A Lady's Vanishing Choices Read online

  She asked the empty room a series of questions. “What should I do? What information could I relate about the crime—if there is a crime? What if I’m mistaken? Who could I inform?”

  Since Lord Athon had passed on, as far as she knew, the nearest magistrate was a two hours ride away. She pictured the little hamlet of Chadwick in her mind, a church, a general store where the mail coach stopped, a tavern along with a cluster of dwellings, and the vicarage. No one of authority abided there.

  Over the years, she had learned to keep silent, work ever so hard, and keep out of her aunt’s sight. That action had served her well enough. In despair, she decided that the best course of action would be no action for the present. A few terrifying thoughts haunted her mind. If there was no crime after all, humiliation could be the least of her troubles. Uncle Arthur’s threat of Bedlam may come true.

  The sound of pounding on her door splintered through her. “Yes.”

  Her uncle shoved into the room and glared at her. He scowled, his brows meeting in a fierce line.

  “Get below and finish recording the accounts. I want an explanation for every coin, and I want it before you creep off to bed.” Turning, he stalked out of the room as abruptly as he had entered.

  Bethany gained her feet and headed to the office. She rued the day her uncle learned of her excellence with figures. Gently bred females never had to cope with such exhausting problems. That hadn’t stopped her uncle from edging her into this position. Only the family was aware of her less than genteel activities.

  With her sensibilities scraped raw, she doubted she could sleep anyway. After all that had happened today, having to concentrate would certainly take her mind off of the mystery man and the bundle. At least she hoped it would. Could the blanket have contained a dead body? She shuddered.

  Her uncle waited at the threshold of the office. “I’m planning a trip to London in a couple of weeks. I want everything in order before I leave.”

  Her heart sank, and she gnawed at her bottom lip. Perhaps there isn’t a crime to report. She sighed, but her mind churned for several minutes before she set to work.

  After the long, grueling task of bringing the accounts up to date, Bethany stumbled up the steps to her chamber and crawled into bed. Although beyond tired, she had to court sleep for a long while until her lids drifted shut and sleep finally claimed her.

  Pictures of the man digging a pit crept into her dreams. The piece of yellow fabric twisted out of the pocket on his hunting vest and crawled directly towards her like a deadly snake. Bethany couldn’t scream or run. She stood . . . waiting. Filled with dread, she glanced at the villain and gasped as his face, a grinning skull, glared back at her. He still wore his cap pulled down, and his lawn shirt, layered with dirt, clung to his form beneath his hunting vest. He took a menacing step towards her with a bony hand extended.

  Bethany woke in a sweat. Pushing damp hair off of her forehead, she puffed out a long breath. The copper taste of fear coated her tongue again. This would never do. She would tell Maggie tomorrow. Her friend, more like a mother in her life, was the one person she could depend on to help when she needed advice. Maggie would know what she should do. Maggie with her no-nonsense, down-to-earth attitude and common sense would have an answer. When her heart stopped pounding against her chest, her breathing eased. Bethany turned over and tried to return to sleep, but it was a long while before her eyelids finally drifted down.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning Bethany woke with a start. What had brought her awake? Odd. A heavy sense of oppression weighed her down. She rolled over, and then she remembered the previous day, and her nightmare returned full force. The sounds of a shovel throwing dirt echoed through her mind. The sensation of evil lurking in the room, dark and sinister, seemed to flow out to overwhelm the entire chamber. “No.”

  Leaping out of bed, she dressed quickly, whispering to herself. “I am going daft. I must seek Maggie’s advice.”

  Bethany hurried through her chores and headed to the village. When she reached the path through the forest, she half-wished she’d had the nerve to ride Eleanor’s mare. Walking would take a while longer and after a night filled with nightmares, she didn’t want to linger. Thankfully, her escapade with the gig had not yet been discovered, and she decided not to tempt fate with another exploit.

