“I am glad for you.”
“I’ve heard good things about the Bradley household,” Eliza said, her eyes shining. “They’re good employers. And they go to London for the Season.”
Reaching out, I briefly touched her shoulder. “I wish you all the best, Eliza.”
With a nod and wobbly smile, Eliza offered a curtsy and then withdrew. Sighing, I sank onto my dressing table chair. I was happy the young woman had found a better household, but it left me with no one on my side in the Dunbar house.
“The sooner I finish here the happier I will be,” I told my reflection.
Especially since the list of people I would have to avoid now continued to grow.
THE MAID WHO BROUGHT me breakfast the following morning was one I’d seen only a few times around the house. I didn’t even know her name. Though asking was on the tip of my tongue, I refrained as she seemed on the verge of panic and left my room as soon as she set my tray down.
It wasn’t until that afternoon that I was able to learn that the maid’s name was Molly. Mrs. Dobbs was understandably furious that Eliza had gone without a word and took her anger out on poor Molly, who now had to handle the work of two, at least until another maid could be hired.
To my great relief, once the furor over Eliza’s abrupt departure died down and a new maid—Sally—was hired, the week passed as any other did. Miss Dunbar was as unpleasant as ever. To an even greater relief, she did not send any more notes to Mr. Ingram, and I was not put in the position of having to refuse to deliver them. I could only hope that he had forgotten me in that time span.
Mr. Dunbar always seemed to be lurking nearby. He’d not come to my room again, but everywhere I went, I felt as though I was being watched. Each night, I blocked my door with my chair and only then did I feel remotely safe.
I had grown to look forward to every half-day that I had to myself. Knowing where my brother’s grave was at gave me a peaceful place to retreat to. I had made no progress in learning the truth of what had happened to Jonathan, and I was beginning to think that if I didn’t learn something in the next few days, I wouldn’t ever know the facts of the matter.
“At least I was able to see Bath,” I said aloud, breaking the silence that had followed me from the bustling town. Jonathan’s few letters five years previous had been scant on details of what Bath had been like, and I had so wanted to visit myself.
As I drew near to the graveyard, I saw a flash of color that was out of place. Frowning, I moved around several gravestones until I had a clear view of something that sent a shock through me: a young lady kneeling at my brother’s grave.
Even from a distance, I guessed that she was younger than I, but not by much. Her hair was golden, glinting brightly in the sunshine where it peeked out from her bonnet. In her pale yellow gown, she made a charming sight, one that anyone would have admired.
I came to a halt as I watched the young lady place a small cluster of flowers at the base of the gravestone. Then, she rested her gloved right hand against the stone as she used her free hand to brush at her cheeks.
Why was she crying? Had she known my brother?
The need to know compelled me to move forward at a quicker pace than before. “Good day, Miss,” I called out.
With a start, the lady straightened, pulling her hand back. “Oh. Good day,” she said, her soft voice trembling. She tilted her head as she gazed at me, blinking as though to clear her vision. “I’m sorry. Are we acquainted?”
Being a maid had apparently destroyed my knowledge of proper manners. Young ladies did not call out to each other, especially if they did not know each other. “No, we’re not. I am Julie Nelson,” I said, wishing I could kick myself. As much as I wanted to use my real name, it was too soon. “I know—knew—the Sinclair family.”
Her face brightened. “Really? Did you know Jon—Mr. Jonathan Sinclair?”
There it was: the slip of tongue a woman in love is known to make. “Yes, I did,” I said softly. I moved to stand next to her. She was slightly taller than I, which was rather disconcerting. “But I believe you may have known him a bit better than I.”
A faint blush colored her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze. She twisted her hands together for a moment before she said, “I suppose that’s true. He and I were to be married, but he died before that could happen.”
If I had thought seeing someone else at my brother’s grave was a surprise, this was even more so. It was just one more thing my brother had kept secret from me. She must be older than I had guessed if she had been betrothed, though it was not unheard of for ladies to be married young.
“Oh, I see. May I know your name?”
“Forgive me. I was startled when you approached me. I am Miss Anderson,” she said, brushing at her eyes again. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Nelson. How do you know the family?”
“I am a lady’s maid. You might say that Miss Juliet Sinclair and I are on intimate terms with each other.”
She gave an obvious start, focusing on me again. “His sister is here? In Bath? I would so like to meet her.”
Well, that was not what I had expected her to say. “Oh, no. Miss Sinclair...does not get out much, now that her parents are gone. She resides in London with a great-aunt. I am employed by someone else now.”
Tears sparkled in her brown eyes, which she attempted to blink away. “Oh, no! Poor Miss Sinclair! This does explain why I never received a response to the letter I sent to Mrs. Sinclair.”
Many letters had arrived after I learned my parents had been killed, but I had not spared a glance at any of them. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what had become of them and if any had contained information I could have put to use.
“How did you meet Mr. Sinclair?” I asked, eager to learn all I could from her.
A dreamy smile curved her lips. “At the Pump Room. I’d dropped my fan when someone bumped into me, and Mr. Sinclair was obliging enough to pick it up for me. Fortunately, my friend Miss Evans was already acquainted with him and was able to introduce us.”
