The Hummingbird Dagger

by Cindy Anstey

  “No, Miss Ellerby, the girl hasn’t returned from her half day yet. But it was clear enough and little to pack.” The housekeeper glanced in Beth’s direction and smiled. “I’m sure Miss Beth will let us know if we mistook anything.”

  “Thank you, I’m sure she will.” Caroline glanced again at the clock and sighed. “Oh dear, the boys will be ravenous. Mrs. Fogel, would you show Miss Beth to the green room and have a tray sent up?” She squeezed Beth’s hand. “It will give you the opportunity to get used to your new circumstances. No need to rush; tomorrow will be soon enough to join the family.” Caroline nodded enthusiastically and left the room.

  * * *

  BETH DROPPED BACK onto the settee, staring and blinking at the carpet for some minutes.

  “Are you all right, my dear?’

  Beth looked up and laughed. “Yes, actually, I am quite well. I’m just astonished. I could never have imagined this turn of events.”

  “Well then, dear, you are the only one. It was all too obvious that you belonged upstairs. Not that we can blame Miss Caroline or Lord Ellerby, but you can’t make a sow’s ear out of a silk purse.”

  With a grin and a shake of her head, Beth rose again. “I believe the expression is you can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”

  “Just trying to say you can’t hide quality under a dirty dress. And speaking of which…” Mrs. Fogel turned Beth around, undoing the strings of her apron. It was dingy and limp with age—a spare found in the ragbag. “You won’t be needing this anymore,” she said. “Now, I believe I’ll take you up the main staircase so that you’ll be able to find your way back in the mornin’.” Mrs. Fogel squared her shoulders and strode from the room.

  After a few moments, a disembodied voice drifted through the doorway. “Miss Beth, would you care to join me?”

  Beth came out of her reverie and stepped out the door. She met Mrs. Fogel in the elegant, white-tiled main hall. The sounds of muted voices and clicking cutlery drifted under the closed door of the dining room.

  Tomorrow, Beth would join them.

  How would Lord Ellerby feel looking up at breakfast to find the face of a stranger sitting across from him? Would he be uncomfortable and stilted? Worse still, would he think she had manipulated the situation—used Caroline to her own ends? Beth could protest her innocence but … the less said soonest mended.

  Yes, she would simply be as unobtrusive as possible. Until she knew who she was and where she came from, it would be best not to step on anyone’s toes—especially not on those of an accommodating young lord.

  * * *

  JAMES LOOKED UP when Caroline entered the dining room alone.

  “Our guest shunning our company?”

  “Hardly, James.” Caroline looked across the linen-draped rosewood table. The silver candelabra offered a generous amount of light, illuminating Walter’s empty seat. “Speaking of shunning, where is Walter?”

  As if on cue, Walter entered the room with an affected gait—implicit grandeur with a hint of military posturing.

  “Are you all right, brother dear?” James asked. “You seem to be limping.”

  Lifting his chin in haughty distain, Walter missed the center of his chair and almost tumbled to the floor. With a casual swipe at his hip, Walter secured his seat and adopted an unconcerned expression. “Henry and his family have expressed their interest in my company tomorrow,” Walter said. “They asked me to dine with them at Risely Hall. And I would like to go. No, I need to go. I have been at Beth’s beck and call for a fortnight, a whole fortnight. I have paid my penance.”

  Caroline frowned into her soup, pursing her lips as if the broth had suddenly turned sour.

  Walter continued to monopolize the conversation, switching to particulars about the West Indies, waxing on about the marvels of large spiders and coffee plantations. Stories no doubt gleaned from Henry about his uncle.

  Eventually, Walter’s blather wound down; it gave Caroline a chance to speak. She began with a huff. “Fine. You may go. But do not take the curricle.”

  Walter harrumphed in protest. However, when James shifted in his chair, Walter quickly accepted the limitation. “Thank you, Caroline. I had no intention of traveling the main roads. The freer paths for me.” Having attained his goal, Walter rose and quit the room, leaving behind his affected gait as well as his surprised siblings, who were waiting on the next course.