  She’d travelled this path a thousand times or better, but today she ignored the shadow of the leaves dancing in the trail and the sweet song of a linnet overhead. Today, the shady trail seemed sinister and the twittering birds were an annoyance. Not being in the mood to take pleasure in anything, she hurried only to trip over a root and stumbled. “Oh, cat whiskers. That devilish tree.”

  Even the smell of the forest seemed unpleasant. She wrinkled her nose at an unfamiliar, poignant odor overriding the fragrance of the wild flowers. Gazing around, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, but a chill raced down her spine all the same. Chadwick appeared down the track and Bethany heaved a sigh of relief. Only one more mile to reach the village. Geese in the dirt road in the center of the hamlet hissed at her when she hurried past. She avoided men unloading a coal wagon at the side entrance of the Maggie’s shop on High Street and hurried to the front door. Determined to appear unflustered, she drew a deep breath. With her stomach tied in knots, she hurried forward and entered. From behind the counter, dear, kind-hearted Maggie grinned a welcome around the customer standing in front of her.

  Bethany returned Maggie’s smile and deposited her bundle on the counter while Maggie wrapped a purchase for the shopper.

  Bethany waited, but her nerves quivered with impatience. Glancing out the window, she allowed her mind to drift to when she first met Maggie. Her motherly concern had done much to sustain Bethany through the past, troubled years. Maggie’s ample bosom along with her plump arms offered welcome and comfort to the sad little orphan who trailed into her shop all those years ago. Maggie had gathered Bethany under her wing with total acceptance and a world of no-nonsense advice. Maggie had been listening to her woes ever since.

  “All right and tight, Mr. Simpkins,” Maggie said, handing him the package.

  Bethany drew a shaky breath and waited for the customer to move away from the counter.

  Maggie nodded toward a lady meandering through the store and whispered to Bethany. “Mrs. Simpkins takes her time, she does.”

  Mrs. Simpkins continued round the store, picking over different items, in no hurry to leave, while her husband leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

  Maggie reached for Bethany’s package. “You been busy, seems like.”

  Only the urge to present a natural appearance kept Bethany from blurting out her troubles in front of Maggie’s customers. Bethany’s hands trembled. “As you see.”

  Maggie opened the package and spread the lace on the counter. “It’s lovely. You should sell all this fine work at one of them fancy fashion houses in London town.” Maggie’s lips firmed and she finished with a brisk nod of her head. Her fiery curls bounced with the motion.

  “Maggie, this is a gift for you. I am not allowed to participate in vulgar commerce. You know that.” Under her breath she whispered, “Not until I leave the Manor.”

  Mrs. Simpkins ambled over to the counter. She was dressed in a simple round gown of blue serge and stopped to examine the fine lace on the countertop. She ran her dainty hands over the lace and inspected every inch with a demanding gleam in her brown eyes.

  Bethany plucked the delicate lace from Mrs. Simpkins’ hands, neatly folding the tatting back into the wrappings and stared at the woman. “Beg pardon, but this isn’t for purchase.”

  Mrs. Simpkins sniffed and narrowed her lids. “Young woman, you may be turned off without a reference or worse, for stealing from your mistress.”

  Maggie puffed up and her eyes snapped. “Your being n
ew to the village ain’t no excuse. This here ain’t no servant, Mrs. Simpkins, but the niece of Lord and Lady Littleton.”

  Mrs. Simpkins’ mouth flew open and her chin wobbled. “Beg pardon. I’ve attended a ball held by the Littletons while in London.” She raised her brows and cleared her throat. “Perhaps my memory fails me, but I don’t recall encountering you with them.”

  Bethany allowed a wintery smile to touch her lips. “I was indisposed last season and preferred to remain in the country.”

  Mrs. Simpkins graciously nodded her head in an upward motion, but suspicion lingered in her eyes. “A charming couple, the Littletons. I send my regards.” She smiled with a nervous twitch of her lips and accompanied her husband out the door.

  Outraged, Bethany could only stare, but at least her anger had momentarily overshadowed her fear.

