by Cindy Anstey
Paterson took a couple of sharp breaths. “I am expected home,” he muttered after swallowing several times in succession.
“Really, Mr. Paterson, have you no imagination?” Caroline smiled without warmth. “A letter will arrive just as quickly as you would have done.”
“Perhaps.” Paterson twitched and then swallowed again. “I believe I will accept your kind invitation and thank you for the care and attention you have shown Diana.” His smile was mocking.
James was not impressed, not intimidated, and not convinced.
Caroline quietly slipped away as James began to organize the visit. James would rather have traded places with Caroline and gone to Beth. He wanted to reassure her, comfort her, and tell her how much he … the family … cared. He could and would be her protector. There was no need for her to worry—he would do it for her.
* * *
CAROLINE SLUMPED DOWN onto the settee in her boudoir. She curled her feet up and leaned her head against the ornate carved edging. The deep grooves and swirls were uncomfortable but allowed her to remain in repose without enticing sleep. A book of verse lay open on the table at her elbow. It would serve as a distraction until James arrived, if James arrived.
She was almost certain that James’ elaborate “good night” had been fashioned to persuade Mr. Paterson that the evening was concluded. If the man was not a total boor, he should now know to keep to his chamber.
Mr. Paterson had been placed in one of the state apartments that faced the drive. It was a well-appointed room with a huge four-poster bed and its own sitting room. It was more than Mr. Paterson’s rank dictated, but it was the room farthest from Beth. Ned was assigned to keep watch from a small alcove in the hall.
Caroline had only read the first line of a Byron poem when a light scratch on the door of her bedroom parlor caught her attention. James did not wait for a reply. He entered, crossed the room to the chair opposite Caroline and dropped into it. He mirrored Caroline’s relaxed pose by lifting his heels to the corner of the settee. They sat wordless for some moments, staring into the abyss of their own minds.
James was the first to articulate his turmoil. “Well, this is a bloody mess!”
The vulgarity of his words in her company surprised Caroline and offered her a clear picture of James’ frame of mind. His thin-lipped scowl completed the picture.
“We are in the suds!” he continued in distracted tones.
“Not really, James. I think our contrived delay has put Mr. Paterson into a lather. Despite his languid posturing, there was a sense of desperation to his dinner conversation. Did he not claim that his wife is in her confinement, and Beth—or Diana, as he insists—is needed to help immediately? Then he recalled his pony-chaise was hired and had been promised to be returned on the morrow.” She smiled at her brother with the recollection. “So clever of you to suggest he do just that. Though I am not sure he liked it overly. It was not surprising when he declined.”
James shook his head as he stared at the floor. “He even utilized Walter’s polite inquiries to further his point.” He brought his eyes up to Caroline’s. “If one were to believe Mr. Paterson, catastrophe is about to befall his entire clan, and only Diana can remedy it. I do not give credence to that.”
“James, I do not believe Beth is Diana any more than you do. In fact, I doubt there is a Diana Paterson. But in all fairness we have to entertain the idea that there might be a sliver of truth in what he says.”
“Why do you think so?”
“He described Beth without seeing her—”
“Beth has been to town. Any number of observers could have given him her description.”
“He knows of her nightmares—”
“Are you not the one who is always complaining about gossip?”
“Beth recognized him.”
James sat up abruptly. “She recognized him?”
“Calm yourself, James.” Caroline waved him back to his slouch. “Not as her brother, just as someone she finds familiar. But his presence caused her great discomfort.”
“So you believe there to be something factual in what Paterson says?”
“A fraction, perhaps.”
