by Regina Darcy
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said, flashing a glinting smile that indicated he didn’t care either way. Jack recognised him as Mr Adair’s cousin, Mr James Smith.
“Hello, Mr Smith,” Lydia said, curtseying in her delicate purple gown. She turned to Annie and Jack. “This is Mr James Smith. He was my fiancé’s best friend and cousin. They were very close.”
James smiled stiffly. “Yes, indeed. But enough talk about the past and its unpleasantness.” His eyes flickered up and down Lydia’s gown. “He’s beyond the cares of this world. Tell me more about yourself, Miss Page. How have you been occupying yourself as of late?”
“In recent days, I’ve been thinking a lot about Mr Adair,” she replied dryly. “I’d appreciate it if you could recount the last time you laid eyes on him.”
“How curious. You must have a delicate, ladylike soul to still be mourning the man.” Judging from Smith’s tone, this was clearly not meant as a compliment.
“Yes, I am still very fragile,” she said evenly. “Now, I understand that your squadron was pinned down by a Polish unit who were advancing without giving quarter?”
“Miss Page, I suggest we explore this topic while you honour me with the next dance.” James held out his hand.
“It would be my pleasure.” Lydia’s posture was rather stiff and forced as she followed James out of the room.
“What the devil was that all about?” Jack muttered under his breath.
Annie turned to Jack, shaking her head.
“That man has been hounding her since before Captain Adair’s body even began to grow cold.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least. His family is mired in debt. The only thing that half saved him from ruin was young Mr Adair’s death, if we’re being truthful. He’s the new heir to the Adair fortune. They haven’t any other close relatives.”
“So Edmund Adair’s death benefitted James Smith, then?”
“Yes, but don’t mistake my meaning…I doubt Smith did anything. For one, it would be hard to get away with offing another officer. What’s more, those two boys were as thick as thieves. I never did like Smith, though. That upstart ordered me to carry him across a river once, just because he could.”
“That’s truly terrible!” Annie exclaimed.
“Oh, it ended well, though. General Wellington came riding up and saw what was happening. He ordered me to drop the dolt into the drink.”
FIVE
When Jack McCormack awoke the next morning, his head felt full of lead, and his belly seemed choked with acid. He rolled around in the inn’s lumpy bed for a moment, practically writhing in agony. Annie, the Pages’ beautiful, somewhat intimidating redheaded maid, had allowed him to stay at the ball for the rest of the evening. He had spent most of the time speaking with her and drinking wine to keep his nerves in check.
He couldn’t remember whether or not she had invited him back this evening. He shrugged. He might as well try and secure another meal from the situation.
Jack dressed himself in a hurry and then rushed out of the town’s old, rundown inn. He had to admit that, underneath his calm exterior, he felt shaken. All the talk about the war and Adair last night had upset him. He didn’t like dwelling upon such unpleasant topics. The place where he’d been shot in the side still pained him at times, reminding him of all the horror he’d seen, of what he’d lost. Mr Adair had been a good chap. He and Jack were about the same age. He didn’t like to think about that sort of waste.
It wasn’t popular to say this, but the Battle of Albuera hadn’t mattered a tick in terms of the campaign. The war was still raging on the continent, but Jack imagined that it would have little impact on deciding the victor in the end.
As he rounded the corner into the village’s largest square, a strange sight caught his eye. A group of men in colourful costumes and masks danced and weaved about in its centre, around the frozen stone fountain. Mummers. He supposed it was the season for it; they always seemed to turn up just about everywhere around Christmas. He’d always found them a bit unsettling, if he were to be honest, something about the unnatural masks.
Jack flinched as one of them weaved past him, wearing a ghostly cloth mask and holding out a frayed basket. He resembled a bloody aristocratic scarecrow with his patched-up black greatcoat, scuffed boots, and slightly battered topper.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is the season…to be generous.”
