The Deepest Night (12 page)

Chapter 19

I didn’t run into him the next morning or afternoon. I didn’t seek him out, though, figuring it a good idea to allow him his peace. Just remembering what he’d said about me to Chloe made me feel hot and awkward and disturbingly exhilarated. I knew I likely needed some time away from him as well.

 … his stars and his sun and his moon … 

Had he really meant for me to hear all that? How was I going look him in the eyes now?

In any case, I didn’t need him for the next part of our plan.

All I needed was Lottie Clayworth.

It was well known that Lady Clayworth enjoyed midday sherry and sandwiches in the gardens if the weather was satisfactory. A pair of footmen set up a table for her in the same spot at the same time every day, and sure enough, that’s where I found her: in a gazebo beneath a massive, droopy plum tree gravid with purple-frosted fruit, eating and drinking in regal isolation as various men and their nurses crisscrossed the grounds to take in the air.

I approached the gazebo with confident steps. It was important that anyone watching believe I was welcome.

“Good afternoon, Lady Clayworth.”

She peered up at me from beneath the brim of a hat adorned with stuffed canaries, a cucumber sandwich paused halfway to her mouth.

“Who are you?”

I put on my best
you-can-trust-me
smile. “Miss Jones, of course. We met the other night, when your nephew was still here.”

“Who?”

“Miss
Jones
.”

“Ah, yes.” Up came the spectacles; she gave me the up-and-down. “Your looks are somewhat improved.”

I sank into a half curtsy. “I am dressed for tea, my lady.”

“Hmph.” She took in my frock and was apparently none too pleased that she couldn’t find fault with it. I’d chosen my best day dress—the best I’d been able to find ready-made in the village, that is—which was collared and beribboned and utterly inoffensive. Even the color was inoffensive, a bland shade caught somewhere between gray and dun.

“What is it you want, young lady? As you can see, I’m busy.”

“Why, only to sit a while with you.”

She heard
that
well enough, and smiled in triumph. “Alas. There is but one chair, and I am in it.”

“True,” I said breezily. “So I’ll just rest here against the railing, if you don’t mind.”

Her lip curled; she ate chippies like me for breakfast. “But I
do
.”

“No.” I scooted until I was very close, close enough to lean down and capture her eyes and speak darkly, deliberately. “No, you don’t mind.”

“No,” she confirmed, with faint, offended disbelief. “I … I don’t.”

A butterfly landed on the beveled rim of the sherry glass, a teal-and-brown striped tigress. Her wings opened and closed and opened, absorbing the sun.

“Lady Clayworth, listen carefully. You have a cousin. A dear, dear cousin who’s taken ill. You must go to her at once.”

“Oh, my,” she said, her brows wrinkling.

“You will find her back at your own home. And that is where you will go. Tell me, where is your home?”

“Tewkesbury. Just north of the Severn. Oh, my. Oh, my.”

“You’ll find her there. What is her name?”

“It’s … is it Gracie? Is it my own Gracie?”

“Yes. Gracie needs you, but you do not feel quite right about going there alone. You need me to come along as your companion. Do you understand? You’ve invited me to come with you. To stay with you. Until Gracie is better.”

“Oh, I’m so grateful you can come,” she said, and took my hand.

I patted hers lightly. “One does hate to travel alone these days.”

Lottie nodded, and the canaries on her hat nodded with her. “One does hate to travel alone.”

“We’ll leave on tomorrow’s train. Is that time enough for you to be packed?”

“Yes. I shall have the maids attend to it at once! My Gracie!”

“Very good.” I reached around her and grabbed two sandwiches, sending the butterfly aloft. “I’ll see you soon. Enjoy your meal.”

I’d bought a new travel case when I’d gotten my new clothes, an arbitrary purchase, like all the rest. The sleepy fishing village that served Tranquility wasn’t precisely known for its haute couture, and I’d had to make do with whatever was available. But at least all my garments now fit, and the case was sturdy, if ugly, with leather sides and thick-stitched seams and brass brads holding everything together along the edges. It looked as if it might survive a sinking ship.

Perhaps it’d have to.

“Eleanore Jones. I think we ought to have a chat.”

I looked up from folding a blouse over my bed, discovering Sophia sauntering past the door.