  “The nosey busybody,” Maggie mumbled. She swished her skirts and blew out a breath. “Ed, watch the front for a bit. I’m needing a spot of tea. Come on in the back.” She marched into the attached dwelling at the rear of the store with Bethany on her heels. Bustling about, she placed the kettle on the hob while Bethany settled into an over-stuffed chair.

  Maggie demanded, “Don’t let the likes of Mrs. Simpkins be bothering you.”

  “It’s not that.”

  Maggie raised her brows. “'Tis Eleanor, that little snot. No need to be telling me. She’s done gone beyond the pale, I’ll be bound.”

  “It isn’t Eleanor this time. It’s simply I don’t know what to do.” Bethany shrugged, lifting her hands palms up in a desperate motion. Telling Maggie seemed much more difficult than she’d expected.

  “’Bout wot?”

  Bethany covered her mouth with one hand and tried to gather her thoughts. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for you. I’ve burdened you with my cares for years.”

  Maggie chuckled. “My shoulders can hold you and your problems.”

  Bethany gave a weak smile but quickly sobered and dropped her gaze to her hands. Why is this so difficult? This is Maggie, after all. She rubbed her fingers along the braiding on the arm of the upholstered chair, the texture rough against her hand while she tried to gather her courage. She swallowed and, after moment, mumbled, “I must talk to someone or I shall go insane. I’ve been so terrified.”

  “Tell ol’ Maggie.”

  She couldn’t refrain from glancing over her shoulder. “What would you say if I ran across a murderer?”

  “Wot?” Maggie roared. Her expressive brows rose to the ceiling and her eyes rounded in astonishment. “You saw a killing?”

  Bethany pressed the back of one trembling hand over her mouth. “No. I observed a man digging a grave. I think it was a grave or a pit, but I saw the body. At least, it may have been a body. What else could he have been burying in the woods?”

  She could still hear the sounds of digging and recalled the bundle large enough to contain a corpse lying beside the grave. Her shoulders bunched, and she dropped her head into her hands. “I think that’s what I witnessed. What am I going to do?”

  “Don’t take on so.” One plump arm slid around Bethany’s shoulders. “Tell me all about it then. We shall see wot’s wot.”

  Caught up in her distress, Bethany had been unaware of Maggie’s movements until that comforting arm wrapped around her. She wanted nothing more than to snuggle against her, but that would solve nothing.

  “Do you recall when I ran away from Birdelwood Manor all those years ago? I was only ten. I didn’t want to belong to Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Arthur, so I left.”

  Maggie nodded. “Course I do. We was all relieved when the vicar found you. ‘Tis a wonder you was found, them woods being so thick and the lane without a body on it in years. The hand of God was in it.”

  “At the time, I didn’t want to be found, but I’m grateful now the vicar didn’t abandon the search.” Bethany scrunched her shoulders, half expecting censure, and forced out words that condemned her in her own eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to glance at Maggie. “I took the gig without permission and drove over to that very spot.”

  After a full minute, Maggie said, “I do declare, you was much more reckless than usual. I suspect someone drove you to it.”

  Always supportive, Maggie’s attitude brought a measure of guilt to Bethany. “Aunt Gertrude started ringing a peel over me again. I could stand no more, and I escaped for a few hours. I drove around for a while, out of charity with everything and everyone.”

  “Natural you would want to seek a little quiet. Set yourself straight and the like.” Bethany patted Maggie’s arm. “Thanks for understanding. I pulled up near the place where the vicar located me. I looked back on that day and shuddered. I only ran away because I missed my mum and papa so much. I didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, for months afterwards. Aunt Gertrude announced, to everyone who would listen, I was unstable, had a delicate mind and such. Now that refrain is uttered over and over again. People look at me with distrust and doubt.”

  Maggie sank into her chair again and sat on the edge with her hands gripped in her lap. “Go on. The story is ‘bout to trip off your tongue.”

