Mist of Midnight (6 page)

“I'm terribly sorry. I apologize. Perhaps I have been a little homesick and have carried on overly long about myself.” I took a deep breath and affixed a courteous smile on my face. “Please, do tell me about yourself.”

Miss Dainley nodded. She seemed pleased to change the subject. Whether it was a relief to be done with my ill manners or
that she did not want to learn more about India just now, I did not know.

“You'll be happy to learn there is an inspiring season of events planned, for the summer, during the periods when the others come back from London,” she said. “A few of these events will transpire in . . . your home.”

“You'll not be in London?” I asked. I knew it was the season for those well born, and well off, to attend social events in the city.

“No.” She shook her head. Her discussion of her family's lack of resources made further explanation unnecessary. Even if I had arrived earlier, and had not been in mourning, I would not have known anyone to oversee a London season for me.

“Captain Whitfield has seen to the arrangements for entertainments to be held at Headbourne. He's a wonderful host if, perhaps, somewhat misunderstood of late. I believe he is to return today?”

I nodded.
Had she made inquiries? Or had he told her?
I chided myself. Why should it matter to me? “Misunderstood? And what kind of events?” I asked politely.

“Oh, nothing, really.” She waved the topic away with her lace handkerchief. “As to events, musical soirées, shooting parties, dinners and balls, that sort of thing, of course, you will be invited to reciprocal arrangements. As long as you're still here, of course. The grandest of all will be the costumed ball at Graffam Park in autumn. Lord Ledbury spares no expense. The theme will be announced a month in advance and then it's a melee to come up with an appropriate costume and a suitable gift for Lord and Lady Ledbury.”

“Something to look forward to. I do hope we can become friends, and I know I shall rely upon your wisdom until your autumn departure, as I reacquaint myself with English ways,” I said. “I'm happy to be of help to you in any way I may, as to India.”

She nodded, but she was no longer looking at me, distracted by the sound of an oncoming team of horses pulling a carriage.

Captain Whitfield had returned.

Miss Dainley stood and I stood as well. Through the front windows, we could see him drive toward the coach house and stable yard. I noted she had told me not about herself, but about the season's events.

“I look forward to calling upon you, and becoming acquainted with your family,” I said.

For a moment, she did not take her eyes off the advancing carriage. Then she looked directly at me, voice firm once again. “I should much prefer to visit with you here. Such a jolly home, and Captain Whitfield's hospitality is so accommodating.” She smiled. “You do agree?”

To what was I agreeing? That I had a jolly home or that Captain Whitfield was hospitable? Was she asking me to give tacit approval to whatever visits she planned to make here at Headbourne without offering the courtesy of a return visit? Of course, if I visited her, there would be no possibility of Captain Whitfield's accompanying me.

In any case, she didn't wait for a response. We walked to the door and she pulled on her bonnet, but very loosely, which allowed her hair to show to its best, glossy advantage. Landreth began to signal for her carriage, but Miss Dainley stopped him.

“Captain Whitfield would be happy to attend to this himself,” she said.

Landreth nodded his agreement and, as she began to descend the steps, I could see Whitfield move toward her with ease and familiarity.

Landreth closed the door behind her but I could hear cheery conversation and then Whitfield's laugh. I turned toward Lan
dreth. Had he suggested Thursdays for my “at home” day because he knew Miss Dainley would want to see the captain, and Landreth approved? Or was it merely a coincidence?

“Will that be all, miss?” he asked me, and I became aware that I should not be idling by the door.

“Yes,” I said. I wavered, then gathered my courage to move forward with something I'd been recently considering. What pushed me to finally act? I knew, even though I barely dared admit it to myself. It was seeing Miss Dainley interact so familiarly with Captain Whitfield.

“Just one more thing. Will you please inform Cook that I shall accept Captain Whitfield's long-standing invitation to take the evening meal with him in the dining room this evening?”

