The Hummingbird Dagger

by Cindy Anstey

  Caroline was certain that James would not lose the argument this time when their mother returned. Come September, Walter would be returning to Eton.

  * * *

  “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” James demanded. His words and tone might have been a tad loud as the question echoed around the room. Doing his best to temper his anger, James took a deep breath. While relaxing his stance, he tried to emulate his father’s most severe expression. “There was no sensibility in the way you were driving, no propriety or modest behavior. All of which you promised!”

  “Give over, James. It wasn’t my fault … not really. The road is seldom traveled. How was I to know that the London coach was there?”

  “Right,” James said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “It’s only lumbered down the road at the same time every day since before your birth … But how could you have guessed that today, of all days, it would do so again.”

  “I couldn’t!” Walter glared at his brother for some minutes.

  James stared back, giving no quarter. If he were not stern and unyielding, Walter would take advantage, pushing the limits, denying James’ authority again.

  Finally, Walter lowered his gaze to the floor. “I should have been more cautious.”

  James waited, hoping for an apology or a promise to never again race down a road without checking first. But there was neither. Instead, when Walter lifted his eyes, his expression was of derision, his mouth partially open, a scathing comment undoubtedly at the ready.

  James could see the strain on his brother’s face as he fought the urge to argue, to shout that James couldn’t tell him what to do. It had been Walter’s contention since their father’s demise. Hardly the truth, but the truth hardly mattered.

  The standoff continued far beyond what was necessary, but eventually, James considered his point made. He crossed the hall to the drawing room, Walter shuffling in behind him with his shoulders bowed and his eyes glued to the floor. His younger brother crossed the room and sat down—well away from James.

  “Sam and Ned left a trunk in the hall, Caroline,” James said. “Where should it go?”

  Caroline frowned. “Trunk?”

  “The young woman’s—from the coach.”

  “Oh, of course.” She turned to the footman who stood by the door waiting for instructions. “Take it to the storeroom for now, Robert. Keep it to the front, though. I am sure she will want her things as soon as she awakens.”

  There was a brief silence after the door latch clicked.

  “So, what have you been up to lately, Brant?” James asked, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. He knew he could count on his friend for florid and diverting anecdotes, something to keep Caroline distracted.

  He, on the other hand, was restless and took a post at the window. There was nothing to see, nothing to watch except a large coach that lumbered down the road in the twilight hours. If James hadn’t known better, he would have thought it to be the London stagecoach. But that was impossible. The mail coach from London only came through Welford Mills once a day and it had skated down the bank of the Torrin River, leaving behind a sorely injured young woman now resting in their attic.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Enigma Awakens

  Shadowed faces, in a twisted blur of colors and sound, lurked and menaced before her eyes. Echoes ricocheted through the chambers of her dreams. One moment was calm, the next brought fear. Struggling to break free, she reached out and up, her lungs giving vent to an unidentified terror.

  When her eyes focused, she was sitting up in the bed of a sunlit chamber with whitewashed walls. The bed was hard, the linens rough, and her nightdress plain, but all were clean and smelled fresh. And the room was occupied not by shadows but by two women with very wide eyes.

  The older of the two stood on the threshold. Her gray hair was tucked neatly beneath her starched muslin cap. Her face was firm but not unfriendly, despite the sharp nose. A black linen dress covered her ample form and her stance was that of authority.

  The other woman, who had been leaning over the bed, was considerably younger. A full apron covered her flower print dress. A wet cloth, clutched tightly to her bosom, soaked into the upper bib.

  “Gawd! Didn’t you half scare the life out of me.” The young woman shook the dripping cloth at her, and then she smiled. “Here, you lay yourself back down. Did I hurt you? Is that why you sat up screaming like that?”

  “No, oh no. It wasn’t you,” the patient said absentmindedly. She allowed the young woman to grasp her by the forearms and lower her to the bed, distracted by a strange tightness around her head. She gingerly lifted a hand and fingered the wound cloth that she found there. It ran over her forehead and circled to the back above her ears.

