The Hummingbird Dagger

by Cindy Anstey

  “Oh,” James said with great eloquence and a huff of frustration. He was no further ahead at all. “Might you see what you can learn about this gentleman from the ship, Hugh?”

  “Certainly, m’lord. I’ll do what I can.”

  Nodding farewell, James returned to his carriage and signaled to Sam. They were soon rolling down the busy streets of central London with James lost in thought.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Magnetic Forces

  She sat in the dank silence. The room reeked of filth and decay. She felt the gentle touch of a feather across her cheek and the hum of rapid wings, and bile rose in her throat. A dull glow shone from a small slit in the wall high above her head. Beyond the lifeless beam it cast were shadows, boxes and barrels stacked high and precariously.

  There were no sounds in this small room overcrowded with malevolence. It was eerily quiet. A hand reached for her. It carried a shiny and honed form—a dagger shaped like a hummingbird. It glistened in the light.

  A whisper broke into the silence. “Beth,” it called over and over. “Beth, dear.” The voice grew louder until the roof floated away and the soft glow of a candle illuminated a friendly face.

  * * *

  “CAROLINE?” Beth croaked.

  The face smiled and then nodded. “Are you all right?”

  Beth pushed the coverlet back and sat up, trying to focus. The room was dark except for the glow of Caroline’s candle. “Is it morning?”

  Caroline laughed quietly. “We retired only a few hours ago.”

  “Oh no. Was I screaming?”

  Caroline placed her candle on the bedside table and straightened the covers. “No, merely restless. I had not yet fallen asleep when I heard you thrashing about.” She motioned for Beth to lie back down and she tucked her in like a child. “Back to sleep now. And pleasant dreams.”

  Beth lay back briefly and then sat up again. “You could not sleep?”

  “No,” Caroline sighed. “I do not think I am active enough to get tired.”

  “I am wide awake now, as well.” The thought of returning to that dark, dank room of her dreams was terrifying. Her small but comfortable bedroom was filled with the hushed and muffled sounds of a house at rest. Then a carriage rolled past the terrace windows, and with it the echo of a laughing couple.

  Caroline glanced toward the window. When she looked back, her eyes were full of mischief. “We need not force ourselves to sleep.” She disappeared through the door. “I will get some cards.” Her disembodied voice drifted from down the hall and across the threshold.

  By the time Caroline returned, Beth had lit all her candles and smoothed out the bed. She was curled up on it, and Caroline joined her there. They ignored the table and chairs primly waiting in the corner, too customary for a rebellion. They laughed, played cribbage, and read the occasional poem well into the wee hours. Beth felt roguish and more carefree than she had for some time.

  * * *

  JAMES SAT, comfortable and relaxed, with a book in hand. Occasionally he glanced up, drawn by the laughter or chatter of those around him. Greeted infrequently, and overlooked for the most part, James found the atmosphere of Brooks’s lively and democratic, much to his taste this evening.

  White’s was undoubtedly the smartest and most exclusive of the St. James Clubs, but while it was the most aristocratic, Brooks’s was the most interesting. It was known to be the breeding ground for Whig politicians, stomping grounds for advocates of reform. It had thick carpets, marble fireplaces, rich upholstery, beautiful looking glasses, and most important, comfortable wingback armchairs and enough pandemonium to distract James from his brooding.

  A burst of chortling drew James’ attention. Movement, just beyond the backs of cavorting young men, pulled his gaze even farther from his paper. He was both pleased and disturbed to see a familiar figure wending its way toward him. He stood and greeted Brant with enthusiasm.

  “I did not expect to see you in Town so soon.” The statement held many layers of questions.

  “Only just arrived,” Brant said casually, looking around to see that they were alone in their corner of the club.

  “And how are they?” James asked, trying to keep the intensity out of his voice. Avoiding Harley Street was proving to be much more difficult than he expected.

  Brant knew James’ true concern. “She is much improved, James. Walking about, granted with a limp, but no longer in pain.” He lifted a shoulder and added. “If anything, our young ladies are bored.”