  * * *

  UPSTAIRS, BETH PACED. The green room—though lovely—was overwhelming. It was large with a high ceiling, full of substantial furniture and swirling color. The walls were busily covered in ivy and mauve clematis paper. Two huge corner windows offered her prospects of the park and the gardens. Hardly threatening. Across from the deep green draperies of the windows was a four-poster bed with heavy matching linens and hangings. The effect was one of tradition and quiet elegance.

  In the mahogany wardrobe hung Caroline’s hand-me-down dress; it looked forlorn and out of place, just as Beth felt. She snapped the door shut, unable to bear its recriminations.

  A fire had been lit earlier and the room was cozy and comfortable, but still Beth paced. She had only nibbled at the dinner brought to her by Mrs. Fogel. Her dinner tray sat, barely touched, awaiting its return to the kitchen.

  At first blush, this social elevation had seemed a godsend. The expectation of spending her days in Caroline’s company—talking, painting, helping with charitable works, and planning meals—was a pleasurable one. But the moment she was left alone, she felt inadequate, bewildered, and confused.

  With deliberate will, Beth slowed her pacing and stopped before the windows. The sun had just set and the sky was painted a soft rose-pink. Staring out, she gasped in alarm. A flock of silhouetted birds dipped and reeled against the glowing backdrop. Not hummingbirds. No, not hummingbirds. Swallows, looking graceful and lithe.

  There was nothing in their smooth flight to remind Beth of her nightmares and yet fear found her nonetheless. Her limbs started to shake and her breath quickened. In her mind she could hear the flap of beating wings—humming. She wanted to look away but was caught, spellbound.

  It was fortunate that, at that moment, she heard a distracting knock on the door. She took a calming breath and bade, “Enter.”

  “A lovely view of the gardens, don’t you think?” Caroline asked, joining Beth beside the window.

  Beth nodded, continuing to watch the birds as they soared across the sky.

  “We have something important to discuss,” Caroline said after a moment. “I have detected a lack of style in your wardrobe.” She bounced her eyebrows up and down.

  Beth chuckled. “It is your dress.”

  “Indeed.” Caroline nodded with a grin. “That is the problem. I have never been all-the-crack, as Walter would say. No, it will not do. We shall have to visit Millie Couture; she is a modiste in Welford Mills. Country fashion, I’m afraid,” Caroline sighed. “But it will have to do for now.”

  Beth liked pretty dresses as much as any girl, but the expense was a little overwhelming. “I don’t need anything new.”

  Caroline ignored her protest. “Cast downs will not be sufficient. You must have new gowns. Can’t have you looking like a ragamuffin.” Her smile denoted mischief, a hint of humor, and pleasure from the prospect. “Bonnets, gloves, stays, petticoats … Oh yes, this is going to be quite enjoyable.”

  Inwardly sighing, Beth wondered how she would ever pay back this generosity.

  * * *

  COWERING ON THE CRATE, oppressive silence besieged her. The room was dark and reeked of filth and decay. Something waited in that dark silence, waited for her, threatened her.

  She felt the gentle touch of a feather across her cheek and the hum of rapid wings. Bile rose in her throat and she jerked away. Now on the floor jammed into a corner, her hands flailed. But the feather touch was gone, as was the hum; only her ragged breath disturbed the silence.

  Time passed, a little … a lot, she hardly knew. She became aware of a dull
glow, seeping from a small slit in the wall high above her head. Beyond its feeble beam were shadows, boxes and barrels stacked high and precariously.

  Silhouettes approached. Shapes blurred from constant motion.

  Hauled from the floor, she was dragged back to the box and forced to sit. Her head was held in place, forcing her gaze toward a shape illuminated by a slit of light.

  There were no sounds in this room laden with malice. It was unbearably quiet, as if she were suddenly deaf. But she was not blind, and what little there was to see was terrifying. A hand reached forward, toward her. It held a dagger. Its dark wood hilt gently curved into the shape of a hummingbird. Its long bill was razor sharp. Evidence of its last feed dripped onto the floor. A puddle formed and grew. A puddle of blood.

  Her blood.

  Beth awoke, screaming.