A noble act for a damsel in distress, even such a small thing, was exactly something I could imagine Jonathan doing. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep my own tears at bay. Miss Anderson would not have understood why a lady’s maid would be grieved, and not to mention I did not want her to begin crying as well.
“He was visiting friends, was he not? Do you remember who?”
She hesitated. “No, he wasn’t. I’m not exactly certain why he had come to Bath. I assumed it was merely to enjoy the amusements most young men seek when they come here.”
It didn’t surprise me that Jonathan’s excuse of visiting friends had been a ruse. He’d never been straightforward about who he would be visiting when he left. I held back a sigh. “Was there anyone he spoke to frequently while he was here? Besides yourself, I mean.”
Miss Anderson frowned as she thought. “Well, he was often with Mr. Conrad Ingram.”
That was news. As far as I knew, Jonathan had never mentioned Mr. Ingram. Granted, I was becoming more and more aware I hadn’t known my brother at all. Could Mr. Ingram have been Jonathan’s friend?
“He mentioned his friend Mr. Harper many times as well.”
Mr. Harper. Of course. He had been one of my brother’s closest friends. Or was there something else behind him being in Bath at the same time?
“I need to get back before my mother misses me,” Miss Anderson said, pulling me from my thoughts. She was looking up at the sun. “Thank you, Miss Nelson, for approaching me. I’ve so wanted to speak about Jonathan, but there are so few in Bath who knew him. It’s been a relief these past two days to have finally broken my silence.”
“The past two days?” I echoed, on guard immediately. “Then, someone else who knew him is in Bath again?”
“Yes, of course. Mr. Harper. They often walked together to my house when Mr. Sinclair came to visit, and they both would escort me to the Pump Room. Although he has visited before, Mr. Harper and I never had a
chance to talk about Jonathan until yesterday.”
Oswyn Harper had been in Bath when my brother died? Why did that not surprise me? He kept appearing every other place so why wouldn’t he have done the same thing five years ago. But the question, one which I had considered often and still had no answer to, was: did he have anything to do with Jonathan’s death?
With a start, I realized that Miss Anderson had already stepped away. “Perhaps we can speak again?” I asked, anxious to keep the connection open so I could learn more. Perhaps, later on, I would have the right question to remind her of something she could not recall now.
Her face brightened with a smile. “I would like that. My family has a house on Charles St. Good day.”
“Good day.”
I watched her walk away. Her statement that few people in Bath who had known Jonathan weighed heavily on my mind. Though I had already guessed as much, it was discouraging to have it reaffirmed. Of those few people, what were the odds that any one of them would know anything that could be helpful to me?
Miss Anderson had given me a couple bits of information, though. I now knew that Mr. Ingram had been intimately acquainted with my brother, at least enough that she would remember it five years after the fact. Perhaps he knew something about how Jonathan had died.
Then again, my instincts told me Mr. Ingram was not to be trusted. There was something I couldn’t quite pin down that seemed devious in his manner. Though it wouldn’t come as a surprise to know he was connected to my brother’s death, the real question would be why he would do such a thing? What would he have been hiding? What would he have gained?
Letting my breath out slowly, I turned to the gravestone. “I will find a way to unravel this mystery, Jonathan. I promise. Somehow. I will solve this.”
Chapter Five
It had been an afternoon well spent. Though I was tired and had a great deal to think on, I was ready to return to my duties satisfied. Upon returning to the Dunbar house, however, I spotted Mr. Daniel Dunbar skulking around the servants’ entrance, looking as though he were watching for someone. I had the suspicion that I was the one he was searching for. I’d managed to avoid having any contact with him for nearly a week and had no desire for that to change.
To enter through the front door, though, would be unacceptable and would undoubtedly bring trouble on my head. Out of sight of the servants’ entrance, I considered how I could enter the house without him seeing me.
My attention was caught by a boy who was racing by on the street. Making a quick decision, I called out softly, “Boy! A moment!”
Boys such as he were often employed as messengers for a small coin and he raced to me, expectation written on his face. I had such a coin, and I held it up for him to see. “Kindly go to the front door of this house and say you have a message for Mr. Daniel Dunbar. A message you can give only to him. Will you do that for me?”
“What message?” he asked, his gaze on the coin.
“No message. When the butler or footman goes to fetch Mr. Dunbar, you may run off.”
The boy frowned and then shrugged his shoulders. “Alright then. I’ll do it.”
I pressed the coin into his hand and watched him go on his way. I returned to where I could peek at the servants’ entrance. Within a few minutes, the footman, George, appeared and spoke to Mr. Dunbar. With a scowl, the man hurried into the house. I waited a full minute to be sure and then darted to the door.
There was no sign of the man once I was inside and I was able to hurry up to my room unhindered. No doubt he would soon be able to guess that it had been my scheme that drew him away from the door.
Perhaps this would be enough to make him dislike me.
Somehow, though, I doubted that would be the case. Nothing was ever as simple as that.
Two letters, set carefully on my tiny table by the window, caught my attention. Though both were addressed to ‘Miss Nelson,’ I only recognized the handwriting of one. I set Aunt Beth’s letter aside and focused on the second letter.
