Lady in the Mist Page 6

  “But not too far”—he raised his uninjured hand to touch her throat with a whisper of his fingertips—“to have done this to you.”

  She sat perfectly still as though his contact paralyzed her. He didn’t even know if she breathed until she drew in a ragged breath and pulled away from his caress.

  “Whoever it was, I heed the warning. I’m used to keeping my mouth shut in my work.” She bent her head over his hand, which she wound in a strip of bleached linen. “Keep this clean. I’ll leave some salve with Letty. She’ll find you fresh cloth for bandages.”

  After giving the bandage a final tweak to tighten the knot, she rose and turned toward the house.

  Dominick stood too and rested his hand on her arm for a breath. “I can tell you it wasn’t me, and you’ll believe what you will.”

  “You have reason to want to keep your nighttime activities private, where no one else I know does.” Her mouth pursed. “A whipping is painful.”

  Skin along his back crawled. “Oh, don’t I know.”

  “Do you?” Her eyes narrowed, and he knew he condemned himself with that careless remark.

  “I was an English schoolboy.” He tried to recover from his slip. “You can imagine that I often gave my tutors cause to whip me.”

  “I doubt that’s the same as what’s doled out to a bondsman, so watch your step, Mr. Cherrett. I don’t like tending to a back cut to ribbons.” Admonition delivered, she strode to the house, her skirt swishing around her ankles, her low-heeled walking boots raising puffs of dust in her wake.

  Dominick smiled despite his aching palm, despite what she’d intended as a rebuff of his flirtation. He would win her over. He had to. He had less than four weeks to complete his mission, before his uncle left the American patrol and returned to England—leaving Dominick stranded as a servant for months, even years, regardless of whether or not he completed his mission.

  5

  ______

  “I tell you, the woman should be jailed for murder.” Harlan Wilkins’s voice rose through the study door and slammed against Dominick’s ears.

  Dominick paused on his way to perform the ignominious task of emptying the mayor’s chamber pot and waited to hear more.

  “I told you that two days ago and you’ve done nothing,” Wilkins continued to rave.

  Told Kendall what? Dominick frowned. He should have listened in on that dinner between the mayor and the merchant.

  “And I told you two days ago, Harlan,” Kendall responded in a calm voice, “that neither the sheriff nor I have any evidence of murder, certainly not caused by Miss Eckles.”

  Dominick’s fingers closed over the newel post. He scarcely dared breathe for fear of missing a single word.

  “According to my servants,” Wilkins ground out, “my wife took a little tumble. Even if the babe came too early, my wife shouldn’t have died.”

  “Now, Harlan, Miss Eckles said Mrs. Wilkins was out of her head and—”

  “Of course she’d say that.” Something crashed inside the book-lined room.

  Dominick drew his brows together. Anger over a wife’s death was surely understandable, but to blame the poor midwife seemed wide of the mark.

  “She should be removed from her occupation before anyone else dies,” Wilkins commanded. “She’s a heathen anyway.”

  A heathen? Dominick cocked his head, making certain he’d heard correctly. He didn’t think anyone in the civilized parts of America was a heathen.

  “That’s a grave accusation, Harlan,” Kendall said. “And even if it were true, it wouldn’t support accusations of incompetence at her profession.”

  “She hasn’t gone to church in a year,” Wilkins pointed out. “And we shouldn’t have someone without a Christian faith delivering our young into the world. Maybe if she’d prayed, my wife would still be alive.”

  “And maybe,” Kendall said with a tone of steel, “if you’d been home praying instead of at the Fisherman’s Tavern, your wife would be home and well right now.”

  “Why you—you—” Wilkins spluttered to a halt.

  Dominick sprinted into the parlor across the hall just in time to avoid being caught eavesdropping, as the study door burst open and Harlan Wilkins surged into the entryway.

  “You’ll regret taking her side,” he tossed over his shoulder, then slammed out of the front door.

  “Some men must blame others for their misfortunes,” Kendall said from the library doorway. “Have you found it so, Cherrett?”

