The Hummingbird Dagger

by Cindy Anstey

  “A dark room full of boxes. Everything is covered in filth, and the stench is bad enough to make me gag.”

  “Is there anyone around you?”

  “Three men, but I can only see the man ahead of me, and him only partially.”

  Slowly, Beth directed her thoughts in and around the dream. She described herself, and where she was sitting, covered in filth, bruised and cut, dress ripped, and gloves lost. She described the shape of the man just beyond the candle glow.

  Strange, she hadn’t recalled that he was short with broad shoulders before, but she heard her voice tell the doctor just that. She had called a name, a name she didn’t understand. It echoed through the small, dark room of her imagination. It felt as if it echoed across Dr. Fotherby’s office.

  Beth told him more about the dagger, her voice calm, until in her mind’s eye blood started dripping onto her lap. She wiped at her skirts, pushing it away in jerky movements, her voice growing shrill.

  “Oh dear,” the doctor said, trying to pull her out of her memories. “Best end this now and we will continue next time.”

  But it was too late. The cycle had begun.

  The dark wood hilt of the dagger curved into the shape of a hummingbird. Wings pounded the air; eyes of cool steel stared, devoid of feeling. Closer and closer the bird swept until at last she felt the pain, saw the spray, and watched life ebb into the sawdust.

  Beth gasped. Her eyes flew open and she ran for the door before Caroline or Dr. Fotherby had a chance to react. She swept past Dr. Brant in the waiting room and left overturned chairs in her wake.

  * * *

  CAROLINE RUSHED AFTER BETH, leaving Dr. Brant to make their excuses. She found her friend outside, shaking, with her forehead leaning on the carriage. Whether this was for support or to hide her face Caroline was not sure, but it was attracting a number of glances. She quickly turned Beth around and drew down her veil.

  Dr. Brant arrived breathless, stammering questions.

  Caroline shook her head. Wordlessly, they entered the carriage. Beth hunkered into the corner, her troubled stare fixed above their heads. Caroline knew Beth needed some time to regain her composure. She raised a finger to her lips should Dr. Brant not realize her purpose. He nodded and turned his eyes to the window.

  Not for the first time, Caroline wondered about the name Beth and why her friend had chosen that particular one. Was it her name or someone she knew … or was it simply a name in a book or an article she had read? More important, why had she called out Beth as she had run from the room?

  * * *

  AS THE CARRIAGE pulled away, those hovering nearby quickly lost interest. The strange antics of the veiled girl cloaked in black had been mildly entertaining but easily forgotten. For everyone, that is, except the slight young gentleman dressed in a dated coat. He had been in midstride when he had seen the girl’s uncovered face.

  He had stopped so abruptly that the woman walking behind had fallen into him. He had not offered a helping hand or an apology. Oblivious to all but the sight that had captured him, the gentleman stood with his mouth agape. His astonishment was so complete that he had to fight to act.

  Raising his hand, he hailed a cabriolet. “Follow that carriage!” he yelled as he jumped inside. Now was not the time to worry about cost; this was an emergency.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Announcements

  May 1833

  To the Right Honorable, Lord Ellerby,

  Justice Walker feels I should let you know what is happening here in Welford Mills.

  Another player to this here game arrived two days ago at the Horn and Thistle. He has been asking many a question about Miss Dobbins. The young man calls his self Joe Smythe. I dropped by to check him out and found him cagey like. He did not answer a single question straight up.

  I need to know what you want me to do now. Do I put the screws to this here gent or just watch him?

  Derrick Strickland, Parish Deputy

  Walter, the only—and lonely—soul inhabiting Hardwick Manor, not counting the twenty or more staff serving his needs, carefully folded and resealed the letter addressed to his brother. When Mr. Strickland had dropped off the note for James to be posted, he had said nothing about it not being opened.

