by Cindy Anstey
Walter leaned back across the croup of his horse. “Lud, I thought we were in the suds.” He let go of his reins and flung his arms out.
With the reins still tightly clasped across her palms, Beth leaned forward to stroke Bodicia.
Caroline barely moved. Her posture was rigid and unyielding as she stared straight ahead. “I assume it was a purse they were after,” she finally said.
Both Beth and Walter straightened and stared at Caroline, not for the words that she had uttered but for her manner of speaking them. Her voice was unnaturally high and raspy, as if her throat were constricted.
Walter was the first to express concern. “Caroline, are you well?”
She blinked as if trying to understand what Walter thought an uncomplicated question. “Yes. Yes, of course. But I do feel a pressing need to sit down.”
“You are sitting down, Caroline,” Beth pointed out.
Caroline frowned and glanced down at her saddle. She giggled in a very un-Caroline-like manner. “Oh. So I am.”
“I think we should make haste, Walter,” Beth said, leaning down to grab Cotton’s reins. That Caroline did not protest was worrisome. “Might you go ahead and prepare everyone for our arrival?”
Slowly but emphatically, Walter shook his head. “It is you who must go ahead. I will not leave two ladies, who were just attacked, meandering home. Even if I could find it in my heart to do so, I know that James would wash his hands of me.”
Breathing deeply—and rather noisily—through her nose, Beth nodded as she passed Cotton’s reins to Walter. “You are right, of course.”
Walter watched Beth heel her horse into a run, admiring her grace and fortitude, then turned toward his sister. Her color was quite high.
“Come, Caroline,” he said, encouraging the horses forward. Her continued silence was rather alarming.
CHAPTER NINE
Flights of Fancy
James would normally appreciate the sunny warmth of Caroline’s small boudoir, but it was a tad overcrowded. Caroline reclined on the settee surrounded by pillows, sipping a cup of tea. With less color in her cheeks and a calm manner, she did not in the least resemble the red-faced young woman who had walked into the manor with a wobble in her knees. Beth sat at her side, while Brant was perched on a chair at the far end.
Between sips, Caroline discussed the day’s happenings in a rambling sort of manner. “Why were we attacked? Perhaps they sought a heavy purse—well-dressed ladies could be carrying valuables. But we were on our way back from charity; our pockets and baskets were empty.” Caroline frowned, sipped, and began again. “Awaiting us just beyond the Bartleys’ could only mean that they were aware of our situation. No, their intent was more personal. Their purpose was to injure. I saw it in the eyes of the man clutching my reins. There was more than greed in his eyes; he didn’t look away. There was hunger and enjoyment of my terror. They were the eyes of a killer.”
“Eyes of a killer? Isn’t that doing it a little brown?” James leaned into the wall, staring out the window. His casual posture belied the fact that he, too, thought the circumstances of their attack unfathomable. “I agree that they were bold, but if they meant to rob, they were imbeciles as well.”
Caroline sighed and looked at Brant over her cup.
“Can it not be labeled an unfortunate happenstance and be put behind us?” Brant asked.
“Perhaps we could if it were not for…”
Beth straightened. “Not for what, Caroline?”
Caroline glanced around the room and laughed. It had a hollow sound. “I think we are being watched. I felt someone staring in Welford when we were shopping and then again at Daisy’s funeral. You know, that uncomfortable prickly sensation on the back of your neck?”
Beth nodded. “Yes, I do know. At the milliner’s I caught a staring reflection in a store window but when I turned around … nothing. No one was paying the least bit of attention to me.” She straightened as if bracing her back. “I told myself that I had an overactive imagination. That I was being melodramatic.”
James couldn’t imagine a less accurate description.
“And then, yesterday when I was sitting by the water,” she continued, “I heard something rustling in the bushes—something large, and close by—and yet nothing was visible. I had an uncomfortable sense of a presence. Someone was there, but when I called out, they did not say anything.”
