“Over there. The lady in purple and her servant,” Aunt Mildred said. And then the two of them zipped away.
Sophie could see them hovering over a lady wearing a dark purple cloak with a matching feathered bonnet. Her footman followed behind with a parcel from the drapers tucked under his arm.Oh no! What are they planning now?
Just then, a gust of wind almost blew Sophie off her feet. She grabbed hold of her cloak, which, despite being fastened at the neck, was certain to fly away. Women on the street screamed, and men held onto their hats as the wind assailed them.
Finally, the wind died down, and Sophie was just able to catch her breath when someone cried, “My fabric! Up there! Someone, help!”
Sophie looked up to see the lady pointing at her parcel as it floated in the air.
Just then, Aunt Mildred chose to make herself visible to Sophie, and with the parcel tucked securely under her arm, she waved down at her and winked.
Oh, Aunt, you are terrible!
*
Simon could notbelieve what he’d just witnessed. He’d been in his carriage, wondering about how he could find the girl from the cemetery, when she suddenly appeared on the street. He’d immediately ordered his driver to stop and hopped out of his carriage. He’d been following her and wondering how to approach her when a great gust of wind almost swept him off his feet. It only lasted a few seconds before it died down, but it had been strong enough to blow a woman’s parcel clear into the sky. The whole episode had left Simon stunned. He’d never experienced anything like it before.
By the time he recovered from the shock, he looked up to see his mystery woman jump into a hansom. He dashed forward, wanting to stop her, but he was too late. Her carriage lurched forward, and she disappeared with it down the street.
Simon stared after the cab and wondered if he’d been hallucinating. How odd that the young lady he’d just been thinking about had appeared on the street before him. And could it be a coincidence that yet another mysterious happening had occurred in her presence? Who was she? He simply had to find out.
And there was only one place he could go to get a clue.
*
Racing back tohis carriage, Simon gave his driver instructions to go to Highgate Cemetery. He had other things on his agenda, but he felt this could not wait. He was eager to know more about this mystery woman who kept appearing at the oddest moments. There was something about her that he could not shake—something that was drawing him to her.
Despite his determination, he felt somewhat foolish when he arrived at the gates of the cemetery some forty-five minutes later. He was behaving like an infatuated schoolboy, coming from the West End to Highgate in the middle of the day when he had work to which to attend.
Nonetheless, he didn’t want to give up and go home, so he entered the cemetery, intent on revisiting the spot where Miss Waterford had fainted. Not because he felt any sort of attachment to Miss Waterford, but because some distant and ridiculous hope existed inside of him that she—his mystery woman—would be nearby. It was a silly endeavor, he knew, but he would justify his trip with a visit to the family crypt afterward.
He tramped through the cemetery, which was littered with soggy fallen leaves. Now and then, as he waded through the mist, he was confronted with a stone face, and though he hated to admit it, it startled him. There were so many sculptures in the cemetery that it was no wonder people thought the place was haunted.
He shook off his discomfort and continued, coming soon to the path that led to Sir Walter’s place of burial. As he approached the grave, he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. Miss Waterford was lying prostrate on the ground again, sans her cloak and shoes, while a man kneeled beside her. Only this time, she had not fainted. This time, she was posing for a portrait!
He noticed that her mother stood nearby, admiring the scene.
“What’s going on here?” he said, looking from Miss Waterford to the artist and his easel.
Miss Waterford sat up. “Lord Rodwell, you’re here! You received my message, then?”
“Your message?” Simon said, utterly confused.
“Yes, I sent a message to your home, asking that you meet me at ‘our special place’ in the cemetery. And here you are!”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re—”
“Isn’t it wonderful! Mama commissioned Mr. Bonetti to commemorate our first meeting.” She gestured to the artist.
“A pleasure to meet you, my lord.” The artist eyed Simon like a hungry cat. “A footman has been standing in for you, so you have arrived at the perfect time.”
Simon glanced at the dark-haired man who kneeled beside Miss Waterford.
“He was a good choice.” Mr. Bonetti stroked his chin. “He is about your height with a similar build, but yours is far superior. I shall make the corrections.”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said, turning back to Miss Waterford. “I fail to understand. Why are you commemorating our first meeting?”
“Because of what Lady Cheshire told Mama.” She smiled coyly.