  * * *

  JAMES AWOKE WITH a start. He sat up, trying to clear his head. Had he heard a cry, a scream? The creaks and groans of the manor were familiar friends. Nothing felt amiss and yet his heart pounded in alarm.

  Slipping out of bed, James found his robe and slippers. He lit a candle and opened his bedroom door in silence. In the corridor, all was as it should be. He glanced toward the main staircase, then turned in the opposite direction. As he neared Beth’s room, James heard movement and a soft sound … a sob?

  Gently tapping the door, James opened it a crack. “Beth, is all well?”

  The reply was muffled and inarticulate.

  Pushing the door farther, James could see that Beth was still abed; she had pulled a pillow over her face, held in place with her knees. Her shoulders shook with emotion.

  James glanced down the corridor in both directions, thankful that the passage was empty. Beth’s reputation would be ruined if he were seen standing by her door in the middle of the night. As he decided on his next course of action, Beth sobbed again, and James rushed through the door without thought. As he approached the bed, he slowed, not wanting to startle her. He gently lifted her hand from the counterpane and cupped it, crooning soothing nonsense.

  Soon the only sounds in the room were the wind scratching at the window, the creak of the shifting floors, and the squeak of movement on the bed. James could feel Beth take a deep breath before she lifted her face from the pillow. “Thank you,” she said in a hushed tone, almost a whisper. “I am sorry I disturbed you … again. It’s rather embarrassing. Could we not pretend that nothing is amiss?”

  James pulled an upholstered cream-colored Chippendale chair closer to the edge of the bed. “Perhaps. But you were screaming rather loudly,” he said. “Have your nightmares come back?”

  Beth hiccupped a laugh—a giggle of sorts—that was more embarrassment than amusement. “They have never gone away.” She shifted as if she were uncomfortable, either with her position or her words. “It’s nothing,” she said without conviction.

  “Clearly it is something, and if you think that I am going to leave before I know what this is about, then you are sadly mistaken. Even if you could induce me to leave—which you cannot—I would not be able to sleep a wink. Do you want me heavy lidded in the morning? No beauty rest for these weary bones?”

  Beth’s smile was halfhearted, likely meant to reassure, but James’ uneasiness continued to grow. “Please, tell me.”

  Beth swallowed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I dream that I am in a putrid, narrow room. It is filled with moving, changing shapes, but in the center of the room is a beam of light. I want to curl into a little ball. I want to disappear, and actually pray to do so.” Beth stopped; she met James’ gaze.

  “You fear the light?”

  “No, what the light shows. A dagger—in the shape of a hummingbird. It’s dripping blood…” Beth lifted her eyes to stare at nothing on the far wall. “My blood.” Tears slid unnoticed down her cheeks.

  James was shattered, witnessing the depth of her fear and sorrow. He wanted to jump into the nightmare and rush at the bearer of this dagger and exact revenge. Instead, he leaned forward, offering her a handkerchief. “It is just a dream,” he said, repeating her words. “A horrid one, but a dream nonetheless.”

  “It might be more.” Her eyes filled with tears again.

  James brushed Beth’s hair back behind her shoulders in a wordless display of solidarity and caring. As he did, his gaze caught the scar just under Beth’s chin. “You think it’s a memory.”

  “It might be.” Beth’s tone was studiously unemotional.

  James nodded, leaned back, and then stood. “I have invited Dr. Brant to dine with us tomorrow. Why don’t we see if he has any ideas?”

  Beth flushed. “I don’t think it is important enough to mention.”

  “Fustian nonsense, he won’t mind in the least. He is always looking for a way to impress us with his knowledge.”

  He left Beth staring with deep concentration at her counterpane. It was a pretty quilt with an intricate design but hardly worth an intense study. She was lost in thought, still caught up in her fears, her nightmares, and James could hardly fault her for that. If he knew the source of those horrid dreams, he could dispel her concern with logic, or at the very least call in Brant with some medical explanation. Something, anything, to erase the haunted melancholy in her eyes.

  * * *

  “BETH!” Walter sauntered into the morning room, greeting the new companion with his usual lack of decorum. “Have you deigned to join our ranks?”