Caroline scowled at her friend. “Why did you not mention it earlier?”
“For the very same reason that you were reluctant to say anything just now. Nothing happened. It seemed like a flight of fancy.”
Silence echoed.
James gritted his teeth and fought the urge to kick something … anything. He wanted to tear these monsters apart. How dare they imperil his family! “This puts a very different complexion on today’s events,” James said, doing his best to sound calm, in control. “What are they after?”
Beth huffed a sigh. “Me.”
“Rubbish,” James said, regretting it immediately. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe these men, these monsters, were after Beth … it was just that he did not want it to be true.
With a bewildered expression, Beth tipped her head to the side, as if trying to see James from a different perspective. “And yet these incidents revolve around me, and did not start until my arrival. It seems a natural conclusion.”
“I—” he started to say, searching for words of apology. “That’s not what I meant.”
Beth frowned and, with a shake of her head, stood. She turned toward Caroline. “I really must change for dinner, or Cook will never forgive my tardiness. Mrs. Fogel is having a tray prepared for you. I’ll come to visit after dinner.” She left the room without glancing in James’ direction.
Caroline glared at him. “Well done, brother dear.”
“But, Caroline, it does not make sense.”
“Nothing has made sense since Walter forced Beth’s coach into the river.”
“True enough.” James frowned at his reflection in the window. “Have you received any replies to your inquiries?”
“Not as yet. And there has been no further mention of Pamela Barlow in the Times.”
“Yes, I know.” James had checked every day, too, since discovering the article. “Has Beth had nothing of her memories return?”
Caroline looked at him with incredulity. “Well actually, yes, James. Yesterday, she recalled that she was princess of the Nile on her way to join the circus. I just forgot to mention it.”
James did not appreciate Caroline’s levity or Brant’s barked laugh that followed.
“Is Beth still having nightmares?” Brant asked, an expert at deflection.
Caroline’s expression softened. “Yes, I am afraid so.”
“A colleague of mine from Edinburgh is making a study of injuries of this nature. I will write to him for recommendations.”
“Thank you, Brant.” James nodded. “I think the sooner we know who Beth is, the sooner she, and those around her, will be safe.”
* * *
BETH SAT BY her bedroom window, lost in thought, steeped in humiliation. One of her new dinner gowns had been laid out on the bed and she had only to ring for Harriet to begin her preparations. But Beth had plenty of time to change before dinner; claiming the need to rush had only been a pretext.
What had possessed her to blurt out like that? Of course it sounded incredible. How could a mundane person such as herself be at the center of this tumult? Why would anyone want to follow or hurt her? Beth looked down at her unadorned hands.
She had nothing.
And yet there was no doubt in her mind that she had been the target—of the watchful eyes and of the roadside villains. And it was to those horrid men that her mind kept returning. Might they know who she was, her name? Might they know why she was traveling alone, and to where? The attack didn’t feel random, there was a purpose to their actions—or so it seemed.
Yes, those leering, lawless men had to
be caught—caught and made to tell all. And what better way to catch them, than to offer that which they had been ready to steal? Beth could draw them out again. Indeed, she could make it easy … lure them, taunt them. She could use herself as bait.
* * *
BETH LAY TUCKED deeply beneath the counterpane. Her thoughts were foggy from sleep and her eyes half shut. The overcast sky did nothing to encourage her from bed.
“Good mornin’,” a pert voice greeted her.
Beth sat straight up, half expecting Daisy to appear before her, but it was Harriet who carried the warm pitcher and bowl to the side table. It was Harriet kneeling by the fire … not Daisy.
“Good morning, Harriet. How are you today?”
“Fine, miss.” She didn’t look around but remained where she was, trying to draw life from the coals. “An’ you’ll be happy ta know that Miss Ellerby is right as rain, too.”
“Excellent.” Beth roused herself enough to swing her feet to the floor. The room had a slight nip to it, but with each lengthening day the chill abated.
“An’ Mrs. F. were wonderin’ what to do with the cloak, Miss.”
