Mist of Midnight (31 page)

I knew, now, who lay in that grave. I should have to write to her father.

“I am not to blame.” His face took a wry and sad twist before he composed himself again.

“You are not to blame, in fact, you did a generous thing in ensuring her ayah would not be accused and in giving her money to leave England.”

We were inches apart. He leaned toward me and kissed my top lip, and then my bottom lip, and then both of them at once. He stood and then pulled me to my feet before embracing me, which said,
I shall protect you
, and then stroked my hair, which said,
I adore you
, and then kissed me in a way that conveyed
I desire you
. My mind swirled away and I could hardly breathe, but I wanted to, because when I did, I breathed in his breath, his essence, and it bonded us.

The library door was open, but in the face of convention I kissed him back, unreservedly, before he whispered in my ear, “And into all things from her air inspired the spirit of love and amorous delight. She disappeared, and left me dark; I waked to find her, or for ever to deplore her loss, and other pleasures all abjure: When out of hope, behold her, not far off, such as I saw her in my dream, adorned with what all Earth or Heaven could bestow.”

“
Paradise Lost
,” I said, pulling back a little in wonder. “Had you memorized that section for me, too? You'd thought we were to be no more.”

“Mostly,” he said. “But for the first time in many years, I allowed myself a flicker of hope. I had hoped to speak with you at my mother's ball. I knew I should utterly forsake you for your own good but I found that, in spite of my best efforts, I could not.”

“And I am very glad of it.” Then I blushed. “I'm so sorry for what I said to your brother at the ball.”

He took my face between his hands. “I am not. I knew then that you loved me as I love you.”

“You love me,” I said in quiet wonder.

“If I haven't made that quite clear, then please accept my apologies, Miss Ravenshaw. I love you. I unreservedly, undeniably, unconditionally, uncontrollably love you.”

“And I, you.” I reached up to touch his face, too. “I have become quite expert at reclaiming what is mine, Luke. My house, my land, my name. My man.” I smiled before jesting. “Shall you depart for the East Indies, then?”

“By no means.” He pulled me toward himself once more. “But I will not stay at Lord Ledbury's long, either.”

I smiled. “Other accommodations can be arranged. But not an irregular union.” At that, he laughed again. “And I shall need my chaperone to attend me at all times until . . .”

“Until we are wed,” he said quietly. “If you'll have me.”

“Until we are wed. I will have you.”

Oh, Lord. I have my house, my security and peace, and happiness. You have truly restored it all. Thank you.

Luke had a coach take me back to Headbourne House. I went directly to my room and closed the door tightly. I did not want to speak to anyone, especially Michelene, until I had gathered my thoughts. By morning, I was prepared to confront her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I
called Michelene into the drawing room then closed the door.

“Are you ill?” she asked. “You did not call for me for two days.” She came over as if to observe me for signs of disease.

“Please, have a seat,” I said. She chose the chair farthest from me and eyed me suspiciously.

“It has come to my attention,” I said, “that you have been wearing my gowns.”

“Oh!” she said. “You mean the lettuce one and the yellow one that you had given me.”

I had forgotten about those. “No, not any I had cast off. ” I regretted, now, not insisting that they go to charity. “I mean the blue one encrusted with crystals.”

Real fear crossed her deep brown eyes. “What do you mean? I have it for mending.”

“You wore it to meet Captain Whitfield,” I said. “At the chapel.”

“Ah.” She raised her eyebrow. “Yes, yes. He requested the ­
rendez-vous
with me. I did not understand—until I arrived—what exactly he had in mind. Once I arrived, and realized that he
wanted me to accompany him through the tradesman's entrance to the guesthouse, I fled.”

The most effective lies are always truth based. But my eyes were open, now.

“Captain Whitfield and I are to be married,” I said.

“
Félicitations!
I can help with the most beautiful wedding dress.”

The utter gall! I held up my hands. “I'm afraid your service with me has come to a swift conclusion. Unfortunately, I will not be able to offer a recommendation, as most women do not prefer that their lady's maid press her case with their husband, or ­husband-to-be, nor provide regular laudanum to the lady of the house in an effort to make her more pliable, or, perhaps, bring on sleep so they may dally with men or take the carriage at will. You said you wanted to help!” I tempered my voice.

“I was helping. You wanted him to stay,
non
? I was giving the extra incentive to that.” I remembered the look that passed between her and Lady Ashby. Had she perhaps tried this trick with others?

I would not shoot this snake in the grass, but I would wrangle it with a snake hook and fling it far from my home.

Her eyes darted left and right, not able, apparently, to remain steadily in my gaze.

