Mist of Midnight (28 page)

“I will care for it as tenderly as I care for my son,” he said.

“
Kadavul unnai aaseervadhippaaraaha
,” I said to him.

“May God bless you as well,” he replied as he gingerly eased the crate from my arms.

I watched him walk away with my treasure and prayed for safe travels and that it would accomplish all I hoped it would. Daniel helped me back into the carriage.

“It'll get there safely,” Mrs. Ross reassured me.

“Thank you for your encouragement,” I said. “You're always so encouraging.”

“It's my responsibility, lassie.”

That was thoughtful. I was certain that most chaperones did not believe their job included being encouraging. None I'd come into contact with, in any case.

Within the hour the lascar returned with a note. The handwriting was indeed Delia's.

Thank you, Rebecca. This gift is far too generous, but knowing what it cost you, personally, I should not think of returning it. I shall be married as a proper Englishwoman; rest assured it will be treated with honor. I am truly sorry for the manner in which I handled our last exchange, and beg your forgiveness. I have done you a turn in friendship, too, though you may never know of it. I am, now, especially gladdened that I did.

Your friend,

Delia

I wondered, on the ride home, what that friendship favor had been. Perhaps it had to do with Captain Whitfield. Perhaps she had, somehow, frightened him away from me, knowing that he would prove false.

CHAPTER THIRTY

S
ome while later we arrived home. Michelene was in my room.

“I noticed the wardrobes were in a disarray,” she said. “I went to put away some new dresses . . .”

“New dresses?” I stood up. “I haven't ordered any.”

“
Calmez-vous
,” she said. “I meant the, er, saree, for the Ledburys'. In a moment, we shall try it on,
non
?”

“Oh, very well.” I hadn't shared my financial situation with anyone else yet, hoping to pray and think my way to a solution first.

“Your wedding dress. It needs some work? It's missing.”

I quickly shook my head. “No. I . . . I gave it to Miss Dainley.”

“Oof!” she gasped. “That belonged to your
maman, non
? Why ever would you give it to Miss Dainley? She was a friend, yes, but . . .”

“Amongst the English in India,” I said, “a traditional English wedding is highly prized. Wearing an English wedding dress is among the most important statements of all. Some women buy used wedding dresses in India. But I knew Miss Dainley would not have the . . . wherewithal to do that. I did not want her to be ostracized. She helped me, and I wanted to help her.”

“But a gift so dear . . . you could have bought her the ready-made dress,
non
?”

Non.
But I did not share with Michelene my conviction about loving your enemy.

“Dresses trimmed with Honiton lace are most prized, since that was what Queen Victoria chose for her own dress,” I said instead. “The dress will give Miss Dainley a great push forward into the society she must live in.”

And I hoped for her sake that Delia did find affection and acceptance, not only with the other wives, but with the man she would marry after having met him perhaps three or four times first.

“You will not need the dress?” Michelene inquired quietly.

I shook my head. “No, I believe I shall not.”

She clapped her hands. “Well, if you do, you can buy another one with Honiton lace,
n'est-ce pas
?”

I nodded. But not one that had lace made by my grandmother's hands. This was no time for regrets, though, and I didn't have any. It would do Delia far more good than me.

She chattered with me for a few more minutes, and I was glad when she took her leave. Her presence troubled me more as each day went on. She was pleasant to talk with, but perhaps too directorial. She'd taken the carriage without asking, purloined my gowns. Something nudged me, troubled me, at the edge of my mind. I reached but could not quite grasp it.

She had not mentioned Luke's absence. It was odd.

“I
warn you, I do not know what to do with these henna things.” Michelene had shaken the henna I'd had sent from London into a small wooden bowl, so it wouldn't stain the china.

“I do know,” I said. “Not as much as an Indian woman, especially those of the castes which practice the art of henna, but more than anyone else likely to be at the ball tonight.”