The voice sounded eerily familiar. Jack’s gaze snapped to the holes cut in the strange creature’s mask. Two blue eyes shone through the disguise. He grabbed the mummer by the wrist. “Adair?”
The masked man abruptly turned toward him, jerking his arm free. Jack could see the man’s azure eyes widen with fear. Then, the begging mummer began to run away. Jack gaped for a moment, then followed after him.
The mummer’s stride was impressive, but Jack kept up with him, sustained by an unexpected burst of furious urgency. Finally, the masked man made the wrong move, darting into the trash-strewn alley behind the local butcher’s shop. The winding alley was a dead end.
Jack strode toward the man, who had stopped running. “Is that really you, Mr Adair?” He struggled to keep his voice from shaking with anger.
The mummer sighed and slowly removed the cloth mask. Then he turned around to face Jack.
It was Edmund Adair. His face was streaked with scars, and he was thinner, his carriage less upright. His blue eyes looked a bit hollowed-out. But his identity was unmistakable.
“Hello, Jack,” he said hoarsely.
Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or walk up and deck the man. Instead, he shouted, “What is wrong with you?”
“Jack, keep your voice down—”
“You let us all think you were dead! How dare you?”
“I had to,” Edmund whispered. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t try to justify this.” Jack had so many questions, but he was too furious to articulate them effectively. “How could you do this to your fiancée? Your father?”
“Please, Jack.” Edmund held up his gloved hands. “Don’t tell them you saw me. I’m…I can’t explain it all here, but they can’t know…”
“Miss Page was right!”
“What do you mean to say?”
“Do you know what’s going on at the Page household right now? Miss Page is currently interrogating a number of your old officer comrades. She’s likely about to stir up some trouble because she knows something is not up to par. In fact, you should attend the ball the Pages are having tonight, see what she is doing with your own eyes.” Jack gestured at Edmund’s misshapen mask. “It’s a masquerade dance—you’ll fit right in,” he added with disdain.
“Jack, what do you mean that she’s in trouble?”
“Forget it. You’re a coward. How could you possibly help?”
Just then, a crowd of masked, mumbling mummers stormed down the alley, pulling Jack away.
“Tucker, no, it’s all right—let him go!” Edmund called.
However, his instructions were surplus. Jack was far too enraged to even resist. He allowed them to toss him out into the snow-heaped street. Then he picked himself up, dusted off his careworn jacket, and stomped off into the cold morning.
SIX
Lydia weaved her way through the parlour, less interested in the throng of available suitors than the table brimming with buttered rolls in the corner. Unwilling to pass up any opportunity to secure their daughter a suitable husband, her parents were hosting a breakfast for their Yuletide guests. As far as Lydia was concerned, it was far too early in the morning for courting.
She was also beginning to regret inviting so many of Edmund’s old army comrades. Many seemed to be upstanding enough gentlemen, but the ones that congregated around James Smith were downright sinister. She could feel them leering at her as she crossed the room. Additionally, none of those to whom she spoke seemed particularly eager to divulge information about Edmund Adair or the Battle of Albuera.
/> Then, Lydia saw Lord Cavendish, Edmund’s father. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral. He had once been a proud, almost haughty man, with broom-straight posture and his son’s bright blue eyes. Now, he looked a bit like a broken toy soldier, bent out of shape and nestled on the sofa.
Lord Cavendish had become somewhat of a recluse since Edmund’s death. He was one of her family’s closest friends, but they rarely saw him anymore. Edmund had been his only son and heir and his sole immediate family member. Edmund’s mother had died when he was just a babe. Now Lord Cavendish was completely alone.
“Lord Cavendish,” Lydia greeted him, curtseying.
“Miss Page, it is nice to see you.” He looked up at her with a watery gaze. “This is quite a nice series of parties your family is throwing. Thank you for inviting me.”
“That one must have a thing for older gentlemen.” The sudden remark was loud enough for Lydia to hear and seemed to originate from Smith’s clique. Lydia clenched her fists, furious. When she turned to glare at them, they all broke into guffaws.
