or to Arthur and Jonathan, when we see them next.”
Lucy touched her finger to her lips with a little gleam in her eyes. “I will take our secret to the grave.”
FOUR
THAT NIGHT, ALTHOUGH LUCY INSISTED SHE WAS FAR TOO knackered after all that dancing to do any sleep-walking, I locked our door and secured the key to my wrist as usual. Lucy fell asleep at once, and appeared so restful that I did not expect any more trouble. My hopes for a quiet night were dashed, however. My mind was too full of thoughts of Mr. Wagner, and my flagrantly inappropriate behaviour that evening, for easy slumber; and when I did at last drift off, I was wakened twice by Lucy, trying impatiently to get out. Each time, she seemed annoyed to find our door locked, and it was all I could do to get her to return to bed.
Lucy made the most unexpected remark the next day, as we were coming home for dinner. We had spent the afternoon at our seat on the East Cliff, a spot which I had worried might feel a little different—even eerie—to us, since I had found Lucy in such a compromising position there only two nights before. However, she now seemed to be even more addicted to the place than I. Indeed, it was only with the greatest reluctance that she allowed herself to be dragged home at meal-times.
We had just reached the top of the steps up from the West Pier, and paused to take in the view behind us. The sun was very low in the sky, casting a beautiful rosy glow over the church and the abbey on the distant, opposite cliff. Studying this, an odd, far-away look came into Lucy’s eyes, and she said in a dreamy tone: “His red eyes again! They are just the same.”
I stared at her, taken aback. It was the first time I had heard Lucy mention “red eyes”—the eyes I had seen twice in my dreams and once on the cliff-top, hovering over Lucy on that horrible night. Her expression was so strange that I followed her gaze. She was staring across the harbour, to the East Cliff—and her gaze seemed fixed on the very seat which we had vacated not long before. I could just make out a dark figure, now seated there alone—and I gave a startled gasp, for despite the great distance, it seemed as if the stranger did have red eyes, like burning flames. A second later, the illusion was gone, as if the effect had been caused by the red glow of the setting sun.
“Lucy, what did you mean just now?”
Lucy blinked distractedly, as if coming out of a day-dream. “What?”
“You said something about a man with red eyes.”
“Did I?” She let out a peculiar laugh and shook her he
ad. “I have no idea why I said that.”
I did not believe her; but she would not say another word about it.
NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRIED, I COULD NOT STOP THINKING about Mr. Wagner. All day long, my thoughts kept drifting back to the conversations we had shared, and to the way it had felt to be held in his arms as we waltzed across the dance floor.
That night, after Lucy was in bed and fast asleep—knowing full well that I was acting scandalously—I locked her in and sneaked away to the pavilion, hoping to see him again. To my disappointment, although I waited a long while, Mr. Wagner did not appear. As I had no wish to dance with any one else, I left and strolled for a while along the West Cliff, under a bright and beautiful moon.
As I returned to our lodging-house, I looked up and was surprised to see Lucy, fast asleep, with her head leaning against the side of our open window. Seated beside her on the window-sill was what appeared to be a large, black bird. How odd, I thought. One did not often see birds at night, especially in the summer—except for nocturnal species, like owls—but I was not particularly alarmed. By the time I ran upstairs, unlocked, and entered the room, the creature was gone.
“Lucy? Are you all right?” I enquired; for she was crawling into bed, pale-faced, breathing languorously, and holding her hand protectively to her throat, as if she were cold. She did not respond. I tucked her in lovingly; but even in her sleep, I sensed that she was fretting about something, and I wondered what it was.
The next morning at breakfast, Lucy was unusually tired and looked more pale than ever. As she picked at her meal, the landlady brought over a letter, which had just arrived. Lucy’s face brightened when she saw that it was from Arthur.
“Arthur says his father is much better,” Lucy announced quietly after glancing over the missive. “He says he will be able to come visit in a week or two, and he hopes we will be married very soon.”
“How wonderful,” replied her mother. Sudden tears came into Mrs. Westenra’s eyes, which she insisted were tears of happiness. Later, however, when Lucy was taking an afternoon nap, and Mrs. Westenra and I were taking tea in the sitting-room, she revealed the truth behind her feelings on the matter.
“Lucy is my only child, you know,” said that good lady, as she sank back in her easy chair with a sigh, “and we have always been very close. I am grieved to lose her as my very own—to think that she will soon be a man’s wife, and that she will no longer need me as much as she always has—and yet, I am relieved and grateful that she is soon to have someone else to protect her.”
“I am certain she will still come to you often and regularly for advice and counsel, Mrs. Westenra,” I replied with a warm smile. “I believe that even the best husband in the world could never be a replacement for a mother.”
At this, Mrs. Westenra stifled a great sob, and fresh tears rolled down her face.
“Oh! Ma’am, what is it?” I cried, chagrined. “Have I said something to upset you?”
It took her some moments to compose herself. “It is not your fault, my dear,” she said as she dabbed at her eyes with her linen handkerchief. “There is something you do not know—something I have told no one.” She hesitated. “If I share this with you, you must promise not to tell Lucy; I do not wish to worry her.”
“I promise,” I replied, thinking how strange it was to find myself the keeper of secrets for both mother and daughter; and moreover, to be hiding a secret of my own.
“You may have perceived that I have been unwell of late.”
“I have noticed that you tire very easily.”
“It is my heart. It is growing weaker. The doctor said that I have, at most, a few months to live.”
“A few months?” I cried.