  “Bored? Bored is good,” James said. “Better than frightened or hounded or … Yes. Bored is just fine. So, why are you here, in Town? Is anything amiss at Hardwick?”

  “Nothing unexpected,” Brant said, and then related his and Walter’s conversation with Mr. Strickland.

  James grumbled his disappointment upon learning that their ruse had been discovered. “I had hoped for a fortnight at least,” he said.

  Brant nodded thoughtfully and then reached into his waistcoat pocket. He handed James Mr. Strickland’s note, but rendered it pointless by explaining all that it contained.

  “So, if the men dawdling in Welford were our villains, they left Welford Mills before it was common knowledge that the family had disappeared,” Brant concluded.

  The two young gentlemen lapsed into a companionable silence, watching the spirited club patrons make great cakes out of themselves. It was all wild hilarity and high jinks.

  “I happened to be at the St. Katherine Docks the other day,” James said casually, avoiding the subject of flawed marble tiles. “And came upon Hugh Derrydale.” He shrugged, again trying to maintain the appearance of nonchalance. “He has been working the docks for six months—nowhere near Welford Mills. Anyway, Hugh mentioned something that I found … most curious. His cousin, on occasion, is mistaken for Hugh—albeit an older and pockmarked version.”

  “And?”

  “Well, several things struck me as odd in our discussion. Hugh told me his cousin, Greg Brill, was hired as a driver for a merchant ship passenger. Apparently, Greg embellished his abilities, but the man seemed more interested in the fact that Greg’s family came from the southeast coast.”

  “And that means?”

  “I am not sure really, but the boot boy thought he recognized Hugh when we had the break-in … Greg and Hugh look much alike. And it struck me that Greg Brill, who could also answer to the description of the numskull that abandoned Beth at the accident, was hired around the time that her coach came roaring through Welford Mills on route to Exeter.”

  “But Beth’s coach was not Exeter bound. We know that.”

  “No, we only know that the coach was not the stagecoach. Who can say where it was headed? I asked Hugh to find out what he can about the man off the ship, but until he does, I have nothing to follow.”

  “You know, James, we might think about going to the peelers. They could be of some service. They have people that are used to dealing with this sort of thing, investigators, or detectives, or some such. Mr. Strickland is inexperienced, and we are in quite over our heads.”

  “I know. I have thought of it, several times, in fact. But our information is ambiguous and the peelers are likely to intimidate Beth, frighten her.”

  “I agree that she will find it unsettling, but not overly so. She is amazingly resilient, James.”

  Brant raised an eyebrow at James’ knowing smile. “Still,” he continued, “perhaps you are right. Better to be safe than sorry. I will visit Dr. Fotherby straightaway. See what he thinks about Beth’s mental recovery. We can decide about the peelers after that.”

  James sat back, staring at the space above Brant’s head. “Yes, after that,” he repeated in an inattentive manner.

  “Come dine with us tomorrow.” Brant made it a statement rather than an invitation.

  Acceptance on his tongue, James paused as he rethought the matter. He gulped and curled up the corner of his mouth. “I am not sure that is wise.” He had not meant to sound so deflated. />
  “You would normally visit your good friend when he is in Town. It would be notable if you were not to do so. Only the staff know that our ladies have taken up residence as well.”

  “Yes, quite right. It would look odd indeed.” James tried not to grin. “I will dine with you tomorrow, thank you.”

  * * *

  JAMES’ HEART POUNDED as he stepped across Brant’s shiny new—flawless—marble floor, following the butler, Reeves. They paraded up the stairs and into the large saloon that served Brant’s London residence as a drawing room. The walls were bright with a fresh layer of soft yellow paint. Not many pictures had yet found themselves a home on the refurbished walls, but of the few that had, there was a profusion of hunting and horses.

  James was informed that Dr. Brant and his guests would be down directly, and then was shut in to wait. He did not perch on the settee but paced energetically around the room. He was both eager and uncertain.

  The sound of running feet caught his attention and arrested his movement. His heart pounded with the immediate concern of danger, but then as the sound approached the door, the steps became regular. Beth entered at a calm pace, if somewhat breathless and flushed.