“If only they weren’t populated with such insolent knaves,” Lord Cavendish snapped. “I swear, I do not understand the ilk my nephew surrounds himself with.” He gave Lydia a bitter smile. “You know, whenever he comes around, he brings them. They jest about his inheritance in front of me, as if I were not present. If some of them had their way, I’m sure they’d off me today so he could get the money sooner.”
“That’s terrible,” Lydia said, shaking her head.
She could not begin to imagine where Lord Cavendish found the strength to speak of such distressing matters in such a dispassionate voice.
“You’d better be on your guard, Miss Page,” Lord Cavendish added with a sigh. “It’s not only my money that he’s got his eye out for. It’s also your inheritance.”
“My inheritance?”
“You come up quite a lot whenever he dines at my estate.” The old man raised his eyebrows. “I think he’s considering merging the Page fortune with the Smith debt, if you understand what I mean. That’s the only way he’ll ever pay off all the expenses he’s racked up. The boy likes slow dogs and horses.”
“I see…” Troubled, Lydia began to back away. “Well, it was nice to see you, Lord Cavendish.”
All of a sudden, she felt as if the parlour was collapsing down around her. Everything was too close, too hot, too crowded. She called for Annie to fetch her dark coat and muff. Then, without another word to anyone, she accompanied her maid on a walk down to the village to purchase goods. She often walked this way with Annie, exchanging gossip and funny stories. Today, however, she was silent. She was studying her footprints in the powdery blanket of snow, her mind drifting far away, back to one of the last conversations she had ever had with Edmund…
“If you die, I will be very cross,” she told him breathlessly. They had just finished spinning around the dance floor at one of the hunting society’s more wine-soaked balls.
“I feel the same way,” Edmund replied, flashing a smile. His eyes were luminous in the candlelight. “Don’t pass away while I’m away in Spain.”
“No, no. I’ll make no such promises. That’s a completely different situation. If I succumb to some strange disease or fall down a flight of stairs or ingest poisoned berries or trip and stumble into the blade of an overzealous highwayman, that’s hardly my fault, is it?”
Edmund nodded, trying not to laugh. “Hardly.”
“Which is beside the point. People die of perfectly boring and exciting causes at home all the time.”
“We nearly died, remember?” Edmund asked. “In that well, when we were children?”
“Oh, don’t even remind me!” Lydia shuddered.
There was a derelict old well on the edge of her family’s garden. She and Edmund had dubbed it their wishing well as children, and often threw pebbles and sticks into it. Once, they had convinced themselves that there was a treasure in the bottom and had even attempted to climb down to obtain it. Naturally, they fell straight into the dark, dirty water. Fortunately, some of the servants had heard their screams before they drowned.
“But even as children,” Lydia went on, “we would have had the decency to die in England. You, on the other hand, are now gleefully thrusting yourself into danger across the sea, of all places.”
“I’d hardly say gleefully,” Edmund argued. “This is my profession, after all. And fortunately, most wars of late have taken place across the sea.”
“Well, once you’ve appeased your bellicose father with your stint in the military, I think you should go back to your original plan.” Lydia discretely took his hand. “You’d make for an excellent lawyer. And that sounds a far safer profession to me.”
He raised her gloved hands to his lips and kissed them. “A flawless plan, my lady.”
SEVEN
While Annie fetched supplies, Lydia opted to stand in the town square, rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth and watching the mummers dance.
They were quite the sight, with their bright and motley clothing, clashing against the grey and white winter day. They had attracted quite the crowd with their current skit. It was all about resurrection. A one-armed mummer with St. George emblazoned across his chest and shield had seemingly been killed (vanquished by a puppet dragon, no less). But now, a mummer playing a doctor was sprinkling some sort of magic potion over his splayed form.
The crowd cheered as St. George staggered back to his feet and went after the dragon once more.
Resurrection.
