Mist of Midnight (27 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

O
n a blustery day soon after, Mr. Highmore arrived.

Landreth let him in and tried to take his cloak, but the solicitor held up his hand. “I wondered if, perhaps, Miss Ravenshaw—and of course Mrs. Ross—would join me for a walk outside to enjoy the brisk autumn air?”

I looked out the front door—it was beginning to grow misty, from the sky and not the ground this time—and the wind was picking up. I imagined that a nice cup of tea near the fire in the drawing room would be far more amenable. But Mr. Highmore was nothing if not a practical man, and so, if he was suggesting this, it was for some good cause. We bundled into warm outer wear and off we went down the steps and between the stone lions. Mr. Highmore offered his arm in a fatherly manner as we made our way through the weather. We came to a bench in a fairly sheltered area and there we sat.

“I am sorry for this unusual suggestion,” he replied. “But I thought you would like some privacy whilst we discuss the issues of your accounts.” He smiled but it was tinged with seriousness. “I'm afraid I have bad news.”

“Go on,” I urged.

“The funds—well, I'm sorry to say that the money in your father's investments are nearly depleted.”

I stood up, and then, aware that there were likely to be eyes peering from the house, sat back down again. “Oh no! Depleted. How can that be?”

He sighed. “It's taken some time to work through the records; there were many investment accounts and they had been directed to various sources. The bulk of the money went to the support of the mission in Travancore.”

I shook my head. “We lived so simply . . .”

“Yes, you did,” he said. “But additionally there were medical expenses, and doctors to be brought, and the educating of your brother. Supplies.”

“I suppose I thought some of that was funded by the Missionary Society,” I said.

“It could have been, but it was your father's implicit request that he fund as much of it on his own as possible, freeing funds for other mission works. I'm certain that he thought Peter would have his own profession . . . truly, Miss Ravenshaw, I suspect he had little idea how much of the funds had been spent and he, we all, thought there would be more left once it was sorted.”

“I see.”

“He certainly thought that you would marry. There are some funds set aside for a dowry, and small amounts in current accounts. The woman claiming to be you spent a good sum on millinery, dresses, and the like. But mostly, it went to the mission field,” he said softly. “You could not have known. I would have had to write to him shortly, informing him, had he not passed away.”

“The repair of the house and gardens?”

“Captain Whitfield paid for them, all necessary, I might add.”

“If my dowry fund needed to be liquidated for that, would it cover the expenses?”

His eyebrows drew together. “Perhaps. But it would deplete them, and you will need funds to operate the house, complete the repairs, upkeep, taxes, and such like.” He put his hand back on my arm. “Headbourne is a large house, Miss Ravenshaw. It consumes quite a lot of money just to keep it running. Laundry bills, entertainment and food. The coal bills alone . . .”

I smiled. Perhaps I could be listed on Lady Ashby's coal charity. Which brought to mind the ragged schools. I had already made some commitment to assist, by teaching, mainly, but had considered helping financially as well if it were possible. Likely it was not.

“Is there money for charity?” I asked.

“You
are
a charity, my dear Miss Ravenshaw,” he said. “Or you will be very shortly.” By now the wind had picked up and I feared that Mrs. Ross's tightly tied bonnet might not hold. Mr. Highmore had been right—I would not want this discussed where ears could pry.

“Household staff?”

“As you'll have noticed, staff salaries are small compared with the other expenses. But you must economize. There are other options.”

“Please tell me. What are these other options?”

“You could always marry, of course,” he said. Luke's charge—
Show me a woman who does not marry for title or for money. You'll not be able to. She doesn't exist—
rang in my ears.

“No, marriage is not an option just now. Even if I wanted it to be. . . .” I trailed off sadly. He looked surprised, but only for a moment.

“You could sell Headbourne. I'm sure we could find a suitable buyer.”

I sat with my hands in my lap. “My family. My father's legacy.” The family, and the legacy, had once been lively and blessed, like the gardens around me; had thrived and had shown such promise and beauty. And now, it seems they were dead, brown, lifeless and crisp, ready to be blown away for good. “I'd meant to steward that which had been left me, and to find and keep financial security. I've done neither.”

He waited a moment before speaking. “Your family's legacy is not in this house, however lovely and ancient it is. It is you, and those they served.”

I looked at him and blinked back the tears. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Highmore, for that kind word of exhortation. Do I have time?”

He nodded. “Some months. End of the year.”

I nodded and stood, deeply chilled in spite of my wool layers. “Thank you, Mr. Highmore. I shall take your concerns with prayerful reflection.”

He repositioned his tall black hat. “I am always here to help, Miss Ravenshaw.”

We walked back to the house, and once inside he gave me a small leather envelope with some cash and a folio of information on my account.

I handed the accounts book to Mrs. Blackwood, who had been assisting me with financial matters, and kept the leather envelope with cash in my room. “Please keep this in confidence. And, soon, I would very much appreciate your going over the household expenses with me so I might properly adjust. You'll know better than I at this point how to best economize.”

“Certainly. I'm here to assist you in any way,” she said quietly, and, I thought, with great compassion.

I blinked back tears and nodded, then she turned to go.

Luke was gone. My house was gone. I had thought to lose one or the other, but not both. I must think, now, push aside grieving for a moment.
What shall I do?

I looked through my wardrobe. Perhaps Matthew's mother would be able to sell some of these fine gowns. I laughed, not wanting to cry. I touched my mother's wedding dress. It was so beautiful and now, I was certain, I would never wear it.