“With your dressmaking abilities, I'm certain you'll be able to secure work in another town. London, perhaps,” I said. “Certainly not around here. Mrs. Blackwood is, even now, packing your belongings. Any dresses, even cast-offs, you procured while in my employ will remain with me. Except the blue crystal-encrusted dress. You may take that with you as a reminder, as I shall never wear it again. Daniel will take you to the train station, or anywhere nearby that you like.” I held out an envelope. “Your final settlement.”

I softened my voice. “You have talent, and skill, and the ability to make a fine living honestly, Michelene, if you choose to. You could marry.”

“A tradesman, perhaps? Or the chief constable, who pursued me?
Non.
I am above that
.
”

Ah. The constable. Now I understood.

She sneered at me and stood up. “
Bon courage
in your marriage, mademoiselle. You shall perhaps need it.” Trying to plant doubt to the last, but I had none of it.

I stood and saw her to the hall. Mrs. Blackwood arrived soon thereafter with two small trunks and I saw Michelene down the walk. As Daniel drove away with her, I turned to Landreth.

“Who removed the lions from the pillars at the foot of the steps?”

He repressed a smile, barely. “Captain Whitfield ordered it done, miss, early this morning. Sent for the stonemason from Graffam. Said to tell you Whitfield walked through them and they ran away.”

I grinned.

“He asked, miss, that you not return to the chapel till he brings you himself.”

I nodded my agreement and thanked him. For the first time in memory, Landreth smiled, too, a genuine, wide smile, bowed slightly, and then held his hand out for me to make my way, first, into my home, where he handed a package to me. “This was delivered by hire carriage this morning.”

I took it in hand. It had no return address, and was addressed simply to Miss Rebecca Ravenshaw, Headbourne House.

“Thank you,” I murmured, and went upstairs to open it.

I slit open the side of the package with the ivory letter opener in the top drawer of my bureau. A card fell out first, and then I was able to see what was inside: a delicate bag that held yards and
yards of white Honiton lace. I gently took the lace out and held a stretch of it between my hands.

Mother.

It was clearly worked by my mother in a pattern she had designed herself and had used, often, in the past. I held it to my cheeks, then to my lips, then set it down before my tears stained its snowy perfection. I opened the folded card. It was written in Tamil.

Dear Miss Rebecca Ravenshaw,

I am enclosing this gift to you. I had not wanted to sell it; I'd thought I would bring it back to the mission in India because I knew how valuable it was. But then I thought I must sell it, or there would be no way for me to return home. Because you provided the gift to me I was able to purchase my return trip ticket without doing so.

We had been to the mission to visit when news came of your family's death. Violet was grieved, but also, I believe, saw her opportunity. When we left India, Memsahib Vi
olet took some papers which I believe she thought would prove she was you, and this lace, which I kept so the French maid could not take it. I know now that this is your mother's handmade lace and Violet had kept it in case she needed further proof of her identity. As you may have guessed, I was the maid to Violet and not the maid's friend, but given that the other memsahib had lied to me, I did not know if I could trust you and therefore did not tell you the truth right away. I am sorry for this.

I hope you enjoy many long and happy days in your homeland. I hope I do, too, in mine.

Blessings and peace be upon you,

Sattiyayi

Oh, yes. Deep inside, I'd known. The touching of the cheek, and flinching, upon further reflection, confirmed it in my mind. The detailed knowledge of what had gone on, even the explanation about the hennaed warning. I held the lace in my hand like the treasure it was.

My mother's hands made this.
The release of peace, so long awaited, spilled forth in my heart and spread throughout my body in every kind of warmth. I had, for a moment, regretted giving her dress to Delia, but charity had won out. Charity, in turn, had returned something more precious to me; not my grandmother's lace, which was dear, but my mother's, which was priceless.

A knock came at the door. “Miss Ravenshaw?”

It was Mrs. Blackwood. I got up and opened the door, leaving the lace across my bed like a joyous streamer, a banner of goodwill and affection.

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry to bother you,” she said, and I remembered the day when she did not want me in her quarters.

“Not at all,” I said. “Please come in.”

“I've heard, while . . . though, we don't gossip, miss, as you'll know, but Landreth has said that there is to be a wedding.” She grinned, which was quite a sight to see on her bright face, lightening her of a dozen years and perhaps twice as many cares.

“Can you arrange for a wedding breakfast, planned for and prepared in about six weeks?”

“Oh, oh yes,” she said. She glanced at the bed. “Is that for your wedding dress, then?”

Wedding dress!