  “Sir?” Dominick emerged from the parlor.

  Kendall chuckled. “Next time you choose to eavesdrop on one of my conversations, don’t stand on the bottom step. It squeaks.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir.” Dominick grimaced. “I didn’t notice.” He’d skipped over it the night he sneaked out of the house.

  “I did. But no harm done. If you happen to encounter Miss Eckles while on your errands, do warn her that Wilkins is speaking against her.”

  “Yes, sir. I will consider it my duty to do so, sir.”

  He saw the midwife Thursday morning as he followed Letty around the vendors who gathered in the square most mornings, selling fish and early produce, butter and cream. Carrying a basket like a common footman, he espied Tabitha Eckles choosing her own wares. Once, he caught her eye and coaxed a smile from her. Another time, he saw her lingering over a stall of used goods, fingering the spine of a worn volume. Such a look of longing etched her delicate features, he had to stop and speak to her.

  “My mother loved that book.”

  She jerked her hand away as though the leather had turned to hot coals, but she smiled at him. “My mother brought it home to me from a patient once, but my father said it was silly and wouldn’t let me read it. He made me read things other than novels.”

  “I haven’t read it either.” He picked up the book, casting the seller a frown to keep him from protesting. “Evangeline sounded like something a female would read. But I miss—”

  “Dominick, where are you?” Letty called.

  He sighed and returned the book to the shelf. “I hope to see you again soon. I have something I have to tell you, but not here in public. If we could meet—”

  “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “But—”

  “Dominick?” Letty sounded impatient.

  “I’ll make a way to talk to you,” Dominick promised.

  Tabitha didn’t respond, but a glance back told him she watched him stride away.

  He smiled. The midwife liked to read. If only he could purchase the book, he could take it to her, lend it to her. But he had no money and thus no excuse to seek her out.

  He didn’t see her for what remained of that week. But snippets of overheard talk told him Wilkins was speaking against her. No one seemed to hold much credence in the censure of her skill. Still, she needed to know, for her own sake.

  For his own sake, Dominick feared that, if he didn’t find her soon, Kendall’s guests would arrive, and Dominick would have no free moments to slip away until they departed. By that time, he feared she would have forgotten him. Of course, if she did, he would have no reason to pursue her, to persuade her he was the kindest, most gentlemanly of men…

  He didn’t like the notion of having no reason to seek her out, but only because he thought a flirtation with the midwife would ease the tedium of his work, the frustration of being away from the home in Dorset he had rejected and now missed enough to dream about, as though his school holidays had been an endless succession of joyful activity.

  School was where he’d found joy, the books he’d read in secret so his classmates wouldn’t harass him, the schoolmasters who’d encouraged him while keeping his secret. If he had showed academic prowess, his father would have believed himself correct in sending his youngest son into the church.

  Of course, if Dominick had known of another vocation acceptable for a man of his station in life, he might have been able to persuade Bruton, his father, to allow him to head in that direct
ion. Unfortunately, Dominick hadn’t known anything other than getting himself out of a life as a vicar.

  Now that he knew what he wanted, however temporary, it eluded him. She eluded him. Seabourne lay in peaceful mourning over the loss of more young men, without a clue to their whereabouts, and the midwife had vanished from Dominick’s presence like the mist she’d stepped out of on their first encounter.

  Meanwhile, he played his role of butler, preparing for the important guests due to arrive the following week, and chafing under the dullness of his existence. So far, in the nearly three weeks he’d resided under Kendall’s roof, he had served only one guest at a time, and those infrequent. Kendall dined out at the homes of others more than he remained at home. But, at last, he announced that the minister and his family would be coming home with him after church on Sunday.

  “His wife is related to the Lee family, and the niece coming with them is a Lee. So make certain everything goes well,” Kendall admonished Dominick.

  “Yes, sir,” he responded with a calm outward demeanor.