We mixed in lemon juice and a little of the cinnamon oil I'd been using in my lip pomade. I'd asked Cook for molasses, and although she grumbled, she acquiesced once I told her what I was using it for. “Wish I'd had me a bit more fun when I was young,” she said, and handed over a copper tin filled with the molasses, which would help the dye adhere to my skin while it dried. Mrs. Blackwood had readily offered up some needles when I'd asked her for some.

“It smells like the stable!” Michelene pinched her nose and I laughed in spite of myself.

“It smells like the clay soil of India to me,” I said. Once the paste was the proper texture and we'd let it rest till the dye released, I used my left hand to draw a pattern of dips and swirls and trails that crossed and crossed back over again upon my right hand. I wrapped the henna around my wrist like a bracelet and then let it snake slightly up my arm.

“
C'est très joli
,” Michelene breathed out a sigh of admiration.

“Now, you just copy, as best you can, the same design on my left hand. I have done lacework and you've done sewing, so it's not as though we do not know how to bring forth a design with a needle. It's just for a different purpose in this case.”

She used the needle to gently apply the henna to my left hand, and after I'd let it dry, we peeled it off, saw where there were gaps in the design, and added a bit more. An hour or so later, I was done.

“You will certainly be, er, different from anyone else at Lady Ledbury's tonight,” she said. “I wish I could be there to see. Oh! Wouldn't Miss Dainley be shocked.”

I giggled at that. Yes, Delia would certainly have forbidden me from doing this if she'd known. I had a little pang, knowing that she'd sailed.

My sari was edged in peacock blue with a pattern in gold running all along it. As the fabric rose up my body it became deep indigo, and then sea-green. The pallu edge, which wrapped around my neck and then down my arm, was also trimmed in a gold patterned fabric. Had I been a real Indian woman, and married, I would have boasted of all my gold jewelry by wearing it all at once. The household gathered to look at me, openmouthed. No one spoke, and Mrs. Blackwood soon hustled them back to work.

Daniel pulled the carriage up. “I'm sure Lady Ledbury will be surprised by your outfit!” he said.

I grinned. I was a daughter of Hampshire, born and bred here. This was my family home, and the Ravenshaws had lived here longer than even the esteemed Lady Ledbury. I had little to lose at this point. As Mr. Highmore had pointed out, I was nearly a charity case. A little more pity or scorn would not matter, because I was a daughter of India as well.

Michelene came up behind me. “Do you remember what I said to you about the Hussars? That when they arrive, everyone runs, the women to them and the men away? Tonight, it shall be the opposite. When you arrive in your lovely costume, the women will run away from you but every man shall wish that you were his. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you for that,” I said. There was only one man I wished to run to me, to wish I were his.

Once in the carriage I watched the route carefully, not having been to Graffam Park before. It really was quite a short journey through the back way, but the roadways were smooth; I was surprised. Within twenty minutes we had arrived.

Daniel pulled the carriage up along the long drive, which had been lined with lanterns; still more lanterns lit the steps to the main house, which was made entirely of red brick. The windows were white-framed, tiny little squares warped by time, often seen in grand houses in England, and which I had come to love as confirming a sense of place and home. The lights glittered and shimmered through the windows; some of the panes were wavy with age, which only added to their charm.

As we walked up the steps, and then inside, under the forbidding portrait of an early Ledbury, there were whispers and nods, and a few smiles. I was dressed exotically, yes, but it was a costume ball and there were many others in unusual attire. I made my way through the crowd of men in historic uniform and the ladies in patrician clothing of years gone by. One person, in particular, made me smile. Lady Frome, full with her baby, stood in the center of the room in a shepherdess's costume.

I went to her first. “Oh, my dear, you look absolutely charming,” she said. “And I mean that in the best sort of way. Wherever did you find an Indian dress?”

“I commissioned the sari made,” I said. “I'd thought of having my nose pierced, too, but perhaps that would have been one step too far.”

“Next year!” she teased, and put one hand to her back.

“I cannot believe that you have descended from shepherds,” I said, pointing at her exquisite and expensive country attire.

“No,” she agreed. “But I wanted to be different. And my family owns land upon which the sheep meander.”