What would my mother do? After some time, I had a growing conviction.
But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.

I knew what I was being pressed to do, a first step, anyway. I did not want to do it at first. But in the end, I was convinced that it was right.

I
waited beside the coach house till Daniel finished up the task at hand. He saw me and came over. “Do you need me, Miss Ravenshaw?”

I nodded. “Would you have a footman deliver this box to Miss Delia Dainley, today, if possible, with all speed?” I handed over a small wooden trunk.

“I can have someone leave shortly,” he said. “It's a slow day.” He grinned and I had the idea that, had we been social equals, he would have winked at me. I liked him.

“Thank you. Do let me know that it's safely delivered.”

I went back to the house and into the music room. I sat at the piano, and lifted the lid. I ran my hands over the keys. My father
had played; surely he had played tunes on this one. Had they had musical evenings together? Did my mother sing to his playing, as she sang without accompaniment in India?

Soon I could see the little heart-shaped carriage approaching the drive. It was Daniel, and he stopped in front of the house rather than drive all the way to the coach house. I met him at the top of the steps.

“She's gone,” he said. “Miss Dainley is on a ship, waiting for the convoy to gather before leaving for India.”

The same fleet Luke was to leave on? Was she going to meet with him in India?

No, that could not be possible. He was in London, not Southampton. The idea of them being together, though, in India gave me pause. It made me wonder if I should carry through with my plan, because if I did, and if they married . . . I could not imagine that pain.

I had a moment to change my mind, a second chance. I pressed forward.

“The fleet tarries?”

He nodded. “For now.”

“Can you take me all the way to Southampton?”

“Of course.” He stopped for a minute. “Is it important?”

“Yes, it is.”

I ran up the stairs in a most unladylike manner, not knowing if the ship were to leave in fifteen minutes or ten days. They waited till there were enough of them to sail safely together, and till the tide was right, and then they set out through the Solent.

“Mrs. Ross?” I pounded on her door. “Can you come along, please? Quickly?”

“Aye, lassie. I'll be right there.”

Daniel helped us each into the carriage.

As we clattered down the drive and through the town, I thought how very much this drive reminded me of my trip to Headbourne some months back. I'd arrived at the docks, ready to embrace unknown England. I'd been fearful and plagued with anguish over the loss of my family, and my home. And now, I rushed toward Delia, who was making my journey in reverse. It was late afternoon, and I hoped that we would reach the docks before darkness descended. It could be a sordid, somewhat squalid place by daylight and I had no desire to be at the wharf in the evening.

I smelt it before I saw it and it brought back powerful memories, the tang of salt preserving the rotting green scent of seaweed. Daniel slowed the carriage and then stopped it completely, asking for directions. There were many ships anchored in the harbor, swaying and bobbing, sails furled. My stomach lurched a little, remembering.

Daniel looked back at me. “I've called out to a few people asking about the ships for India, but no one will respond. They're all occupied.”

“Drive closer,” I instructed him. At one part of the dock, I could see that there were more Indians nearby. I leaned forward toward the front of the carriage. “Lascars?”

Daniel nodded and called back. “Yes, miss. They're most likely sailing to India to work the ships, but many of them live here, now.”

He spoke with a confidence, perhaps borne of experience, that I had not expected. I remembered anew Cook's comment about Daniel taking the Indian maid away.

“Daniel, please help me alight.”

He came near the carriage door. “I don't think it a sound idea, miss,” he said. “We're at the docks.”

I smiled at him. “Yes, I recognize that. Please help me alight.”

He held out his hand. I looked back at Mrs. Ross, and she nodded her approval but called out, in an unusually strained voice, “Doona stray far from the carriage, lassie.”

“I won't.” I stepped out and, with a woman in their midst, the men slowed down.

“Esteemed seamen,” I called out loudly in Tamil, certain that some among them would speak it. “I am in need of assistance.”

Two Indian men came closer to me, and Daniel moved closer yet, looking at me with a mixture of horror and awe.

“Lady, you speak our language as if you were a woman of India,” one of the men said, looking at my fair skin and English finery.

“I am,” I said quietly.

They nodded politely. “How can we be of help to you, respected lady?”

“I am looking for a friend, kind sirs. An Englishwoman sailing to India, and I have a crate that it is very important that she receive. Her name is Miss Delia Dainley. Would any of you be able to check the manifests and see if she is on one of those ships?” I pointed to those lingering in the harbor. I opened my purse and withdrew a coin.

“I can find out for you, miss,” one man said as he took my coin.

I turned to Daniel, whose mouth was agape. “You speak heathen!” he finally choked out.

I laughed. “Oh, Daniel. It's Tamil.”

He closed his mouth.

We passed a few quiet moments and I watched the workers load crates onto the ships. A growing part of me wanted to board
one myself. But there was nothing for me there, really, anymore. Was there?

Shortly, one of the lascars came back and spoke, again in Tamil, to me. “Yes, Miss Dainley is indeed aboard one of the ships. If you'll give your package to me I'll see it reaches her.”

“Thank you. I'd prefer you row me out instead.”

“I cannot, miss. You'd have to climb a rope ladder.”

I saw that this was quite impossible. “Thank you, kind sir.” I held up the wooden crate to him, glad that I had tucked a note of explanation into it for Delia, in case I should not be able to present it to her myself. “This is very dear to me. Please treat it carefully. I shall await your return to know that it found its way safely to Miss Dainley.” He seemed honest, but one could not know. “Please ask her to send a note of acceptance.” I put two pieces of silver in his hand.