“I am hard-pressed to believe any of it.” James replaced his feet on the settee. “But his explanations answer a fair number of our questions. His depiction of what transpired—an argument that led to her sudden departure—would explain how she came to be in the coach in soiled clothing with no escort, funds, or baggage. Was it a public conveyance or had she been assisted by strangers giving her a lift to the next town? Their purpose might not have been honorable—hence the lies and evasive behavior of the men in the accident. And then, Paterson’s search extending around the area of her youth is logical. It is likely that a frightened young woman would seek asylum with a family friend or retainer. But Beth is not touched!” He stared blankly at his feet. “Quite the opposite, I would say. Besides, her diction does not match that of Paterson—Beth’s elocution is far superior. She is an intelligent young woman with a lively and enthusiastic character. Her inability to adjust to a new home does not hold true as the reason for their disagreement and her sudden departure.”
Caroline nodded and sighed. “And if the Patersons make their home in Cheltenham—as he told Walter at dinner—a distance that must encompass a journey of at least three days’ hard ride, then how did he get to Welford Mills within a day of his agent’s discovery?”
“You are right. There is a connection of some sort, but what it might be has me baffled.”
“We can delay.”
“Yes, but not forever. I must go to London, do not forget. Besides, delay without action is pointless. We must have a plan.”
Caroline uncurled her legs from beneath her and placed her feet firmly on the floor. Likewise, James’ boots were placed with conviction under him.
“Send a note to Brant as we said we would do,” James began, “but include an explanation as to why we are seeking his advice. Request that he inquires after the Paterson family in Pencombe before he arrives.”
“Yes, and I might include in the request that he not step into Welford until he knows something. We need no other excuse to delay than waiting for Beth’s physician to arrive. However, if Dr. Brant finds nothing, we must have another excuse on the ready.”
“You could pack but become indecisive.”
Caroline smiled. “Yes, I might even see the need to add to our wardrobes.”
“Excellent thought.” James nodded enthusiastically. “I will go into Welford Mills to ask Mr. Strickland about his progress and get his opinion on Mr. Paterson.”
“I shall keep Beth sequestered and continue to ask that man a barrage of questions. It is not likely he will let down his guard for us to see his true relationship to Beth, but I can try.”
“Yes.” James rose and made his way to the door. “It gives me great pleasure to envision your innocent questioning and the irritation it will cause.”
Caroline feigned shock. “James, I am surprised. I believe Mr. Paterson to have found no favor with you. And he a man of such varying … temperaments.”
James snorted and silently stepped into the hall.
* * *
AN UNREMARKABLE AND common face darted in and out of the shadows. Hands clawed at her. Beth tried to protect herself but her limbs would not move; they stayed lifeless at her side. Even as she watched the dust dance from one side of a light shaft to the other, she became aware of the hum. It grew in volume until it eclipsed all else.
Then suddenly the creature was in front of her. The wings fluttered too quickly for Beth to see them in anything more than a blur, but its brilliant body shone in shades of green and blue. It stared at Beth with knowledge and understanding, and even as Beth watched, it began to cry. At first the watery tears dripped slowly onto her lap, but as she watched the puddle spread and flow down her legs, it began to take on a rosy hue and then the tint deepened to bloodred. Soon she was drenched in its oozing stickiness.
>
Off in the distance she could hear a strident, continuous sound, like a siren, or the wail of a babe.
* * *
BETH GASPED FOR AIR, jerking straight up in bed. The echo of her scream crashed against the walls and then faded into the inky darkness.
The night was deep and the manor silent.
Beth shuddered and gulped for some moments as she tried to control the tremors that shook her body. Perspiration dripped down the back of her nightdress. She pulled the counterpane up to her chin and listened to her own ragged but easing breath. After a time, Beth forced herself to inhale deeply and then slowly exhaled. She was about to do so again when she heard a noise.
A creak.
Beth froze and listened. She strained against the silence and waited. She closed her eyes to concentrate. She prayed that the noise was natural and her fear was just a product of all her wild imagination.
Another creak … and then another.
There was a furtive rhythm to the creaks, a hesitance. The only consistency was their approach—an oncoming herald played out in the groaning of the wooden floor.
Beth leapt from the bed, raced across the floor and slammed into the door, pawing for the handle. The instant her fingers touched the cold metal she turned the key. Even as she heard the lock click home, she felt the handle turn. And then it squeaked.