  The older woman stepped into the room. “Dr. Brant will be so pleased to see that you’re awake. You gave us quite a fright last night. Lying so still, and then your fever started ta go up.” Taking a deep breath, the woman straightened. “I’m Mrs. Fogel, the housekeeper, and this here is Daisy.”

  Mrs. Fogel reached over, taking the wet cloth, and shooed Daisy to the door. “Let Dr. Brant know that she’s awake.” The housekeeper dabbed at the patient’s mouth with the cloth. “You won’t be able to smile for a while, dear. Never you mind. It’s a small concern. Everything’s going to be just fine. Miss Ellerby will see to that…”

  Mrs. Fogel’s reassuring words had a lulling quality to them. The shadows dissolved in the nurturing warmth of the housekeeper’s voice. Her eyelids grew heavy. Slowly the room faded, sounds drifted away.

  Thudding footsteps grew louder. Fear filled her mind and her heart raced. Her eyes flew open and she gasped when a figure appeared in the doorway, but the tall man was a stranger, and a grinning one, at that.

  “Good morning,” he said. “You look much better.” He had a slightly protruding chin and a crooked nose. “I’m Dr. Brant.”

  Mrs. Fogel shifted, trading places with the doctor so that he could take a closer look. He checked under the bandage on her jaw first. “Excellent, healthy pink skin. Yes, indeed, most excellent.” His eyes were wide and excited. “If I weren’t trying to maintain some dignity, I’d whoop. Yes, indeed, whooping is called for.”

  He looked expectantly at his patient, but when she didn’t comment, he continued in a calmer tone. “You have a strong constitution. An infection started but it didn’t take hold. It seems to have abated already.” He replaced the wrapping and picked up her hands.

  After toe wiggling, finger spreading, and even nose touching, the doctor declared that not only would sitting up be permissible but so would the consumption of that most restorative of elixirs, tea.

  The recommended broth sounded less appealing.

  * * *

  JAMES SMILED AS he entered the small attic room. The patient was sitting up in easy conversation with Brant. Her straight brown hair was now neatly pushed behind her shoulders and some of the swelling above her ear was gone. Her skin was no longer ashen; her cheeks no longer rosy with fever. And her eyes were open, clear, and full of questions.

  “Good morning,” James said, standing at the end of the bed. His presence in the woman’s room was rather untoward, but he had needed to see their … guest. See that she had, indeed, survived the night and was feeling better. “I am James Ellerby … Lord Ellerby.” He flushed, still uncomfortable with the title. “And I imagine you have already been told that you are at Hardwick Manor, just outside Welford Mills.”

  “Thank you for taking me in, Lord Ellerby. It was generous of you.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  James was pleased to find the girl articulate. More than articulate; her enunciation was cultured and educated. It contrasted deeply with the ripped and ruined gown that she had arrived in, as well as her bruised hands and dirty, broken nails; it was a bit of a puzzle. “It was the least we could do considering Walter, my half-witted brother, caused your accident.” The recollection brought anger to James’ face. “But enough of that,” he sai
d, unclenching his jaw. “We must let your people know where you are. They are probably frantic or at the very least wondering why you have not arrived with the coach. Were you destined for Exeter?”

  The young woman stared at James for what seemed like a long time; her thin brows slowly pulled ever tighter together, and her eyes became distant. “I am … not sure. I do not know.”

  The room was still and silent. The sounds from the yard that had been drifting in the window muted. The young woman in the bed seemed to shrink. Her breathing became quick and shallow. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Brant grabbed the basin just in time. He held her hair out of the way and watched helplessly until the young woman was spent. “Too much excitement all at once,” he said. He tried to ease the patient to the pillow, but the young woman flailed as if pushing against her own distress.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she kept repeating. Her eyes were wild. She searched their faces from one to the other, and back again. Then, her posture stiffened, and her chin rose. “I do not know who I am,” she said, staring across the room.