  Her evening gown was a rich cream, with a gauze overskirt; beaded rosettes were embroidered across the low collar, matching those circling her hem. Her hair was swept up into a loose chignon and a matching cream band wove in and out of its thick brown tresses. She was beautiful.

  “You look well,” he finally said, coughing and blushing at his meaningless and bland words. He tried to start the conversation again. “Your wound no longer troubles you?”

  Beth’s smile broadened. “It is quite well, thank you. Dr. Brant can perform miracles. Even my limp is improving.” She stepped closer, as if to demonstrate her ability … or to shorten the distance between them.

  “That is wonderful.” Again, banal. His heart spoke such a different language from his tongue. It was full of eloquence, devotion, and passion intertwined with excitement and dreams. His words were formal and staid and brainless.

  A scuffling noise echoed in the hallway. It drifted through the still partially opened door, warning them of impending company. Beth jumped back, but not as far as James. By the time Caroline entered the drawing room on Brant’s arm, James was standing at the window. He looked out to the street in a studied manner … and hoped that his flush had faded.

  “Lovely evening,” Caroline commented, her gaze volleying between her brother and her friend. She lifted one brow in an unvoiced question.

  James ignored the query. “Yes, lovely,” he said, being careful not to look in Beth’s direction. Caroline knew him too well; she could easily guess his … affection by his expression. It was something he was not ready to share with anyone, least of all a teasing sister.

  * * *

  DR. BRANT LED Caroline to the settee opposite and they sat, perched on the edge of their seat.

  Finally, Dr. Brant broke the awkward silence. “Is all well?” He glanced around, fixing a lingering look on Beth.

  She squirmed under his scrutiny, doing her best to hide her awkwardness. Now, if James were to stare at her for as long … well, that would be a different matter.

  “All is well.” Beth lifted her shoulders. “Did you have any success this afternoon with Dr. Fotherby? To secure an appointment?”

  “Oh yes, indeed. Dr. Fotherby saw me quickly in between patients. He is quite excited about your case.” Dr. Brant nodded. “He has never had one of full amnesia before, nor a patient who dreams of a menacing hummingbird.”

  “Do you trust him, Dr. Brant?” Beth felt a twinge of nervousness. “Do you have faith in his abilities?”

  “Yes, Miss Beth, I do. But if you are uncomfortable with the idea of talking to him, we can look elsewhere to recover your memories.”

  Beth shook her head slightly. “No, Dr. Fotherby is fine.”

  “Excellent, yes indeed.” Dr. Brant’s enthusiasm echoed throughout the room. “You have an appointment tomorrow. It was a great kindness on his part; the good doctor was booked for the next fortnight. However, as soon as I explained, he felt treatment should be started sooner rather than later.”

  “Is that wise?” James asked. “Would it not be best to postpone the appointment until we are certain, beyond any doubt, that the thugs from Welford Mills have not followed us to Town? Perhaps Dr. Fotherby could come here?”

  Caroline snapped her tongue. “It has been more than a week, James. Ned has seen nothing untoward. There have been no suspicious persons lurking about. We have had no break-ins, assaults, or mysterious relatives.”

  Dr. Brant came to the true crux of the matter. “Besides, Beth needs relief soon. She cannot live with these terrible uncertainties much longer. We must establish whether or not Dr. Fotherby can help, for if he cannot, we shall have to scout further.”

  Beth nodded, appreciating the doctor’s understanding. “I will wear a veil and cloak. No one will be able to recognize me.”

  “I hope it is worth the risk, and the man can be of some assistance,” James said with a sigh, a very deep sigh.

  * * *

  DR. STEWART FOTHERBY’S outer office was a tasteful room, if not overly large. The walls were mahogany and lined with bookcases. It had the aspect of a library as much as that of a doctor’s office. Beth enjoyed books. That fact alone should have brought her comfort, but it didn’t.

  The last patient had just departed. Beth would soon have to face her fears, large and small: shadows that loomed, birds that hummed, tiny creatures with wings that beat so fast …

  She pulled a fan from her reticule, snapped it open, and fanned herself at an accelerated rate.