The handle stilled as if the noise had alerted the intruder. But it didn’t return to its normal position. Beth waited—a mere three inches of oak protecting her. With her ear and shoulder to the door, Beth stood for what seemed like hours.
Then the handle squeaked again and continued to turn. There was a soft thump on the other side, as if the door was being pushed. A louder thump followed, and then, almost instantly, another. This one was accompanied by a crack, as if the jamb was about to give way.
Terror shot through her veins. Beth grabbed the desk by her elbow and dragged it nosily across the floor. She braced it against the wood, kicking the spilled papers and books out of the way as she did. Quickly, she turned and sped over to the heavy armchair by the corner windows. She tugged it over the carpet, creating so many hampering folds that she had to heave the chair over them. The chair screeched its protest as she towed it across the bare wood and slammed it against the desk. Finally, she dragged a small table from beside the bed and wedged it against the chair.
Beth would have continued rearranging the furniture but for the fact that silence had returned. The door no longer groaned and the handle no longer squeaked.
Beth backed into the wall opposite the door and stared. Her haphazard renovations looked like glorious sentinels, guards, and protectors. She allowed her legs to give way, dropping to the floor, and clasped her knees to her chest. Her eyes never strayed from the door.
The stranger was on the other side; Beth was certain. He must have slipped past Ned. No one else would have tried to invade her room in the dead of night. The man would be forced to answer for his actions in the morning. James would see to it the moment he heard about this intrusion.
The misplaced furniture before her began to blur and Beth felt the warmth of pent-up tears trickle down her cheeks. The combination of exhaustion and terror proved too much for her. She cried long and hard, and saw the sun rise above the trees long before she crawled back under her covers. Drained by fears and emotions, Beth finally found the sweet oblivion of sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Leave Taking
Caroline was not in the least troubled by the absence of their uninvited guest at breakfast the next morning. Beth was not expected, either, as they had agreed that she would avoid Mr. Paterson for as long as possible. Consequently, the Ellerby trio enjoyed a relatively relaxed meal, until Harriet’s light knock and inquiry.
“Mrs. Fogel asked for a moment, miss.” Harriet looked at Caroline’s empty plate. “Whenever you’re done.”
Caroline peered into the hall. “Come in, come in, Mrs. Fogel. Since when do we stand on ceremony in this household?” She smiled her welcome as the stout woman replaced Harriet and crossed the room with some rapidity. Caroline’s smile faded with recognition of the serious look on Mrs. Fogel’s face. She belatedly realized that the housekeeper had been looking for a private interview. She pushed her seat back, planning to quit the room.
James glanced up from his newspaper. “Is all well, Mrs. Fogel?”
Mrs. Fogel shifted her weight. “Well, m’lord, Harriet informs me that Mr. Paterson was not in his room when she went to see to his fire. I thought him an early riser, perhaps, seeking a breath of the morning dew. But Paul informs me his pony-chaise is gone as well. He seems to have slipped past Ned early—very early—this morning.” She looked back to Caroline with raised brows. “I had been under the impression that he would be staying some days.”
James frowned and swallowed visibly. “We were under the same impression, Mrs. Fogel. Whatever could have caused his early departure? Is anything missing?”
“Not that I am aware of, m’lord.”
Caroline turned to stare at the door as if doing so would help her see into the hall and up the stairs. “Is all well with Beth?” she asked.
“Harriet weren’t able to stoke her fire, either, Miss Ellerby.”
James jumped to his feet with such force that his chair fell to the floor behind him. “What … what?” he sputtered. “What do you mean?”
“It seems Miss Beth locked her door last night. And there’s a great crack running down the door what weren’t there yesterday. And…” Mrs. Fogel hesitated, squeezing her hands together tightly. “There seems to be something blocking the door. I couldn’t get it open.”