Lots and lots of land
, I thought,
with lots and lots of sheep
. I knew, too, that her grandfather had made a fortune from wool. But she was genteel enough not to refer to it, and bold enough not
to have to wear a costume that tied her, feebly, to some Hanoverian or his courtiers, like many others present.

The room was edged in gilt—the door frames, the floorboards, the windows, tastefully done, of course. In the far corner a quartet softly hummed. Someone came by and handed a dance card to me. So there were to be dance cards, then. I saw, just outside the great hall, a table spilling over with boxes and bags.

Lady Frome saw my eyes drawn to it. “The gifts?”

“Oh,” I said. “I'd nearly forgotten.” I started to walk toward the table, which was guarded by two footmen.

“Let me come with you,” she said. “I'd like to look the offerings over before deciding whom to invite to our Christmas ball.”

She had a pleasant, happy look on her face and I knew she teased. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Frome.”

“Please,” she insisted. “Call me Jennie.”

“Jennie,” I said, aware that this was a new step in our friendship. “Then you must call me Rebecca,” I said. I set my gift down on the table.

She looked at it, took it in her hand. “Honiton lace, of course. But what is inside?”

“Pennies,” I said with a grin. “But not hot.”

She grinned back.

Pride wrestled with desire. Desire won out. “Your brother-in-law, Captain Whitfield, is he here?” I asked.

“Somewhere, I believe,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. I wondered how she had kept her sense of humor alive whilst being married to Lord Pudding. “Though he's preparing to take immediate leave to the East Indies for a year or two, to attend to his business accounts, and perhaps make some strategic investments now that India is firmly under the control of Her Majesty.”

“Seems wise,” I said softly. She had not mentioned Delia or another woman.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” she answered. I saw her husband moving toward her. To my surprise, when he arrived he took my card in hand and scrawled his name on one of the lines before taking her arm and moving away.

Baron Ashby came over and said a cool hello. He signed up for one dance on my card. “I'm sorry to hear of your recent misfortune.”

I inclined my head. “Which misfortune is that?”

“Your father's investments, unraveled.” How had he heard that? Certainly not from Mr. Highmore? Perhaps Highmore's milk-faced secretary had lost a sense of discretion and disseminated the unwelcome news.

“It's not all yet settled, Lord Ashby,” I said. “But thank you for your concern.” He made small conversation and then offered a feeble excuse to withdraw. No fortune, no suitor, apparently.

“Guid riddance,” Mrs. Ross said, and she didn't seem to care who heard her. Several other young men came to put their names on my dance card, and many were very attentive—even without my fortune—as Michelene had predicted.

I looked up and, in a suspended moment, saw Luke make his way toward me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

H
e stood near me seconds later and I looked him over; he was dressed in a vintage uniform. “You served for many more years than I'd thought,” I teased him. I wondered if he'd worn it to taunt his mother, or Lord Ledbury.

He smiled, and I saw that it was in spite of himself. “It's my father's uniform.”

“I'd thought so. You look striking in it.”

“And you look incomparably beautiful. I pity the other ladies present.” He nearly moved toward me, leaning to take me in his arms, I could both see and sense it, but he stopped himself. “I thought that, having been denied a dance when we were at Headbourne, I would claim one now,” he said. “Before I leave for India.”

He was unfailingly polite and devastatingly handsome in the high white collar that brushed against his jaw, but he made no overt move to be more personal to me than anyone else had. I sighed with disappointment and resignation, inwardly, and put on my own cool mask of feigned indifference, though I wept inside.

He marked down his name, once. “I couldn't leave without a dance, though it would be easier, perhaps, for both of us if I did.”

Across the room, Lord Ledbury held up a finger and motioned for Luke.

“I'll see you shortly,” he said softly, and kissed the back of my bare, hennaed hand.

The dancing began and, I admit it, I counted them down till my dance with Luke. He found me; we formally bowed as the music began and then he took me in his arms. I fit perfectly.

He looked at my hennaed hands, so unlike the carefully gloved ones of the other women present, and an amused, appreciative smile crossed his lips before he caught it.