  “A sound gradually drew my attention. I heard someone digging. It is such a lonely place I began to wonder at the cause.” She began to shake so badly she could hardly remain upright in the chair. “I peered from behind the bushes and discovered a man digging a grave, or at least a deep pit.”

  Maggie lost some of her warm glow. “How dreadful for you.” She plopped against the back of her chair and sat in silence for several protracted minutes. “To be sure, ‘tis enough to give a body a real fright.”

  “Uncle Arthur has always suggested that I have an irritation of the nerve.” Bethany gave a shaky laugh. “I do now.”

  “Course you do, love. Anybody would wot seen such.” Maggie’s words held reassurance and her face cleared. “You should go tell the new Lord Lieutenant of the county . . . that lord, the earl.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tell Lord Rivton That’s wot will solve it.”

  “When did he arrive? I was unaware he had taken up residence at the hall.”

  “Been a couple of days. I ‘spect you ain’t been listening to the servants. They’d know.”

  Bethany dropped her head. “Aunt Gertrude gives the instructions, and leaves little time for gossip. If anyone has something to whisper about, they would wait until after the chores where finished for the day and retired. We only have a few servants actually living in the manor.”

  Maggie sniffed. “You pay no never-mind to such carryings on. Always tatting, putting your work by for a rainy day.”

  Bethany half grinned. “You know me so well. I shall need a little blunt in my pocket when I leave the manor for good.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Still, you can’t leave go of a crime. Tell the Lord Lieutenant and be done with it. It’ll be up to him to appoint us a Justice of the Peace.”

  “What if there is nothing to tell? What if he dug the hole for something completely innocent?” Bethany rung her hands with her gaze trained on Maggie’s reaction.

  “What’s he hiding then? And being deep in the woods so not a body would see him, nothing harmless ‘bout that. No indeed. I suspect he was up to no good. Lord Rivton needs telling.”

  Jumping up, Bethany prowled the room. She paced to the window and flipped the curtain aside. “Maggie, you of all people realize how my uncle has labeled me. And my aunt, too. I don’t understand why he wishes everyone to hold me in low esteem. I’ve often thought he used my supposed irritation of the nerves to keep people from wondering why I rarely join the family at gatherings.”

  “The old buzzard.” Maggie gave a loud, inelegant snort.

  Bethany shook her head in despair. “No one around this neighborhood would listen to a word I say, and the earl would be warned of my
delicate mind. The minute a word about my suspicions leaked out, my tale would be dismissed. Not a soul would doubt I simply created a story to be more dramatic.” She curled her shoulders forward and stared at her clasped hands. “Uncle Arthur has been spreading the tale since my eleventh year. He probably would acknowledge I saw someone in the woods, but everything else came from my very fertile imagination.”

  Maggie tightened her lips. “That old scoundrel. He may be Lord Littleton, but he’s a rogue all the same.”

  A watery laugh escaped Bethany. “Exactly so. He is a hypocrite too, acting as if he is so superior, but he’s mean and a nip-farthing besides.” With a bitter grimace, she continued, “He wants the coffers full so he can buy expensive trinkets for his mistress.”

  Disgusted, Maggie exclaimed, “And him a upstanding member of society and all. Enough ‘bout him. Other problems need fixing.” With a shake of her head, she continued doubtfully, “Still a possible murder or evil doing of any sort. Cain’t hold that back for long.”

  Bethany swallowed several times. “If I’m involved in any way, he’s likely to have me committed to the insane asylum. He’s already threatened me with it.”

  Aghast Maggie cried, “He never.”

  “Yes, he has.” Bethany shrugged. “He claims, loud and long, that I’m dull witted, awkward, and need to be protected from the ills of society.” With a bitter laugh, she added, “I can keep his books, but I’m next best thing to a moron. Of course, no one knows about the bookkeeping. Behind closed doors, he taunts me with being jealous of Eleanor.” She gave a weak laugh. “Perhaps I am. He does his best to make everyone believe I’m fanciful, at the very least. This incident will be the very excuse he needs to have me locked away.”