CHAPTER SIX

O
n my way back to my room, I stopped at Mrs. Ross's quarters and knocked. “Yes?” she called out.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

She sat in a chair, desk on her lap, Bible open in front of her. It reminded me that I had not yet found a Bible; I should set about that immediately. Whilst I had the comfort of many memorized scriptures, I desired to see the words themselves, living and active on the page.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but I wondered if you could take dinner with me in the dining room tonight. Captain Whitfield has returned and I'd like to dine with him, as he'd earlier extended an invitation.”

“Certainly, lassie.” She looked at my face. “Why are ye so long?”

I sighed. “Miss Dainley took tea with me today.”

“She wasna kind?”

“No, she was,” I said. “It's just that, well, she has a mother and a father. And many siblings. She seems to know everyone hereabouts.”

Mrs. Ross nodded, and thoughtfully did not point out that my response had little to do with her question but much to do with what was on my mind.

I realized that I knew almost nothing about her, except that she was Scottish, Presbyterian, and highly recommended by people whom Mrs. MacAlister knew. “Do you have children, Mrs. Ross?”

She shook her head. “Nae.”

“Siblings?”

She shook her head again then looked down at her Bible, open, I could now see, to Hebrews, chapter 13, and she read it aloud. “ ‘For he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.' ” She, too, had cause to be lonely but was seeking solace with God.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ross. Of course, you are right. Half past eight?”

She nodded her agreement and I closed the door behind me. As I made my way into the hall, the little cat came alongside me, walking beside me, keeping right up against my skirt. I stopped, and looked down at it, and it looked up at me and meowed quietly. “Thank you, little cat,” I said. “I know that I am not alone, but sometimes it feels that way. But for you.” Where had she come from? Perhaps she was alone in this world and too small to be bothered with.

She stayed with me, in my room, till Michelene came to help me dress for dinner. As soon as she saw my lady's maid, the cat's hackles rose and she glanced at me before fleeing.

Somehow, it felt like a warning.

I
stepped into the dining room at half past eight, and Captain Whitfield was already present, standing, as a gentleman would, until I arrived.

“I was delighted when I heard you would finally be joining me this evening,” Whitfield said. His face was freshly tanned from, I surmised, his rides in the growing spring sunlight; he moved with more ease than the cat. Mrs. Ross, in her black cotton and lace collar, came into the dining room. Captain Whitfield struggled to control a frown and that made me struggle to control a smile. He had perhaps forgotten that she would accompany me.

“My chaperone,” I reminded him.

“Ah, indeed, it would not do for the neighborhood tongues to start wagging so early on,” he said.

“So early on? I shan't like to set them wagging later, either,” I jested, and he grinned back. I got the feeling he did not mind wagging tongues. Or perhaps not on the surface, anyway.

He was dressed for dinner, impossibly impeccable. He wore black, as was right for a gentleman of his station who was not in uniform, with the exception of his shirt, which was cream linen. Michelene had told me that only wealthy gentlemen wore linen regularly as it was expensive and difficult to keep clean and pressed.

He came around and first helped Mrs. Ross to her seat, as she was older, and then he helped me into mine. He tried to be nonchalant, but I could see he studied me; I was dressed very differently now than before he had taken his leave. My dress, though black, rustled and shimmered in the candlelight, the fabric cleverly gathered at the small of my back to show my figure to its best advantage.

Landreth supervised the courses, and we talked.

“Are you quite settled?” he asked.

“Almost so.” I looked at the first course being brought in. “Now that I have begun to accommodate myself to English cuisine, I've found the food exquisite.”

“Have the staff made you feel welcome?” he asked.

“Indeed. Landreth has made a particular effort. He's greatly helped me with calling.” I took a sip of soup and casually added, “In fact, you will of course have noticed that Miss Delia Dainley came to call today. Is she a friend of yours?”

He nodded. “Her mother has long been a friend to my mother.”

Soup was over and the bowls cleared. “Miss Dainley mentioned that there would be a large costume ball at your parents' house at the end of the summer. As they are, of sorts, distant relatives to me, I would be delighted to learn more about them.”