“I've heard that you might be leaving for India,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes. Breame—you'll remember him—says that the time is ripe for investment now the Rebellion is settled. British are flocking to India in great numbers, and for those willing to gamble, there may be lucrative days ahead.”

“I suspect you're willing to gamble,” I said.

“There's not much to keep me here,” he replied.

“I noticed that nearly everything has been removed from the guesthouse and that Mrs. Blackwood had sent some day maids to begin cleaning it.” He let his hand slip a little lower, until it rested on the small of my back. I felt his touch resonate all the way up my spine.

“I've been staying with Lord and Lady Ledbury as I'll be leaving very soon.”

“You didn't say good-bye,” I said softly.

“I could not,” he admitted. “Though I tried.”

“About that . . .” I started, and he put his finger to my lips to hush me.

“Later.” Neither of us spoke until the end of the dance. It wasn't for lack of something to say, it was so as not to disrupt that which was being said through touch and movement, which was
We fit, I miss you, don't leave, ask me to stay.
I still had much to ask, and to say. Why had he been so cold? Why was he not, now? I would wait until supper, when we could speak together at length in a private corner. Later.

There was a break in the music, and champagne was circulated along with pleasantries. I danced with two other perfectly well-mannered men, one of whom was quite attractive. But there was no spark. As I rested during the next dance, that thought brought Scripture to mind.

“Yet man is born to trouble as surely as sparks fly upwards. But if I were you, I would appeal to God; I would lay my cause before him. He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted.”

I thought back to our conversation about the blossoms. “It was a miracle, Captain Whitfield,” I'd said. “The word miracle means
sign
.”

I need a sign, Lord. Please send one.

I glanced at the next name on my card.
Viscount Anthony Frome.
Lord Frome came and found me, took my hand in his gloved one, and sneered slightly at my ungloved, hennaed hands. He bowed and I curtseyed and then we began. The particular song and dance kept us apart from one another more than I had been with Luke, but we were still able to converse.

“Your wife is beautiful and charming, one of the loveliest women I've met since I've been home,” I said. “You must be very proud of her.”

“I am,” he said, and I was somewhat surprised to hear the softness in his voice when he spoke of Jennie. “My only hope and prayer is for her to come through the birth of our child with all speed and safety.”

“I shall pray to that end as well,” I said. He was a practiced, technically perfect dancer, but there was no give or emotion in his movements.

“Are you quite at home at Headbourne House?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” I said.

“My brother has recently repaired to Graffam Park, leaving Headbourne House. It was quite a shock, I'm sure, as he had all but moved into his ‘family' house.” He smirked.

“Why, it is his family house, isn't it?”

He laughed. “It cannot be, by definition, Miss Ravenshaw, if it's yours.”

The music slowed and we were able to talk a bit more. His mouth was close enough to my ear that I could both hear what he intended that others did not, and also feel his damp breath rim my ear.

“Perhaps it's better. It's a pity Miss Dainley has sailed for India. Mother liked her. She was so very fair. And English.” He glanced again at my hands, and then, in a leering way, toward the top of my sari. “He didn't prefer her; Mother feels he never makes the right choices. I'm afraid my brother is a bit of a mercenary,” he said. “Can't blame him, really, not having a father to put his foot down with him when he was a boy. Fooled around with women and weapons. Neither got him far.”

We parted for a moment in the dance. “I was under the impression that his weapons manufacture did very well.”

“If one must earn a living of some sort, I suppose I would just as soon choose one that did not involve human bloodshed.” His voice was both sharp and bloated with condescension.

Of course. Lord Frome would never have had to dirty his hands.

I remained parted from him, although we were at a juncture in the dance where we should have joined again. I felt my voice
rise and did not heed the memory of my mother's earlier advice toward temperance in speech. “I assure you, Lord Frome, that if you'd been in the midst of a battle, and I have been, and a man wielding a sword with intent to cleave your skull was fast approaching, you'd be happy to have an Adams in hand to stop him. But you haven't, and you won't, so it's nothing to you and your country life of quiet disdain.”