“I thought ladies knew to knock before entering someone else’s boudoir.”

“That eliminates the element of surprise.” She was dressed for dinner in the sort of gown that wouldn’t be for sale around here in a million years, a long black satin sheath, tight metallic lacework over the bodice and sleeves.

Dinner. The clock on the desk informed me I was about to miss it; my stomach growled.

In perfect counterpoint, a rumble of thunder came from beyond the windows. It was miles off still, but the sky above Tranquility had gone a bubbly deep soot, leaving only a feeble, jaundiced wedge of light stuck between the sea and clouds.

Sometimes I heard that rumble and it wasn’t thunder at all. It was the sound of the Germans bombing cities and towns far, far down the coast, a sound that only I could perceive. But tonight it was just thunder.

Rain was coming. Bad timing, but it was too late to switch things up now.

“What is it?” I asked absently, realizing I was going to need to change my dress yet again. Morning dresses, tea dresses, dinner dresses, dance dresses, different wraps and hats and gloves for each … I was beginning to understand what upper-class women did all day.

My armoire was empty. I’d already packed nearly everything, so I went back to the case and began to rummage through it.

“I understand you’re leaving us soon.”

“Uh … yes. I’m afraid so.”

Sophia reclined sideways along the settee against the windows, ankles crossed, one arm slung over the top. She looked like she was posing for a painting.

“Accompanying Lottie Clayworth to Tewkesbury?”

“That’s right.”

“To help with her sick cousin Gracie.”

There. A jade brocade number. That would do. I grabbed it, shook it out with both hands.

“Not sure how much help I’ll actually be,” I said, working at its buttons. “But when she asked, I thought it was the least I could do.”

“How generous of you.” Something in her tone warned me at last; I glanced up, and she gave her sly cat’s smile. “But, say, here’s a quandary, Eleanore. Charlotte Clayworth doesn’t have any living cousins. Not a single one.”

Damn.

I returned to the buttons, nonchalant. “I don’t think that’s right. She was very specific about it. Perhaps she meant a second cousin, something like that.”

“I’ve known the Clayworths my whole life. There
was
a Gracie, as it happens, but it turns out she died about forty years ago.”

Damn, damn.

I took a breath. “Perhaps this is—”

“I looked it up in
Standish’s Peerage of the Empire
to be sure. Lottie is the last of her line. And since she’s going on and on about her dear cousin and dear Miss Jones who’s going to help her, and what a relief it will be not to have to travel alone, I find myself pondering what, exactly, is going on. Are you thinking of robbing her?”

My jaw dropped. “What did you just say?”

“Because as much as I find her a stuffy bore, she’s ancient and obviously potty and I can’t allow it.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”
So
openly.
“Grant me some bloody credit.”

“I’d be glad to.” She abandoned her pose to sit up, regarding me with flinty eyes; the metallic lace sparkled and bit into her skin. “
If
you tell me what’s really going on.”

“She told me she needed help with her cousin!”

“And
I
told
you
she doesn’t have one.”

I was desperate; I darkened my voice. “Yes, she does.”

“No—”

I let loose my gown and grasped both of her hands in mine, holding hard. “
Yes
, she does. She does, Sophia.” I made a decision. Trying to fool her with my voice hadn’t worked—I might have known it wouldn’t—but I needed her cooperation. I chose my next words carefully. “And Armand will be gone, too. And we are absolutely
not
going somewhere together for the next few weeks. Do you understand?”

She pulled her hands free.

“Is that it?”

“Yes. That’s it.”

“An elopement?”

I felt the blush climbing up my neck. “No.”

Her head tipped; she looked at me coldly. “That’s too bad. Eloping with him would likely send Chloe around the bend.”

“You can’t tell her. You can’t tell anyone.”

She stood in a swish of satin, walking past me to examine the mess of my things upon the bed. “Aren’t you the most cunning little fraud?
We’re just friends, Sophia! Really, truly, honest-to-golly-goody-good-goodness
! What a lot of tosh.” She picked up one of my garters, pinching it between two fingers, then let it fall. “You very nearly convinced me. Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, would it?”