  Beth held firmly to her cup and saucer as Walter danced around her. It was already late morning, and breakfast was well and truly over—the kippers cold, James’ paper read, and Caroline’s menu for the day not only planned but given to Cook. The congenial atmosphere of the room had caused the time to pass quickly, and they had lingered over their morning meal beyond their regular habit. Beth had only just risen to refresh her tea again from the sideboard.

  Walter ignored his own lack of punctuality, piled his plate with what was left of the ham and biscuits, and accused others for his ignorance. “Why wasn’t I told?” He glanced up at James with an attempted piercing stare. “I would have been down here directly this morning.”

  “No, you would not. You would still have been late.” James folded the Times with care. The blazing headline HOUSE IN UPROAR became the bland news of HOUSE IN. “Besides, last night you monopolized the conversation and left us without a by-your-leave. So when would we have mentioned Beth’s transfer upstairs?”

  Walter ignored his brother and fixed his eyes on the table.

  “So, what do you think?” Caroline asked, returning to the subject at hand before Walter’s grand entrance.

  “I do not know if I can ride. What would be the point of ordering a riding costume if I cannot ride?” Beth replied.

  “Easily solved, Beth: We will teach you.”

  Beth laughed. “Are you going to solve all my problems?”

  “Absolutely.” Caroline smiled and then continued, “So, as you can surmise, James, Beth and I will be out for a few hours after luncheon. Would you be so kind as to greet Dr. Brant should we be late? I did mention his note arrived this morning.”

  “Yes, you did.” James pushed his chair out from under the table. “A few times. Walter will be joining me at the Havershams’ this morning, but inspection of the new barn and fields should be completed well before midday. That is, as long as his nibs here tarries no longer and finishes his breakfast sometime before noon.”

  Walter looked up. “Oh, tare an’ hounds. I forgot. I won’t be here for you, Beth. I am to dine at Risely tonight. It will be top of the trees. You, however, will be entrenched in”—Walter’s tone expressed his distaste—“liberal conversation. But worry not. I shall make it all come right. Tomorrow, I shall tell all. Every detail.”

  Beth saw Caroline cringe. She managed a nod and smile that was only a little off-kilter before she rose. Beth and James followed suit.

  “Please excuse us, Walter,” Caroline said. “We don’t want the day to be carried off without us.”


  The three stepped into the hall together but diverged by the main staircase. The women were headed to the storage space in the attics while James would wait for Walter in the library.

  Mr. Evans, the wizened house steward with bowed shoulders and a hesitant walk, stepped forward the moment the group appeared. He asked for a private moment with the master.

  As Beth stepped onto the first tread of the staircase, she glanced over her shoulder to see the men enter the library. James’ expression was somber but unconcerned. She turned back to meet Caroline’s gaze, exchanged a shrug, and then they continued up to the attic.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Introducing Miss Dobbins

  Although curious about the steward’s twitchy behavior, Beth followed Caroline up the stairs. Upon reaching the second level, Caroline swept her arm toward the back stairs that preceded to the storage attics. Finally they stopped in a dusty, trunk-laden corner under the eaves.

  “What do you think has happened?” Beth asked, her uneasiness getting the better of her.

  Caroline wiped the cobwebs from the lid of a sizable trunk and shrugged. “Oh, don’t worry, Beth. It’s likely a small, meaningless incident … something having to do with the estate or one of the tenants. Had it involved the manor, Mr. Evans would have spoken to me.”

  Beth nodded, trying to hide her continuing disquiet. It was unlikely that Mr. Evans’ request to speak with James had anything to do with her and yet … shaking the troublesome thoughts from her head, she exhaled noisily, helping lift the heavy trunk lid. Inside lay several carefully folded gowns.

  “Miss Overton, my governess, was never extravagant—she couldn’t afford to be—but I persuaded Mama to provide a bolt of cloth for a riding costume last year … just before she, Miss Overton, shuffled off her moral coil.” Caroline touched the lace of the topmost dress. “She was well regarded by all of us; in fact, she was going to stay on at Hardwick. I sincerely wish she had not gone to Nottingham.” Caroline pressed her lips together for a moment. “She caught the typhoid and I never saw her again.”