Lydia felt a chill. Somehow, she sensed Edmund’s presence around her. She could almost see him, standing before her, with a sad smile on his lips. Lydia turned around and walked away, disturbed by the strange, sudden feeling.
She never saw the masked man collecting money from the crowd. He was watching her, his blue eyes pained behind his mask.
***
As she walked through the town of Spotswood, Annie gripped her basket tightly and braced herself against the freezing cold. In the springtime, the streets would come alive with scrambling customers and merchants hawking their wares. Now, everything was quiet beneath a layer of snow and silence.
The flame-haired maid strode forward with a quick but careful pace. Now was not the time to slip on the frozen cobblestones and spill the contents of her basket everywhere.
She had just been at the butcher’s, filling a massive order. The Page family’s (ill-advised, in her opinion) series of Yuletide feasts had strained the kitchen’s once-vast stores.
Suddenly, someone bumped into Annie’s shoulder, nearly tipping her over. She managed to steady herself and whirled around to confront the lout who had nearly sent her sprawling.
“Have a care, sir—” She froze. Annie recognised the man immediately. It was Jack McCormack, the Irish valet from the other night. He had behaved rather foolishly at the ball, showing up uninvited and then drinking too much. Still, he had provided Miss Lydia with valuable information.
“I beg your pardon, Miss,” he said, in a slightly lilting brogue.
“That’s quite all right,” she snapped, steadying herself. “It was my fault.”
“No, not at all!” He held out his hands and nodded at her overflowing basket of meat. “It’s my clumsiness that’s to blame. Please permit me to help you carry your basket back to the Page residence, as penance.” Then, as if to accentuate his silliness, he winked at her.
Annie scrutinised the man. He was tall, with a bright smile and reddish-brown hair. He was handsome, certainly, but he clearly knew that. Normally, she would not tolerate such foolish flirting from anyone—even one of Lydia’s ostensible witnesses. However, she did not relish the idea of lugging the heavy meat all the way to Parkton Hall. She might as well press this ridiculous man into her service.
“Yes. That would be quite good of you. Thank you.”
They walked back to the house, mostly in silence. “Why do I feel that there is something you’re not telling me, Sergeant McCormac
k?”
“Not at all!” The man looked a bit sheepish. Then, suddenly, he set down the basket of meat in the snow.
“On second thought…is there somewhere private we can speak, Miss Galt?”
“I’m not sure. This whole house is crawling with gentlemen,” Annie said, spitting out the word as if it were a vile insult. She was right. They were everywhere—coursing through practically every room in the manor, rambling through the gardens, and even descending on the town. After yelling at some groomsman to retrieve her basket of meat and take it to the kitchen, Annie beckoned to Jack.
“Follow me, please.” She led him out to the Parkton Hall garden and over to the large, circular pond. It was frozen over with a thick layer of ice. “Want to go ice skating?”
“Not particularly.”
“Come along. We can talk out there, in private.”
“Very well.”
Jack and Annie slowly glided out into the centre of the pond. Annie pulled her bonnet tighter around her ears, to keep them from freezing. “I think I already know what you’re about to say.”
“You do?” Jack raised his eyebrows.
“Mr Edmund’s alive, isn’t he?”
“You’re like an oracle,” he whispered. “How did you know?”
“Oh, come now. You’re his old valet, and you just happen to show up in town while Miss Lydia’s going on a tear about the man? It seems like quite a coincidence.”
“Now, wait a moment. That was a coincidence. I didn’t know he was alive, either, I swear. I only ran into him in town just now.”
“What?”
“I swear! I was just as in the dark as anyone else. The man has clearly gone mad, Miss Galt. Do you know in what disguise he is gallivanting about?”
“What disguise?”
“A bloody scarecrow!”
“What?” Annie narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“He’s become a mummer.”
“Poor Miss Lydia,” Annie said sadly. “Having her fiancé run away to pursue a career in mumming. That’s horrid. I don’t think we should tell her about him. If he truly loved her, why would he make her believe that he had died?”