Stranger at the Crossroads
Anne Rollins
Chapter One
October 27, 1841
When Lucy beganher long walk back to civilization, the waxing moon peeked out from behind ragged clouds, illuminating her path. But a storm was rolling in, and by the time she stopped to catch her breath, the glimpses of moonlight were few and far between.
Not a pleasant night for a walk! The wind nipped at her cheeks and tugged at her cloak. She shivered and drew the cloak more tightly around her. The large stone on which she perched provided a place to rest, but it did nothing to block out the cold. She’d worn a hole in her left stocking, and she could already tell that she was going to find a blister when she took off her half boots.
And when would she be able to do that? According to the milestone, she would have at least an hours’ walk before she reached Knightsford. Probably closer to two hours, given how tired she was. If only she’d asked the driver of the hack to wait while she knocked on the door at Starnhold! By the time she learned her services were no longer needed, her means of transportation was long gone.
Lucy smothered a yawn. Five miles to go before she found a comfortable bed. At least, she hoped it would be comfortable. One could never be sure about such isolated country inns.
She reluctantly forced herself to her feet, only to pause when she heard the distant rumble of a carriage. At first, she doubted her ears. Another traveler, atthishour? But when she turned to look, bright carriage lights rolled into sight as the vehicle rounded a curve in the road.
The carriage approached at a snail’s pace. The horses dropped from a slow trot to a walk as the vehicle neared the crossroad.
“Whoa there!” The coachman drew the carriage to a halt a few yards past the signpost.
Must’ve missed their turn, Lucy concluded. Any minute now, the coachman would turn the carriage around.
Instead, the carriage door swung open, and someone staggered out. Lucy watched, baffled, as the tall figure regained his footing... and stalked towards her.
The shiver that crept over her had nothing to do with the biting wind. In the dark, she saw only that the approaching stranger was tall, male, and not too steady on his feet. Maybe he was unwell.
Or maybe she was in trouble.
“Can I help you, sir?” Her voice sounded surprisingly calm. Apparently, the cold fear that gripped her had not affected her vocal cords. “Are you unwell?”
“I have been worse,” the man called back. “I will be better after I have laid you to rest.”
“After you havewhat?” She could not have heard him right. “Excuse me, sir, but I am a lady.”
“Yes, I see that.” He came to a halt before her. A shaft of moonlight illuminated his face, revealing dark stubble, a bold chin, and a patrician nose. “A gray lady. Isn’t that what they call your sort? Though in our house, she is always said to be silvery-white rather than gray.” He scanned her up and down.
Lucy glanced down at her cloak. She had to admit that in the moonlight, its dull slate blue looked gray.
“So, lady ghost, what must I do to put you to rest? I am afraid I haven’t any holy water on hand, but I could try praying. Not that it has worked for me in the past, mind you, but I am game to try.”
She had figured out what was wrong with the stranger. He was not hurt or sick, but he was at least two sheets to the wind.
“Sir,” Lucy said, “I believe you have had too much to drink. I think you had better go home and rest.” And he’d better do it soon, before he got into trouble.
“And leave you to haunt the crossroad? I think not!” He cleared his throat and took a step closer. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I command you—”
“I am not a ghost!” Lucy had been accosted by drunken men before, but she had never before been mistaken for a phantom.
“Well, you certainly look ghastly.” Before she could do more than gasp at the insult, he leaned closer and poked her in the arm.
“Sir, I must ask you not to touch me!” Lucy hissed, clenching her hands tightly. Even a lady’s companion should not have to face such indignities.
“You seem solid enough,” the stranger mused. “Perhaps you aren’t a spirit after all.” He studied her, then shook his head. “If you’re not haunting the crossroads, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night? You must be rather far from home.”
“Very far from home.” Lucy’s shoulders slumped.
The stranger’s ridiculous mistake had distracted her from the weight of the day’s disappointments, but they came pressing down on her again. What was she to do now that her plans had fallen through? There was no way to contact her would-be employer. Mrs. Macrae had moved away without even leaving a forwarding address.