  Silence echoed resoundingly.

  Brant took a noisy breath. “Don’t be concerned,” he said in a voice slightly elevated from its usual bass pitch. “Memory loss is common with injuries such as yours. It is usually temporary.”

  James watched as the young woman met the doctor’s eyes; almost imperceptibly the patient shook her head.

  James frowned, searching for a distraction. “Temporary.” Then he nodded a little too enthusiastically. “We don’t need your actual name right now. Why not just pick something for the moment, until you remember it? Young-woman-thrown-from-coach is a little too long,” he said with false humor.

  The young woman attempted a smile. It was wistful and accentuated her vulnerability. “The only name that comes to mind is Beth.”

  James’ heart ached for her. “Beth it is.”

  “But I do not think that is my name.”

  “Beth will do for now,” James said as bile churned in his stomach. He would have to eventually ask what she did remember, but slowly, with no pressure and without causing anxiety. To do otherwise might cause more damage … or so he thought. He’d best check with Brant about that—when not standing in front of the patient.

  A rustle from the door broke the spell; Daisy entered with a tray. The teacup rattled against the bowl as she set it on the bedside table.

  James met Brant’s gaze and then he followed the doctor to the door. They gestured for Daisy to do the same and spoke in whispers in the hall.

  “Stay with her, Daisy. Keep her talking, but do not ask any questions,” Brant told the maid. “Not as yet. Keep it light … Talk about the weather or the retriever’s new pups or your last half day, but do not mention her name or her family.”

  Daisy bobbed a curtsy and turned back to the small room.

  James glanced in. Beth had not moved; the young woman stared, sightless, at a spot beyond the end of the bed. She didn’t seem to blink or even breathe, and were it not for the occasional shiver there would have been no movement at all.

  At the bottom of the stairs, James felt they were far enough away from all and sundry to speak candidly. “Is she likely to remember anything, Brant? Ever?”

  “Hard to say. Best not ask her too many questions for a day or two. Give her mind a chance to relax and heal. You could send one of your footmen to Ellingham. Leave word at the inn for anyone who inquires.”

  “Yes,” James agreed, though he was distracted. His mind had returned to the small upper room and the forlorn girl who had lost her name and her family in an instant. Her future was now as murky and uncertain as her past.

  * * *

  LOCATED IN THE center of the west wall, the fireplace in the library was opposite the entry from the main hall. The elaborate design and proportion of the parquetry desk in the corner lent James the prestige and large surface required to oversee the running of the estate—his father’s estate. No, he had to stop thinking that he was temporarily filling his father’s shoes. It was a permanent condition—one could not get more permanent than dead.

  James shook his head. Morbid thoughts, but James missed his father terribly. He had yet to find solace in the role of Lord of the Manor. It would come in time.

  James had anticipated running the estate in conjunction with a qualified land agent, but Old Dickens was still entrenched and the Dowager Lady Ellerby seemed disinclined to pension the man off. No, that wasn’t true. His mother was more disinterested than disinclined … but the outcome was the same; the weight of overseeing the estate was on his very inexperienced shoulders.

  James frowned at the letter before him, trying to force his mind back to the seed tally. He was aware that the door opened; the swish of a skirt registered and announced his sister’s arrival. However, Caroline was not alone. James watched as she and Brant made themselves comfortable in the burgundy leather chairs by the fire.

  Scribbling a reminder across a paper, he placed the letter in a growing pile and pushed away from the desk. He joined his sister and friend, flopping inelegantly into a chair.

  Caroline huffed. “This is a fine how-do-you-do,” she said. “The girl cannot remember who she is or where she was going.”

  “Yes, I know. I was there when she realized.” James shifted his gaze to Brant, not surprised to see his friend’s relaxed manner; he was not fazed easily. Not as adept at appearing calm, James shook his head, deeply troubled. There would be people fretting, anxious for the young woman’s return. Every day not knowing what had happened to her would be interminable.