* * *
WALTER WAS THE first to arrive at Beth’s door. He pounded the oak, rattled the handle, and called to Beth so loudly that James had to quiet him to listen for a reply.
There was a collective sigh of relief when they were answered from within. However, the scraping and moving of furniture renewed Caroline’s anxiety. It seemed forever before they heard the lock groan. When the door opened, Caroline saw dark circles under Beth’s eyes and fear contouring her face.
“What has happened?” James asked as he stepped ahead of Caroline, leading Beth to the chair by the window. He watched as her shaking subsided and she no longer gulped at the air. Lifting her hand, she placed it on his arm, giving it a quick squeeze. And then Beth tightened her dressing gown belt, smiled weakly, and described her harrowing night.
“This does, in some way, explain the disappearance of Mr. Paterson,” Caroline said when Beth finished.
“He is gone?”
Caroline dropped onto Beth’s bed, swinging her legs back and forth in a relaxed manner. “Yes, he cannot be located within our walls and his pony-chaise is missing. Good riddance!”
“But we have lost a valuable source of information.” Beth sighed. “Who knows what we could have wrung from him after last night’s intrusion?”
“True, true. But it is moot now.” James waved his hand in the general direction of the door and misplaced furniture. “Do not worry about the mess. I will have the furniture put to rights while you eat breakfast. All is well.” His reassurance sounded more theatrical than realistic, but it seemed to calm Beth.
* * *
EVEN WITHOUT HELP, Beth was ready in a twinkling. Mr. Paterson’s departure was a godsend, and her relief so acute that her fingers had wings. Still, her excitement to rush downstairs had as much to do with James as Mr. Paterson. James was her refuge and her security. Which was redundant but she didn’t care; he offered the sense of safety that she so desperately needed.
Beth had only just stepped into the main hallway when she encountered the handsome young gentleman of her thoughts. Skittering to a halt, Beth tried to appear unruffled by his presence. It likely didn’t deceive Lord James Ellerby.
“Are you well? Truly?” James leaned across the banister, straightening as he spoke. “I feel as if one of the family should be with you at all times from now on … for prot
ection.” He met her gaze and held it for a moment or two. His expression was enigmatic.
Catching her breath—for somehow her lungs were empty—Beth nodded. “Thank you for your concern, Lord Ellerby. It was a harrowing night, but it is over now. Normality might once again enter these hallowed halls.” Beth swept her arms in an arc with the flourish of melodrama that Walter often adopted.
“If he had hurt you—”
“I am fine,” Beth interrupted, “and we are all the wiser for it.” She hated seeing the hesitation and anxiety behind his eyes.
James stared over her head for a moment. “How can we be wiser when the man spoke not a word of truth? And how did that wretched worm even know where your chamber was? It was not mentioned at dinner, and none of the servants would have divulged your location.”
Beth shrugged with feigned nonchalance and hooked her arm through his. They slowly traversed the hallway to the stairs. “It is my own fault, I believe.”
James stopped short. He looked at her, glanced toward the wall for a moment and then back. “How can you say that? I will not have you … criticizing yourself.” He cleared his throat as if uncomfortable with his outburst.
Beth snorted and tugged him forward. “Not intentional, of course. He knew of my nightmares and my screaming led him to me.”
“Well, yes, that is possible. I heard you from my room and the scoundrel was just opposite.” They continued down the stairs in silence for a moment. “The hummingbird again?”
Beth laughed without humor. “Yes, the bird that becomes a dagger.” She swallowed and looked away. She no longer saw the elegant marble stairs but the bird that terrorized her dreams.
“I know it to be a hummingbird, for I have heard them described and seen a picture or two.” Her voice was hollow, lifeless. “Though I doubt they drink blood.” She shuddered and then continued. “It frightens me. Can you imagine this beautiful little bird—for it is quite small—frightens me? The eyes glaze over, the wings fuse, and blood dribbles from its beak. Suddenly, it is no longer a beak but a dagger.” Beth looked up at James. “I try to block the fear but it consumes me.”