“Just what is taking place here?” Mother walked into the room and scolded in jest. We girls had wrapped ourselves in yards of
lace, around our heads and draped like veils, around our bodies like shrouds.

“Playing wedding,” I said, with a small curtsey.

“Where are the grooms?” Mother asked, looking about her, playing alon
g. I could see her suppress a smile.

“They've not yet arrived,” I answered. “But they shall. Very soon indeed.”

She drew me to her and kissed my head, through the lace veil. “You make a lovely bride, Rebecca.”

“Miss Ravenshaw?” Mrs. Blackwood's voice brought me back to the present.

“Oh yes,” I answered, blinking back happy tears.
Mother.
“Mrs. Blackwood, what a stunning idea. Of course, yes, it must be.” I stopped. “But, well, Michelene is no longer in my employ and . . .”

“Might I suggest Annie?” she said. “With a bit of training, she'd make a fine lady's maid.”

“Indeed she would! No more French maids. But the dress . . .”

“Lady Frome is certain to know someone who can make a fine dress, quickly,” she said.

“Indeed! Jennie will help, I know it.”

“Jennie?” she asked.

“Oh, I'm sorry, yes, Lady Frome,” I answered. “Lady Frome and I use our Christian names with one another now.”

She smiled. “All will be well, then.” She turned to leave the room, and as she did, her keys jingled. “When I was packing Michelene's room, I found several of your dresses hanging in her wardrobe. I also found some of your letters in her bureau.” She handed them to me. They were held together by three hairpins, all jet and diamond. Of course the pins had belonged to me, in that she'd spoken truly. She'd taken them from Violet, who also had
been in mourning and worn them, who knows when, in the chapel.

“Now that I realize she took your letters, I see where she found some information she shared with me. She'd told me you had wanted to be married in India, but your friend had stolen your intended.”

“Never!”

“And she suggested we encourage you. I was glad to do it, Miss Ravenshaw, once I knew what a lovely woman you are. I thought I was doing good, but I see now, I'd been ill used for her purposes.”

I drew near. “We all were. Please do not give it another thought. And it's certainly worked out well, hasn't it?”

She grinned and nodded before leaving my room.

I unclasped the packet—the letters I'd meant to send, and some I was to have received. One letter was from Mr. Mead, one from Penelope, several from others at the mission. That mystery was solved. Michelene had wanted knowledge to taunt me with, perhaps, to help me fear the dreams or my sanity. That certainly was where she'd learned of Mr. and Mrs. Mead, where she had learned about Penelope and John Mark, and the fact that she had married him, not I, which she'd shared with Mrs. Blackwood.

I turned back to happier thoughts, gathering up the lace in my arms and hugging it close.

I had six weeks to prepare for my wedding. My wedding!

T
he December day was a gift; cold, clear, beautiful, with the lightest powdering of snow, like crystal talc on a lady's face, which made even the mundane and ordinary sparkle. Although it was
against protocol, Luke came by the house early so we could have some time to talk and walk together before the late morning wedding. He had a surprise for me, he'd said, and wanted to show me privately before the ceremony and wedding breakfast. I met him in the drawing room.

“Good morning, darling.” He kissed both of my cheeks in turn. He smiled at Mrs. Ross. “This will be your last official duty, then?”

She smiled back. “I doona ken about that,” she said. “But I shall take my leave right after the breakfast.”

It was the only cloud cast over the day. “I will miss you terribly,” I said.

“I will be nearby,” she replied. Winchester wasn't very far away.

Luke bundled me into my warm coat and we walked down the stone steps. We walked the path past the stable yard and coach house; Luke had already begun the process of bringing his horses back to Headbourne. By the time we returned from our honeymoon in Europe his personal effects would be completely reinstalled. I'd ensured that the master bedroom had been refreshed, too. How lovely it would be to share it. Shortly, we came to the graveyard, where he stopped in front of the newest grave.

The stone had been smoothed, and the cat's-eyes reapplied. Violet's name had been carved where mine had been, just above the line
A friend loveth at all times.

“Oh, thank you,” I said. “I know she has done some horrible things, but I will rest easier believing she rests, too.”

“I know,” he said. “I had the stonemasons attend to this. You are a true friend. But this is not the gift I have for you. Turn around.”

I did, and I was astonished that the church had been com
pletely renovated. I knew that Luke had planned to complete the work because I'd said I wanted Reverend Bennetts to marry us there, but each stone had been cleaned, grout and mortar attended to. Inside, the pews had been replaced and the windows mended and polished; one had been replaced entirely with a stained glass of the garden of Eden.