  “Her people will inquire after her, James,” Caroline said, as if reading his mind. “I think we will be surprised by her circumstances. Her voice and manner seem educated. She might even be a gentleman’s daughter.”

  No bonnet or gloves, a torn gown and filthy hands, traveling alone. This did not sound like any lady that James knew. Still, he did find her direct gaze intriguing; it was almost a challenge. Yes, there was something about her, something … interesting.

  Without a knock or a by-your-leave, the library doors burst open. Walter entered with great energy; Henry followed in his wake. Paying no heed to the fact that he was interrupting, Walter launched into a dramatic declaration.

  “Life is so wild and unexpected! Life holds such excitement, especially in the spring. Do you not find?” he asked no one in particular and continued without hesitation. “Here I was in a fit of blue devils, for I was cruelly deprived of my curricle, suffered unwarranted criticisms, and then duties were pressed unjustly upon me. Bored and bored again, only to find Henry this morning with great news.” Walter’s drama was affecting no one but himself. “They have a guest at Risely Hall, Henry’s uncle recently of the West Indies. Full of stories and adventures. I am revived!” He turned to leave the room, as self-involved as when he entered it. “I am off.”

  “Walter.” James did not raise his voice. “Where are you going?”

  Walter’s smile slowly disappeared. “Why, to Risely Hall, of course.”

  James crossed his arms and, without taking his eyes off Walter, addressed Henry. “Thank you for dropping by, Mr. Thompson. Walter will, unfortunately, be unable to join you at Risely today. Or tomorrow.”

  Walter snapped his jaw shut.

  Henry bowed without a word and stepped into the hall. The footman quietly closed the door behind him. Stealthy footsteps faded away.

  “Now see here, James. You cannot keep me here twiddling my thumbs in penance. I did not mean to force the stagecoach from the road.” Walter turned his appeal to Caroline. “Do not let him bully me like this, sweet sister. I will be miserable.”

  James watched Caroline struggle to maintain her composure. Her mouth opened and closed silently until the heat in her face flushed to the roots of her hair.

  “How dare you! How dare you think of your own selfish wants while that poor girl lies in bed half demented because of your carelessness!” She rose and s
tood in front of her younger brother. Somehow she managed to tower over the taller boy. “You had better make yourself useful, not only to James and me, but more important, to the young woman that you injured.

  “Her family and friends will be sick with worry, sitting up night after night watching and waiting, praying for some word of her safety. And you, you are worried about being bored!” Caroline sat down, shaking with emotion.

  The room was silent. No one mentioned that only one night had passed.

  Walter had the good sense to look contrite and cowed. “I had not thought of it that way. Mrs. Fogel said she was doing fine. I thought … I thought—”

  “That is the trouble, Walter; you were not thinking.” James shook his head, swallowing the lump of anger in his throat.

  Walter’s shoulders dropped, and he found great fascination in the pattern of the carpet.

  Caroline took a deep breath and rose to her feet. “James, could you introduce your brother to our guest? I am in need of some fresh air.” She turned to Walter. “You will do whatever you can to make her comfortable. You will talk to her, you will make her laugh, and you will read to her. You will ease her troubled mind and distract her. You will fetch her tea if she wants it.” She raised her hand to silence him before he spoke. “Daisy has other duties. Beth will be yours. There will be consequences if I find you dallying.”

  Tight-lipped, Caroline left the room. Her careful footsteps and the swish of her gown could be heard through the doorway.

  * * *

  DAISY BABBLED, her mind on other things. She had covered the pups, the weather, the horses, the kitchen staff, and her cousin that had moved to Exeter. Through it all, Beth had only nodded or made vague sounds of acknowledgment. When Beth suddenly squeaked, Daisy almost dropped the tray she had been balancing on her knee. “What?” she gasped. “What is it?” She glanced over her shoulder, expecting something large and scary coming through the door.