He looked shocked. And then I realized that there were shocked faces all round me, because the music had stopped and there was a small crowd who had heard me speak so brazenly about weapons and murders and take to task one of the evening's hosts. Lady Ledbury, I could see from across the room, looked as though she'd just bitten hard on an unripe berry.

The music started up again, but I slowly made my way to the door. It was polite to remove myself then, so the others could enjoy the rest of the evening without an issue arising, sides being taken or rounds of awkward gossip squelched. I did not see Luke anywhere.
He will think I left him, not wishing further conversation. Perhaps I could send a note on the morrow. If he's still here.

I did stop to say good-bye to Jennie.

“I'm so sorry,” I said. “I fear I've made a terrible breach of etiquette. And I've insulted your husband. I apologize and do hope we can still be friends.”

“It was a bold thing to say.” She drew me near and kissed each cheek in turn as a response. “Fortune favors the bold, Rebecca.” Then she made her way back into the crowd.

“Back to Headbourne?” Daniel asked. “So early?”

I nodded and held out my trembling hand for him to lift me into the carriage. He stared at the henna.

“The henna troubles you?” I asked. He'd not been bothered by it earlier.

“It's just that, well, it makes me recall that the-the woman who had pretended to be you, her maid had that kind of heathen paint on her hands, too.” He quickly added, “Not that you're a heathen, miss. But while I'm speaking of them . . .” He looked down and kicked the ground once before looking up again. “I do know what happened the night Christopher drove her maid away. I want to be honest with you now.”

“Why now?”

“I . . . I want him to stay, miss. And you, too. I know you've heard the rumors about him and that woman pretending to be you; we all have. How she died. If he had a hand in it. My loyalties always are with the captain and he said not to tell anyone where she'd gone, for her sake. Christopher took her to the lascars, in Southampton, the dock to India, because none of us speaks heathen now, do we, so we could hardly help. She was scared—being a foreigner, an Indian just after the Rebellion—that she'd be blamed, and just wanted to run away. But Captain Whitfield gave her money to pay for someone to assist her. He thought, being her countrymen and sailors all, they could help and they promised Christopher that they would. Don't be angry with me, miss.”

He lowered his voice and looked back at me earnestly, as if he were entrusting a secret to me. And maybe he was. “Captain Whitfield wanted to make sure she were taken care of and not followed by toughs. So that means he couldn't be, well, guilty of anything. Isn't that right? No matter what the gossips say?” Even faithful Daniel had his doubts.

“Taken care of? What does that mean?” I kept my voice soft. “That he was looking out for her best interests? Or getting her out of the way as quickly as possible?”

“Oh, he's a good man, miss,” Daniel continued. “You can be sure of it.”

I had never thought the Mutiny would have occurred, that my parents would have been murdered. I would never have guessed that someone would steal my identity. I could not believe that Luke might be a murderer, nor that he was completely play-acting only to gain my home. His home. But perhaps I had lost sense of what men, or a man, could do and what they could not. I could be sure of almost nothing.

Daniel continued. “I think he sent her back to India.”

I shook my head. “How could that have been arranged?”

Daniel looked at me. “I don't know, miss. But I know there's lascars, Indian sailors, that end up in London at the Strangers' Home. At least that's what they say in Southampton, when I've been waiting there for the captain on his military business an' all.”

I'd toyed with an idea the past few nights, but first I wanted to make sure Luke was, indeed, worthy of what I planned to offer him. This might be my final opportunity. “Do you think there are Indian women at that Strangers' Home? Maids?”

“I can't say, miss.”

“Can you take me to those lascars?”

“Now, miss? There won't be anyone there this late. And we don't speak their language . . . wait, you do.”

“Perhaps if I can find a man who helped this maid I can somehow help solve our very difficult problem and clear the captain's name.”

He looked hopeful, and then scratched his head. “I would take you in the morning, but I don't see what you hope to do. The maid has long gone back to India. It's been months and months.”

“I don't know either, Daniel. But I need to follow this as far as I can. Please be ready to leave at first light.”