  Inside his uniform, his skin crawled at the idea of serving a minister. The last man of God with whom he’d come face-to-face didn’t want the kind of favor Dominick was prepared to give—his life.

  “Thank you, Lord,” Dominick muttered on his way back to the kitchen. “You have a droll sense of humor, making me wait on one of your servants.”

  Dominick didn’t know who the Lee family was but presumed they could help advance Kendall’s political ambitions. He wondered how the minister felt about being invited because of his wife and not because the mayor wanted spiritual advice. Not that Kendall seemed lacking in his faith. He read his Bible along with the newspaper every morning. For all Dominick knew, the minister liked political connections as much as did the mayor. The vicars whom the Marquess of Bruton appointed to the livings he controlled tended in that direction. The dozens of other vicars whom Dominick had made a point of meeting preferred other distractions to keep them from serving God.

  Perhaps Sunday should be the day he acquired a case of the ague or broke a leg. He disliked the idea of bowing and scraping to men who traded favors for advancement in their profession, when they were supposed to have thoughts of a spiritual nature.

  “I believe I’ll direct the serving from in here,” Dominick told Letty Sunday morning. “I’d rather not serve the dinner.”

  “It’s your job to carve the meat for guests,” Letty said. “Carry the roast to the sideboard and lay a slice on each plate. Deborah or Dinah will take the plates to the guests, and they’ll pass around the removes.”

  “I know how a dinner is served,” Dominick responded. “But I’ve never done the actual work. That is…” He eyed the hunk of meat glistening under a glaze of juice. “I have no idea how to carve.”

  Letty sighed. “Whatever got a gentleman’s son into a situation like you’re in, if it wasn’t females or gaming?”

  “Stubbornness. Now show me what to do.”

  She showed him on a ham. Preserved in salt, it needed a swift, hard slice of the knife to break through the surface, but he managed to make credibly even and straight wheels of meat. He didn’t think about the tenderness of the roasted beef presiding on its china platter.

  Deborah and Dinah carried the bowls of crab soup to each guest. All Dominick had to do was stand at the sideboard and fill the bowls from a tureen. Trying not to yawn, he watched the guests from beneath his lashes and realized halfway through the first course that one of the guests watched him in return.

  She was the minister’s niece, a golden-haired beauty with eyes the color of spring grass. From beneath her own long, dark lashes, she gazed at Dominick and ignored her food and her aunt’s frowns. When their eyes met, she smiled and looked away.

  Dominick pretended not to notice. Flirting with the guests was certainly not acceptable for him. Flirting with a servant was not acceptable for her, and he would never be the cause of a lady getting into an awkward situation, however unwittingly.

  He picked up the now empty tureen and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Do tell us about your manservant, Mayor Kendall,” the young woman said as the door swung shut behind him.

  Dominick thudded the basin onto the table. “That young lady needs some lessons in decorum.”

  “She’s got an eye for you.” Deborah nearly doubled over laughing. “Never saw the like, a lady flirting with a servant.”

  “She recognizes quality.” Dinah tossed her head. “But Reverend Downing would be well served to marry that one off again soon.”

  “Again?” Dominick paused. “She’s a widow?”

  “Two and twenty and recently out of mourning.” Letty spooned gravy into a bowl. “She was downcast, so her parents sent her here to the seaside for the summer.”

  “The only thing she’s cast down,” Deborah said, “is her handkerchief for Mr. Cherrett.”

  Dominick’s cheeks grew warm. “Don’t be absurd, Deb.”

  “Stop gossiping about the guests and take in the next course,” Letty directed.

  Dominick lifted the roast and carried it into the dining room. The niece tried to catch his eye again, but he kept his own gaze downcast and set the meat on the sideboard.

  “When do the senators arrive?” Reverend Downing was asking.

  Apparently talk about the butler had been brief. Dominick doubted that would have been the situation if Kendall knew how his butler ended up in Virginia.

  Dominick picked up the carving knife.

  “Tuesday or Wednesday,” Kendall answered. “If the fine weather holds. But I’ll see they come to church on Sunday.”