Mrs. Westenra nodded sadly. “Even now, he said, at any time, a sudden shock could kill me. That is why I have stayed in so quietly most of the time ever since we arrived here.”
“Oh! Mrs. Westenra, I am so, so sorry.” I grieved for her, and for Lucy, who would surely be very bereft when her mother was gone. “Is there anything I can do for you? Any way I can help, or make you more comfortable?”
She smiled sweetly and took my hands in hers. “Just promise me, when I am gone, to be as good a friend to Lucy as you have always been in the past.”
“I will.” I kissed her on the cheek. “You may count on me for that.”
AS THE WEEK WORE ON, TO MY DISMAY, IT WAS NOT MRS. WESTENRA’S health which caused me the greatest concern, but Lucy’s. Lucy lost her appetite and became increasingly pale, tired, and languid, and there was a drawn, haggard look under her eyes that I did not understand. Her mother was equally stymied, insisting that Lucy was not and had never been anaemic. When I asked Lucy about her strange symptoms and declining health, she claimed to be just as puzzled as I.
The days were bright and sunny, but I did not spy Mr. Wagner anywhere on my walks. Despite this, I resisted the urge to steal out to the pavilion at night, instead staying in to watch over Lucy. I took care that our room was always securely locked so that she could not wander; yet I awoke twice to find her sitting in a faint at the open window.
“Dearest,” I said, as I helped her back to bed one night after finding her in this weakened and senseless state, “what were you doing at the window? You are so pale. I should call a doctor.”
At this, she came instantly awake, and cried, “No! I will see no doctor. What could he do?” Then she laughed—a strange, eerie laugh—followed by a determined effort to pinch colour back into her cheeks. “You see? I am fine. Perfectly fine.”
Her behaviour was so odd, it greatly worried me—a worry which grew to alarm when I tucked her in and caught sight of the tiny wounds on Lucy’s throat, which she always took care to cover up by day. “Lucy, the marks on your throat—the ones I caused by that unlucky prick of the pin—they have not yet healed. They are still open and red, and they appear to be even larger than before.”
“I told you, they do not bother me,” she said, covering the marks with her hand. “Now leave me be. I need to sleep.”
“If they are not better in a few days,” I insisted, “I shall call a doctor.”
THE NEXT MORNING, LUCY WAS PARTICULARLY TIRED AND PALE and refused to leave her bed. Although I did not like to leave her, she insisted that I go out on my own and enjoy the day and let her continue to sleep. Taking a magazine, I headed off, intending to spend a few hours reading up on the East Cliff. The sky was grey and cloudy, and as I passed the fish-market and approached the bridge, I was deep in my own introspection, when a familiar voice broke into my thoughts.
“Miss Murray?”
I looked up to find Mr. Wagner standing just a few feet away, near the steps leading to the bridge. My heart, as always, began to beat in a rapid frenzy at the sight of him. He looked particularly dashing, with a fashionable straw hat angled atop his dark head. “Mr. Wagner.”
“It is a fine morning.”
“Do you think so? It is a bit overcast for my taste, but at least I perceive no threat of rain.”
“A good thing, as I have just this minute hired a boat.”
“You have hired a boat?” I repeated in surprise.
“Yes: the blue one, just there.” He pointed to a sweet little skiff, which was anchored by the bridge near-by. “Have you had an opportunity to go out on the river?”
“I have not. Lucy and I have desired to try it, ever since we arrived in Whitby—but now she is not in good enough health for such an outing.”
“I am sorry to hear it. She would have made delightful company. But as she is not present—would I be remiss in offering to escort you on a little water excursion? I have heard that there is a charming spot to visit, about a mile up the river.”
It was a tempting offer, and I briefly considered it. But how could I? With deep regret, I said: “I appreciate the invitation, sir, but I am afraid that decorum prevents me from accepting.”
“Decorum?”
“I enjoyed dancing with you, sir—very much—but t
hat was in a pavilion full of people. To go out on the river, unaccompanied by a chaperone—it would be unthinkable.”
“Unthinkable?” A smile played about his lips as he glanced at the few strangers passing by, who were paying us no heed; then he looked back at me. “Do you really mind so much, Miss Murray, about what people would think? Who will know or care if you spend a few hours on the river to-day—with or without a chaperone? Why not throw caution to the wind, just this once?”
I could not help but laugh. I thought: Mina Murray, you have spent two-and-twenty years living a quiet, sheltered life, always behaving with the utmost propriety. Who will know or care? Lucy had told me to enjoy the day. Follow Lucy’s advice! Enjoy your last summer at the sea-side before settling down for life!
“You are right, sir. I should throw caution to the wind every now and again. I would be delighted to go boating with you.”
He smiled and held out his hand. I took it, a thrill surging through me at his touch. As he led me down the steps to the skiff and assisted me on board, I pushed all guilty thoughts from my mind, and allowed myself a twinge of excitement. It was perfectly acceptable, I told myself, to act a little rashly and impetuously on occasion: to step outside one’s carefully drawn bounds and experience a bit of adventure. Jonathan would never know; and it was just a boat ride.
I took a seat at one end of the boat, while Mr. Wagner sat facing me and did the honours with the oars—a task which appeared to be entirely effortless for him. In short order, we were away from the dock and gliding up the river.
“You handle this boat as if it were nothing, Mr. Wagner.”
“It only appears that way because I am rowing with the tide.”
I took off my glove and dangled my hand in the cool water, catching sight of my own dappled form in the rippling surface. For some odd reason, I noticed, Mr. Wagner did not seem to be reflected there. How odd, I thought; it must be a trick of the light.