“Well …” I struggled to think of an explanation that wouldn’t sound too blatantly false. “You can imagine how it went. Secret trysts, forbidden love. You yourself called it the definition of rebellion, remember? The last thing I needed was for Westcliffe to catch me upsetting her lovely applecart of rules. We weren’t sure whom to trust.”

“I believe my feelings are hurt.”

Like hell they were. “Sorry.”

“How on earth did you manage to induce Lottie to have anything to do with this?”

“It—it turns out she’s more romantic than she lets on.”

Sophia released a throaty laugh. “No, she isn’t.”

“You’re right.” The lies were flowing more smoothly now. “Armand is paying her. I guess her funds are short or something. She agreed to cash quick enough.”

“Now,
that
sounds like the truth. How very sordid!”

“Sophia, you can’t,
can’t
tell. Think of the shame poor Lottie’d feel.”

She raked her nails across the covers, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep your secret. But you owe me. You and Mandy both.”

“Fine!”

She pushed off the bed and walked to the door. “Tell him to buy you some baubles to go with those frocks. You look naked without them.”

“He didn’t buy—”

She sent me a steely, testing look.

“Right,” I said. “Good idea.”

“Have a nice
holiday
, Miss Jones. I
will
be collecting on your debt to me when you get back. Don’t forget.”

I stood there with the jade gown a wrinkled spill at my feet, hearing the dinner gong sound from stories below.

Don’t forget.

Bugger me. As if I could.

Even though the rain descended upon us in a powerful, steady pour, the train station bustled with people. Tranquility’s chauffeur had unloaded our trunks to join the stack beneath the platform awning, but I’d dismissed him before he could hail a porter. I had no desire to lose what few belongings I had to the train to Tewkesbury.

I reached from beneath my umbrella to hand him a pound note and got a cheerful, “Gor’bless, miss!” and a tip of his sodden cap before he left us.

“These three, not that one,” I instructed the porter who approached, likely drawn to Lady Clayworth’s evident wealth, if not her damp glower.

“I do so hate to travel.” She grimaced at all the people splashing past. “Such a bother, all the mud and cinders and the hoi polloi. How does any civilized person abide it?”

“Lottie,” I said loudly, and she faced me. I summoned my dragon voice. “You’re going home now, my lady. You are happy about that. You’re relieved. You can’t wait to get there, and once you’re there, you will feel nothing but contentment.”

“Ah,” she said, her grimace fading.

“You will forget about Gracie and her illness. You will forget my name and my face. Everything now is wholly agreeable, even the rain. In fact, you feel a deep, unshakable joy.”

“How marvelous,” she said, and looked around at the hectic people, the shiny-wet train gushing its smoke, her eyes bright.

“Should anyone at home inquire why you’ve returned, you will tell them you missed Tewkesbury too much to stay away. You’ve missed your friends and servants and the familiar sights of home.”

“Even the ghosts?” she inquired matter-of-factly.

“Er … yes. Even them.”

She gave a nod. “We have so many of them, you know. Oh, that reminds me! She said to tell you good luck. And to thank you for saving her sons.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. A corpulent man in an oilskin coat bumped into me without apology, sending me staggering. My umbrella dumped streamers of rain down the side of my skirt. “Who—who said that?”

“Reginald’s wife. Wispy thing. Looks rather like you, doesn’t she? Anyway, I’ve told you, so my duty’s done.”

“Yes.” I gave a small cough. The train let out a whistle, and the porters were calling for stragglers. “Yes, just so. You’re done.”

“Last call!” hollered the steward by the first-class doors.

“Time to go.” I aimed her toward the steps. “Be well, my lady.”

But she was no longer listening. She was boarding the train, looking forward to her future, and I was forgotten, reduced to something even less than a rain-fogged memory. I was a ghost, too.

Armand found me about two hours later.

I was seated on one of the filigreed iron benches lining the platform, snacking on cold fish and chips that I’d bought from a vendor disembarking from the last train.

My feet were propped straight out upon my case, soles to the world. My lips and fingers were smeared with grease and my hat was a soggy ruin, since I’d run out into the storm to stop the vendor without my umbrella. Men of all stations clipped by me without a second glance; respectable matrons, however, had been giving me the evil eye for the past half hour. I was dressed too nicely now to pass for a beggar, so I must have been instead a single young woman of questionable upbringing.