“What cloak?”
“Mrs. F. says Paul brought it inta the manor. It was with your baskets.”
“Oh yes, that cloak. It was mistakenly included with Daisy’s belongings and should go to the rightful owner.”
“I’ll tell ’er, miss.” Harriet crossed the room and opened the doors to the newly stocked wardrobe. Beth used the water in the pitcher while it was still warm and then hurriedly dressed.
Caroline emerged from her chamber just as Beth rounded the corner.
“Oh, most excellent, you do look better,” Beth said, linking their arms.
“And ravenous,” Caroline laughed as they descended the stairs together.
The bright yellow of the morning room shook the dullness from the day and instilled it with cheer. The smells emanating from the sideboard increased Beth’s appetite. Taking her filled plate to the table, Beth noticed it was set for three.
One of the gentlemen had already been and gone.
Caroline raised her eyebrows. “Robert, has Lord Ellerby already breakfasted?”
“Yes, miss. He ate earlier and then set off fer Welford Mills. Said something about Mr. Hodges, I believe.”
“Yes, of course,” Caroline replied just as Walter sauntered through the door.
“Good morning! Your hero has arrived.” He wore a traditional white shirt with a winged collar, a pale blue waistcoat, beige trousers, and brown jacket.
“Walter?” Caroline questioned. “I didn’t know you owned a plain waistcoat. Where did it come from?” She looked her brother up and down as if he were an unearthly specimen. He was dressed with decorum and sporting almost no affectation.
“Is that any way to greet the gentleman who saved your life?”
“You look very distinguished, Walter,” Beth remarked.
Preening, Walter tossed Beth a grin over his shoulder. “The very essence that I wanted to portray. How very astute.”
Caroline glanced at Beth with her eyebrows raised.
Walter filled his plate to overflowing, pulled his chair closer to Beth’s end of the table, and began his morning meal with relish. “And how are we this morning?” he asked between bites. “Did you sleep well, my dears?” His tone was condescending. It was likely meant to be sophisticated or, at the least, elegant. It wasn’t.
Caroline ignored her brother’s pomposity. “I thought we might return Mrs. Thompson’s call this morning, Beth. It will be considered a slight if we leave it much longer.”
“Will she not understand our delay?”
“It will be her impatience to discuss Daisy’s demise that will increase her pique.”
“You will, of course, wait for James’ return,” Walter stated … as if he had the right.
Caroline nodded, staring out the window in the general direction of Welford Mills.
They didn’t have long to wait, as James sauntered into the morning room a little less than an hour later. The table had been cleared of breakfast by then and returned to its position by the wall. Caroline sat at her mother’s desk, again staring out the window.
Beth had taken up her post on the settee with her stitching in hand, and Walter sat next to her, reading snippets aloud from a novel. The scene was domestic and had the aspect of a congenial and relaxed gathering, but the undercurrent was guarded.
“Good morning.” James took a chair by the door. He threw a quick glance Walter’s way, blinked at his outfit, and then shrugged. After fluffing the cushion behind him, James settled himself comfortably. “I am returned,” he finally said, stating the obvious. “And, of course, I have returned with more questions than when I left.”
“Have you any answers?” Walter pressed.
“I’m getting there. Have patience.” James bowed his head in Beth’s direction. “First, I apologize. There is little doubt that you are the focus of this unsavory attention, for whatever reason that may be.”
Beth bowed her acceptance and then grinned when he winked.
“Now, as to Mr. Hodges. Setting the law on the tracks of the thugs was prevented by Mr. Hodges’ refusal to believe that an attack had taken place.”
“What!” Walter bristled.
James raised his hand, palm toward Walter. “His standing was—take note of the word was—that in the sleepy parish of Welford Mills there had been both a burglary and a death. That was enough for any community.”
“So you said ‘Sorry to disturb’ and went on your way.” Caroline’s tone was blasé.