  “Are you unwell, Beth?” Caroline was perched on the seat opposite. “You are a vile shade of green.” She looked over to Dr. Brant waiting by the window, but before she could speak further, a voice called across the room.

  “Miss Elizabeth Dobbins?”

  Beth stood, swallowed, and stepped forward, glad—exceedingly glad—that Caroline had agreed to accompany her. Dr. Fotherby followed them over the threshold and closed the door.

  “Welcome, welcome. So glad you could come. I have been looking forward to seeing you ever since talking to Dr. Brant. Good man, good man.” He motioned for the girls to sit.

  Beth took a chair positioned in front of the desk. She drew a deep breath and lifted her veil.

  Dr. Stewart Fotherby was a diminutive gentleman with white hair. He had rosy cheeks and wire-frame glasses perched on the tip of his nose. When his eyes met hers, she found them bright blue, twinkling, and kind.

  “My dear, my dear.” The doctor could hardly miss her shaking limbs and green-tinted complexion. “This is not an execution. I promise not to hurt you. You are safe. No need to fear.”

  Instead of taking the chair opposite, Dr. Fotherby dropped onto the chair beside her. He gestured for Caroline to take the one behind his desk. The unorthodox nature of their positions was enough to bring a smile to Caroline’s lips, and Beth momentarily relaxed.

  “I am not sure what you are expecting, my dear. Perhaps I should explain. Your magnetic forces are confused. Your memories, thoughts, and dreams are all jumbled together, mixed up from your accident. And I am going to lead you through the tangles.

  “We are going to realign the magnetic forces of your body through trances. Simply put, we are going to talk, you are going to relax, and we will talk some more. You see? Nothing to fear.”

  Beth lifted the corner of her mouth in a halfhearted attempt to smile.

  “Let us start at the beginning, shall we? First, am I to understand that you suffered a knock to your brain?”

  Dr. Fotherby proceeded to lead Beth through the past—everything pertinent since she awoke without memories. With his many questions, the process took a fair amount of time. Time in which Beth could not—did not—relax.

  “You are as jumpy as a cat.” Dr. Fotherby patted her lower arm. “Always remember you are safe here. Lo
ok around the room; there is nothing for you to fear. No birds of any kind. Certainly not a hummingbird. Dr. Brant told me about your dreams.”

  Beth did as directed, looking from the paneled walls and bookcases to the full couch opposite. Warm gas lamps added to the soft glow from the partially shaded windows and lit the charming landscapes and seascapes that decorated every inch of the walls. There were no hidden corners, no other doors, and no hummingbirds.

  “Now, we will relax.” Dr. Fotherby lit a candle and asked her to stare at it until her eyelids felt heavy and they closed of their own volition.

  In the lengthy silence that followed, Beth suspected that the doctor had gone to sleep, as she was near to doing. She jumped when he spoke, but his voice had a lulling quality and she quickly relaxed again.

  “First, let us think of happy times. Breathe in and out slowly. You do not have to describe them to me, just think of something that would bring a smile to your face.”

  Beth thought of James.

  “Now imagine a little girl; she is doing something fun. What is she doing?”

  “Playing with her dolls by the fire.”

  “Excellent. Is anyone with her?”

  “Yes, her mother is sitting in a chair reading.”

  “Excellent. Are there any other children there?”

  “Yes.”

  And so it continued for some minutes as the doctor guided Beth through imaginations, not memories. They went from the dolls to pets, and a smiling father. Beth had reached her most relaxed state while still awake when the good doctor startled her with a simple question. “When you close your eyes at night, what is the first thing that fills your mind?”

  Beth immediately saw the hummingbird with blood dripping from its beak.

  She cried out, but the doctor had anticipated her reaction and patted her lower arm in a comforting manner. “You are safe, my dear, nothing in this room to fear. Remember that you are in my office, no matter what your mind presents to you. Close your eyes again. Yes, there you go. Do not look at the hummingbird, my dear, but what is around it. What do you see?”