He didn't look up, and the staff present looked surreptitiously at one another, then back at the captain. Had I said something wrong? I hoped not. Landreth approached to refill our wineglasses. The captain used his napkin, then replaced it on his lap before answering. “They are distant to me, as well. There is not much to say. My father died when I was but a young lad, my mother married Lord Ledbury quite soon thereafter, and my brother Anthony, Viscount Frome, was born within the year. I was raised at Sandhurst, alone, while he was raised at Graffam Park, in the bosom of family.”

The salmon was brought in.

“Please do tell me about
your
family,” he said, turning it deftly from himself.

“As you know, my parents were killed in the Mutiny. I had a brother, too, Peter, who died about ten years ago, of cholera. When we were children, we preferred not to sit in this dining room, as I recall.” I smiled. “Our governess would bring our meals to our room and we'd tell stories.”

Whitfield grinned. “Better company.”

“Yes,” I said. “Once in India, we'd make up stories about the monkeys that lived near us. We'd name them and imagine their
home lives, if they took tea, played croquet and the like when we couldn't see them.” I blinked back some tears. “During the Uprising, when we all waited in the Residency for the government to free us, I told those stories to the children, to pass the time.”

“A kindness,” he said quietly.

“The least I could do.”

He returned to his salmon, and I to mine. From time to time he seemed to be staring at the fork in my right hand, and I wondered if I was holding it incorrectly or if I'd chosen to use the wrong one. I looked toward Mrs. Ross. She was using the same fork, and in the same manner.

We spoke of lighter matters as the fowl was served and removed, and finally, the cherries and the sherries.

By that time, I'd eaten so much, I could barely breathe. I stood, and Mrs. Ross did likewise. Captain Whitfield came round to pull each of our chairs away as Landreth came nearby to escort us out of the dining room.

“Thank you for your companionship,” he said. “I'm sorry I won't be at home often to enjoy it.”

“Thank you, too, Captain Whitfield, for your hospitality.” He nodded and met my gaze, and held it with an intimacy that was perhaps not yet warranted. It was not wholly unwelcome.

“Taking meals in the dining room is much more pleasant, this go-around,” I said. I was rewarded with a warm, genuine laugh and a deep bow.

Michelene met me in my room within a few minutes and had to tug to help me out of my dress.

“I thought I told you to eat only a few bites,” she said. “I will bring small meals into your room after you have retired for the evening.”

“I'm afraid so much rich food may make me unwell.”

She clicked her tongue. “Cook had said she'd continue to serve you many foods that you may not have eaten for some time.”

“That is kind,” I replied.

“I told her that was likely to make you unwell, but she did not heed me. Perhaps that was her goal.”

I inclined my head. “Why wouldn't she heed you? Does Cook have some reason to want to make me feel ill?”

Michelene shrugged her shoulders. She helped me into my nightdress and then left my room, with only one lamp still lit.

I dearly wished for sweet dreams, but alas, I began to recall, just before slumber arrived, a particular young woman, a sweet mother of only eighteen years, who had died at the Residency, leaving her baby an orphan. I'd held that baby as I told the older children monkey stories.

I'd felt orphaned, too.

I went to my window and, as I looked out, I could see directly into the guesthouse; though it was some distance away, it was well lit from the inside. I blew out the flame of my lamp and let the dark encase me as I looked across the grounds. In the drawing room window was the silhouette of Captain Whitfield. I did not want him to think that I was hoping for a glimpse of him.

Even though I am
, I acknowledged. I quickly turned away. Why did he unsettle me? I knew the answer. Although I hadn't wanted to, I'd succumbed, just as Annie had said women did.

I found him attractive. Compellingly so, somehow.

I closed my eyes, quietly praying for my friends in India: the Meads, and Penelope, and Violet and her father in Ceylon—so very happy that they in the south had avoided the Mutiny, which had taken place only in the north. I prayed for beloveds at the mission, for dear Musa, and last, for myself and for the wisdom and strength I'd require but felt I currently had in meager supply.

Before I went back to bed, I opened my eyes and could see, even through the rising night mists, that Whitfield had turned to face the window and was looking not at the house in general but directly back at me. I held his gaze for the second time that night, and then finally looked away.