“Exactly. My way involved a visit to Justice Walker, and I politely recommended that he either remove Mr. Hodges or appoint a deputy.”
“Mr. Hodges is a cousin of the justice, you recall,” Caroline said.
James nodded slowly. “Yes, I do.”
“So the parish of Welford Mills has a new deputy.”
“How astute of you, Caroline. Yes, Derrick Strickland is now a deputy, and as such, he will be joining me later this morning.”
“Did you suggest Mr. Strickland?” Caroline asked before turning to Beth. “Mr. Strickland is the apothecary,” she explained, “and a good choice for deputy. He seems to be a fair man with some intelligence.”
“I will admit that I helped Justice Walker with his decision. Mr. Strickland is an efficient man. We will review the break-in of the manor, I will put him on the scent of the villains who attacked you, and I will even ask him to make inquiries about Daisy.”
Caroline frowned. “Daisy? Whatever for, James?”
“To ease Mrs. Bartley’s troubled mind and settle Tate’s innocence. Beth mentioned the vicious gossip last night at dinner. I think Tate has suffered enough without having the town treating him like a leper.”
“What additional questions?” Walter asked. “You said that you had returned with more questions.”
“Yes, a most curious incident.” James paused, looked pensive for moment, and then continued. “Mrs. Cranley accosted me just as I was leaving town. She was almost beside herself with excitement. Apparently an elderly gentleman was asking after a young lady yesterday throughout Welford. He described a person such as you, Beth. When she told him that the only new arrival in the area was an Elizabeth Dobbins staying at Hardwick Manor, he abruptly ended the conversation and rode off.”
Caroline frowned. “Are we to be excited, apprehensive, or disinterested?”
“I have no idea. I mean to mention it to Mr. Strickland.”
“Before you go, James, I thought you would want to know that Beth and I will be driving over to Risely Hall this morning. We have to return Mrs. Thompson’s call.”
James flicked a piece of lint from his trousers in an overly casual manner before speaking. “Please take the closed carriage.” He stood and pulled down his waistcoat. “Enjoy,” he added with a hint of sympathy.
* * *
BETH STARED OUT the carriage window. The tranquil scenery
did nothing to alleviate her apprehension. James’ news of a stranger making inquiries coupled with the assault confirmed her fears. A proper lady was not hounded; a sensible woman did not travel alone. She might regain her memories and wish to God that she hadn’t. The longer she had no name, the longer she endangered the family.
“They are quite pretty.”
Startled, Beth blinked and allowed her eyes to refocus on the view. The carriage had passed through Welford Mills and was making its way up the slope to Risely. The hall before them was smaller and newer in comparison to Hardwick Manor. The portico was grand, although a trifle overlarge for the hall’s size, but the trained ivy softened the edges. It was a plain but noble Palladian-style manor.
Beth turned from the Thompson residence and cast her eye in the direction of Caroline’s comment. A small distance from the main road, a path guided the viewer toward a ruin. It was meant to mimic an ancient stronghold with all but one wall tumbling into dust. The distance disguised the newly cut stone, and in a few years, the shrubs and bracken would have filled in enough to give it an air of antiquity.
“I am surprised. It is well done. I had not expected it of Mrs. Thompson.” Caroline nodded in approval.
Beth smiled and offered her friend a one-shoulder shrug as their carriage pulled under the portico. “If you want a new ruin,” she said.
Caroline sent Robert in with her card. She expressed a quiet hope to Beth that she had picked the right time to call. Unfortunately, she hadn’t. Mrs. Thompson was, indeed, available for visitors.
A footman led them into a small, overstuffed drawing room. Pastels had been used with abandon and a multitude of pillows covered the settee and chairs. The room was stiflingly hot due to an overstoked fire blazing on a warm spring day.
Sophia bounded to her feet upon their entry with such energy that Beth felt the younger girl’s desperate need for distraction. The interest and shine in Sophia’s eyes after completing the customary curtsy gave Beth some regret that their visit would not be long.