  It had been fourteen days since the family’s departure, and in that time Walter had made good use of the first seven. Since then he had been brooding, anxious, and bored. Why had he volunteered to stay behind? The exhilaration and freedom of having the manor to himself had faded. The daily monotony made the glorious spring days dull and lifeless.

  Walter attributed Beth’s lack of pursuers solely to his acting abilities, particularly on the cliffside—not to mention the first days of the family’s departure. He was excessively proud of his contribution to her well-being, but piqued that it might be at an end and a boring end at that.

  Instead of dropping the resealed note back onto the silver tray for the outgoing mail, Walter made his way to the library. He placed the dispatch on James’ desk with the missives that were due to be posted at the end of the week.

  If Walter were to be of any service, he would need time. The letter would require a slight delay, if he were to include an addition of his own news. He needed a few more days, that was all. Then he could announce the true purpose of this fellow called Joe Smythe. It would impress James. He would marvel that Walter had taken it upon himself to investigate and had done such a fine job.

  Walter felt better than he had in some days. He sent for his curricle to be prepared, donned his tallest top hat, squared his shoulders, and set out on his next adventure alone. Although, he thought, he might pick Henry up on the way.

  * * *

  JAMES RUBBED AT the creases between his eyes and then his throbbing temples. It was not often that he came down with a headache, but traipsing from shop to shop in a vague pursuit of the man in the brown cloak was proving entirely pointless.

  Once again, he looked down at the list. There was nothing unusual in the lettering; the hand was competent and practiced, the characters well formed. The list itself was organized. It read like a map, up one side of Regent Street and down the other. The shops had been varied—everything from a confectionary to a linen and lace wholesaler—but they all had a decidedly female aspect.

  James was no longer convinced that any clue could be wrested from this coded scrap. Still, he was not yet ready to toss it aside—especially since he had only just arrived on the doorstep of Fitzroy’s. It was the only shop that had included a time.

  Gingerly easing his top hat back on his head, James climbed the few steps to the merchant’s door.

  The gentle tinkle of the bell as he entered announced his presence, but drew no more than an inquiring eye from the busy salesmen. The shop was not large and was currently overcrowded with customers of every size and complexion. James had, clearly, not come at a good time. He would have to return later. It was not much of a hardship, as it would give his aching head a respite.

  James put his hand on the doorknob. He did not, however, open the door, for he was immediately accosted by one of the busy salesmen—leather samples still dangling from his fingers. The man simpered and offered assistance, no doubt observing James’ finely cut coat and high-quality boots.

  “Yes, I have come about an appointment.” James glanced down at the paper in his hand to verify the time. Suddenly, without a by-your-leave, the list was jerked from his grasp. Incensed by the man’s audacity, James loudly protested. The mousy man ignored him, threaded his way to the back of the shop and disappeared.

  He returned moments later with a parcel under his arm.

  “There you be, m’lord.” He passed James the large package wrapped in brown paper. “Been ready for some time.” The salesman’s voice held a hint of disapproval. “We are known for efficiency.” He tucked the list under the string of the parcel and scurried back to his impatient customer.

  James looked down at the parcel and sighed. Well, this is just grand. No
w he had someone else’s package. He glanced around, hoping to catch the mousy man’s attention, but James was studiously ignored. Clicking his tongue and huffing did little to alleviate the situation.

  Feeling the parcel, James wondered about the contents. Boots, he guessed by the shape and size, but would there be a bill of lading, a receipt of some sort tucked into the toe? Did it have anything to do with Beth? Was it all a mistake? Or would he be throwing away a golden opportunity if he dropped the parcel by the door and walked away?

  James looked around the room again. It was still overcrowded and busy. He could return the parcel at another time, when it wasn’t so hectic. He would cite a mix-up.

  “Excuse me, m’lord.”

  James turned, slowly and with great condescension, toward the man behind him. He was a severe-looking man with large nostrils … or so they seemed as his nose was lifted in the air. He introduced himself as the manager of Fitzroy’s.