  Dominick steadied the roast with a fork held in one hand and positioned the knife in the other hand for the first cut, the well-done end piece that would go to Mrs. Downing, as she preferred her meat nearly burned, according to Letty.

  “Why doesn’t your midwife go to church?” Mrs. Lee asked. “I hear talk she’s a heathen.”

  Dominick stood still, knife poised above the roast. He was glad the woman had chosen to talk of someone besides him, but asking about Tabitha surprised him into waiting for the answer.

  “She’s lost a number of important people in her life over the past few years.” Kendall spoke slowly, as though thinking over each word. “She stopped going after her grandmother died year before last, leaving her alone in the world except for her servants.”

  “The poor woman,” Mrs. Lee murmured. “You should invite her to dinner, Uncle.”

  “You’re right, Phoebe.” Reverend Downing cleared his throat. “I get so busy with my regular parishioners, I can often neglect others in the town in need. Dinner it is.”

  “Speaking of dinner…” Kendall’s chair creaked. “Are we going to enjoy any of that roast, Mr. Cherrett?”

  “Yes, of course, sir.” Ears hot beneath his powdered hair, Dominick fixed his attention on the roast. Picturing the ham, he jerked the knife downward into the tender roast. The blade struck bone, deflected, and drove the point into the palm of his other hand.

  7

  ______

  “Miss Eckles?”

  Her thoughts back in the mayor’s garden, Tabitha started at the sound of a soft voice calling her name. She turned to see an unfamiliar young woman trotting toward her.

  “I’m so glad I reached you in time.” Golden curls bouncing beneath the brim of a cream straw hat with lavender ribbons, the woman slid to a halt on the sandy path to the beach. “We could really use your services.”

  “Yes?” Tabitha waited for the woman to catch her breath.

  She knew of no one in the area even close to labor except for Marjorie Parks, a sailor’s wife, and to have two people be injured on a Sunday afternoon was unusual.

  “It’s the dog.” The young woman turned the pink of a begonia as she spoke in a voice as sweet and slow as honey. “She’s whelping. Or she’s trying to, and something seems to be wrong. Can you help her?”

  “I can try.” Tabitha didn’
t smile. The request wasn’t unusual, not common, but this wasn’t the first time she’d been called to the lying-in of a creature that was not human. And a dog was a whole lot more pleasant a prospect than a pig or a cow, both of whom she’d helped through labor.

  “Where is this?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Mrs. Phoebe Lee, Reverend Downing’s niece.”

  “Ah, Reverend Downing will do anything to get me near his church.” Tabitha smiled now. “What kind of dog is she and when did you notice she was in trouble?”

  “I noticed her pacing around before church this morning and thought it might be her time.” Mrs. Lee spun on a dainty heel, sending the flounce at the bottom of her lavender gown fluttering in the sea breeze, and headed back toward town with Tabitha beside her. “And when we got home from Mayor Kendall’s, poor little Ginger was on her side in the garden, panting and whimpering. I saw you go past and thought maybe you could help.”

  “I usually can.” Tabitha eyed the lovely young woman, who looked like she’d walked off the page of an English periodical rather than gone running after the midwife for the minister’s spaniel. “Is there a servant available to help me?”

  “No, Reverend Downing gives his servants the day off on the Sabbath, but I can help.” Mrs. Lee smiled. “I’m a widow, not unmarried like the Downing daughters. They all ran inside at the first sign of the dog’s condition, and Uncle is visiting a sick parishioner. That leaves me.”

  “Have you ever attended at a lying-in?” Tabitha asked as they reached the town square. “Or perhaps you have children of your own?”

  “No.” The curtness of the word was unusual in the sweet voice, then Mrs. Lee giggled. “But I’ve been around a number of cats and dogs in a similar situation.”

  “Then you can help me, if you like, but I suggest you change. I seem to already have blood on my dress.”

  Dominick Cherrett’s blood, because she’d held his hand too tightly, too close over her lap when she’d tended to his cut.