The seal was a mere blob of black wax, which I thought an odd choice. Perhaps whoever had sent it was in mourning? I broke it and unfolded the single sheet of paper. The edge was black as well. Shock hit me as I read the words:
Julie Nelson. Quit meddling where you have no business. You know what happened in London.
There was no name at the bottom. Breathing out, I sank onto the edge of my bed. Exactly what part of the events of London could this message be referring? The unmasking of a traitor? The sudden murder of said traitor after he had been taken into custody? The sharpened pen knife left in my pillow as a warning? The attack on me that nearly left me dead?
It was clear that the person who had written the note did not want me in Bath.
Did that mean I was on the right track? Was I drawing close to the answers I sought, and that is why I had received such a warning? Who knew Julie Nelson had come to Bath?
“Harper,” I whispered. He was the only person who had been present in London, knew me as Julie Nelson, and was aware I was in Bath. But he’d helped me before, or had that been an elaborate ruse to gain my trust? “No. Impossible.”
There had to be some other answer. Someone I was not yet aware of must know me and had a connection to those involved in the case in London.
Holding the paper up to the light, I tried to study it for any details that would point to the sender. The paper was plain, the type that could be found anywhere. On closer inspection, I could not guess whether the handwriting belonged to a man or woman. Perhaps someone with greater knowledge into the facets of writing would have been able to deduce more.
I was going to have to watch my steps carefully.
With a sigh, I tore the paper into tiny pieces and carried them to the fireplace to be destroyed. Checking the time, I saw that there was time enough for me to at least glance at my great-aunt’s letter.
‘Dear Juliet,
I never took you for a capocchia! Your uncle has at last provided for your future and yet, you remain in that demeaning position! True, we know nothing of this young man but how will you learn anything if you are not here to actually speak to the young man?
Yes, he did call upon me today. I informed him that you were visiting friends. How many lies must be told because of this reckless course, you horn-mad mome?’
Flinching, I ceased my perusal. So, Uncle Frederick’s plan to provide for me had finally reached Aunt Beth. The number of Shakespearean insults in referring to me, and knowing that ‘horn-mad’ meant crazy gave me a good idea of just how furious she was with me.
The only way to soothe her ruffled feathers would be to return to Faircroft. But I was closer than ever before to know what had really happened to my brother! I couldn’t leave yet.
“Miss Nelson?” a voice outside my door called out. A light and hesitant knock sounded.
“A moment!” I hastily hid my aunt’s letter under my pillow until I could gather my courage to read it in its entirety or hide it away somewhere it would not be easily discovered. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and the maid, Sally, stepped in. “Mrs. Dobbs is having tea in her sitting room and wishes to know if you will join her,” she said, wringing her hands together.
An excellent opportunity to learn more about those who are often in Bath from someone who had been there for many years. “I will be right there.”
MRS. DOBBS, AS IT TURNED out, was a well-informed woman, and I deeply regretted that I hadn’t thought to tactfully ask questions of her earlier. She confirmed what I had suspected: only a few families were visiting who had been in Bath five years previous.
“What of the Anderson family?” I asked, thinking of the young lady I had just met.
“They are a fine family, and have been in Bath for years,” Mrs. Dobbs said. “To be hired in that household is an aspiration for most in service here in Bath. They’re not the wealthiest family, but fair and honest with their staff. There’s only the one daughter left at home. I’ve
heard she was to be married five years ago, but sadly the gentleman died. Most say she will remain a spinster.”
I wondered if the same was said of me.
“Miss Dunbar has been infatuated with Mr. Conrad Ingram.”
The housekeeper pursed her lips. “I’m sorry to hear it. I would not want to see any of my girls turn to that household to be hired in that man’s house.”
That much, coupled with Miss Anderson’s information, had made it a remarkably productive day. I returned to my duties and sent Miss Dunbar off to a dinner party. Her expression was one of intense excitement when she returned that night. “Wait a moment, Nelson,” she said sharply as I moved forward. “I must pen a note before I forget the details.”
At this hour? “I will carry it to Bunker to have delivered once you have finished,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. Keeping my employer in good spirits had taken all of my energy. It had been a mere two days since my conversation with Miss Anderson, and I’d had little opportunity to consider how to proceed with what I had learned.
“Stupid creature! You must deliver this yourself.” Miss Dunbar’s tone was condescending as she sat at the dressing table. She kept her focus on the words she began to write. “I did tell you.”
That could mean only one thing: she was sending a note to Mr. Ingram. “Will you wish for me to do so before or after I assist you in undressing?” I asked cautiously. There had to be some way to avoid this task.
Lifting her head, the young woman sent a glare in my direction. “If I did not need you, I would dismiss you for your impertinence! Of course, I mean for you to deliver this after I am in my bed. You are frightfully ignorant at times, Nelson.”
I chose not to acknowledge her statements and instead dwelt on just how she expected me to deliver a message at this time of the night. A young woman would never be out alone unless it was for an immoral purpose. What could be so important and secretive that Miss Dunbar required this note to be delivered in such a clandestine manner?
The Debutante: A Regency Mystery (The Sinclair Society Book 2) Page 4