  “Yes.” James clutched the package tightly, not wanting to give it up now that he had decided to keep it—briefly.

  “There was a young lady here a few days ago looking for information in regard to your parcel.”

  James was relieved to know that his subterfuge was not the cause of this interruption. “Information?”

  “Well, m’lord, she said she was looking for a man associated with your appointment. Naturally, I gave her no intelligence. I did, however, overhear her name and direction.” He passed James a folded scrap of paper.

  Calmly, with exaggerated disinterest, James took the paper and slipped it into his pocket. He nodded ever so slightly to the man who was now holding the door ajar.

  “Good afternoon.”

  James hid his excited anticipation, managing a normal walking pace down the street to his waiting carriage. Then he leapt onto the seat, slamming the door behind him, and reached into his pocket. He unfolded the slip of paper and read it.

  Clamping his teeth to prevent a shout of outrage, James’ anger threatened to boil over. He called up to Sam and, with a tight voice, directed him to Harley Street; he was about to ring a great peal over his sister.

  * * *

  EXCEPT FOR THE clatter of the horses’ hooves on the stones, the jiggling of the harnesses, the squeaking of the leather-backed seats, and the shouting of the street vendors from without, the hired carriage was quiet.

  When Beth finally turned a calm face to her companions, she was met with Dr. Brant’s concerned expression. “I am a ninny goose.” She sighed, shaking her head in self-disgust. “I apologize for my unorthodox sprint to the door and give you permission to catch me next time.”

  “I am so glad to hear you say that, my dear. I thought you might not wish to see Dr. Fotherby again. You are a brave young lady.”

  Beth snorted at his praise. She felt anything but brave. “I wonder if Dr. Fotherby will even see me again. I could not have given him a good impression.”

  “Not to worry,” Dr. Brant reassured her. “I secured an appointment for you before I left.” He grinned sheepishly. “I was going to convince you of the need to continue. Dr. Fotherby has already set aside time the day after tomorrow.”

  “Why did you call out ‘Beth’?” Caroline asked.

  “I did? I didn’t realize.” She huffed a weary sigh. “I must know a Beth. After all, it was the first name that came to mind when I awoke.”

  Dr. Brant sat back and leaned his head against the leather wall. “Dr. Fotherby believes the mind makes up things to explain what it doesn’t understand. Calling out ‘Beth’ and dreaming of a hummingbird must mean something.”

  Beth was amazed at how open Dr. Brant was to the idea that dreams and nightmares were not to be dismissed. Had he not, just a few weeks ago, assured her that the content of dreams were irrelevant?

  Beth relaxed into her seat as well. “That is not at all hard to fathom, Dr. Brant. I know what the hummingbird represents—a dagger. A razor-sharp dagger, dripping blood,” Beth said calmly. Her companions shared a quick glance.

  “I see.” The doctor cleared his throat. “And what does the dagger represent?”

  “Just that: a dagger. A weapon. A killing tool.”

  Once again, Beth saw the puddle of death in her mind’s eye, and shuddered.

  * * *

  THE CONGENIAL CONVERSATION, tinkling laughter, and unconcerned voices of his nearest and dearest almost checked James’ determination to take Caroline to task. The party of three knew of his arrival; James had heard the echo of his name on the lips of Reeves, just as they entered the house.

  It was not surprising that Beth entered the drawing room first, rushing up the stairs ahead of the others. But James barely had time to nod his greeting before the entrance of Caroline and Brant.

  His sister was the first to speak. “How wonderful to see you, James. Have you come to see how we fared with the doctor?”

  “Yes and no,” he answered abruptly. Beth gave him a quizzical glance, which he deflected with a shake of his head.

  The newly arrived sat. Caroline relaxed on the settee while Beth perched. She folded her hands on her lap and glanced his way. The plain wrapped parcel, resting on the side table, drew no interest.

  James swallowed, grumbled under his breath, and began to pace.

  “Whatever is the matter, James?” Caroline smoothed her skirts. “Have you made a discovery?”

  James nodded, staring sightless at the far wall. “Yes, indeed. I have discovered dishonesty and subterfuge, right here in this very room.” James heard the touch of melodrama in his pronouncement and wondered if he had more of his mother in him than he thought.

  Shock straightened the backs of all those seated and brought furrowed brows together. But, James noted, no disclaimer or utterance of surprise.

  James pulled a gold braided armchair from its position by the wall and placed it directly in front of Caroline. With exaggerated grace he reclined, eye-to-eye with his sister.

  Caroline half smiled and looked uncomfortable. “Are you to explain this accusation or are we to guess?”

  James drew a slip of paper from his pocket. “I was given this at Fitzroy’s.”

  Caroline took it. There wasn’t much to read. “All this melodrama, and this is what has put you in such a lather? Really, James, swallow your spleen. It is not like you to take on so.” She swallowed several times and would not meet his eye.

  James turned his head slightly in Beth’s direction. “Did you know?”

  “No she did not, James,” Caroline snapped. “What is it you want? An admission? Fine, I should not have gone investigating on my own. It was a trifle impetuous … but just a trifle.”

  “You what!” Brant showed his lack of duplicity by being suitably outraged.

  James motioned toward Brant. “You see? It is not as insignificant as you would have us believe.”

  “Most decidedly not.” Brant continued to huff and puff.

  “I will not sit around doing nothing.” Caroline’s tone was far from contrite. “Besides, I thought that I was incognito.” Caroline lifted her eyebrow at her brother.

  A discreet knock at the door distracted them all and James leaned back in his seat while Reeves explained the interruption. Ned entered the bright room with cap in hand. He lowered his head to all present and then his eyes went straight to James. “Lord Ellerby, I’s sorry to disturb you, but I saw something you might want to know about.”

  James bade him to continue.

  “I were watching from the corner of the park, m’lord. Saw the carriage pull up an’ everyone goes in. But then I saw this here other carriage stop two doors down.” He lifted his shoulders, using his hands to express himself. “Only no one got out. It sat there for a few minutes then rushes off, quick like. Pell-mell.”

  James glanced over to Beth and was pleased to see that while keenly interested in Ned’s account, her complexion was neither too pale nor too ruddy. She was not fearful or overwrought. “Thank you, Ned, I appreciate your good eye and vigilance. Take Sam�
��”

  “And two or three of the house staff,” Brant broke in, his voice firm and his eyes worried.

  “And post them around the terrace, front, and back,” James continued. “Try to be as inconspicuous as possible and report anything unusual.”

  Ned hurriedly quit the room.

  “In all likelihood it means nothing,” James said, realizing it was not just a platitude. “A late appointment, incorrect address, a forgotten item … The possibilities are endless.”

  “Packing, then, might be a little premature,” Beth said with a shrug.

  “Tell us what you have bought, James.” Caroline indicated the parcel on the tablet.

  “Lud, I almost forgot.” James picked up the package with a suddenly guilty face. “I know I should not have taken it when it was offered. But I thought there might be a clue in it.” He held it out to Caroline. “From Fitzroy’s. This was what was to be picked up on April fifteenth at two o’clock.”

  She took it from him. “The appointment wasn’t kept.”

  “Obviously not,” he replied.

  “Well done. Excellent job. And what is his name?” Brant sat forward on his chair expectantly.

  “I am afraid I have come away with only the package, no name. I was hoping it would be included, but as you can see there are only the initials ‘R. & E.H.’ on the wrapper.”

  “Perhaps there is a receipt inside,” Beth said, sliding to Caroline’s side of the settee and helping her to carefully undo the brown paper. The men loomed over them, watching the proceedings with great interest.

  However, when the parcel lay open, it revealed two elegant pairs of riding boots of different sizes. They were made of fine black leather with smooth fitted calves and wrinkled ankles, but there was no bill, receipt, calling card, or any other identifying marker.