Daniel had the distinct impression that Miss Sinclair was deliberately steering the conversation away from her. “I have a great aunt who lives in Cornwall, though I visit rarely. We share a couple of letters a year. Otherwise, no. Now that my mother is gone, I have no one. As for an occupation, I’m a stonemason.”
“That is a broad field, sir. Do you have a specialty?” She glanced about. “Headstones, perhaps?”
He chuckled. “Not usually, no, though I am currently working on something along those lines. My specialty is the reparation and restoration of historical buildings and artefacts.”
Miss Sinclair’s face brightened instantly. “Oh, how fascinating! I possess a love of history, especially ancient history. I imagine it must be rewarding to bring things back to the way they used to be.”
“It is indeed, Miss Sinclair, very rewarding,” Daniel replied, aware of a sudden yet vague stirring deep down. Unsettling, but not unpleasant. He had so many questions, but didn’t dare ask them. How could he? The impossible scenario played out in the safety of his mind.
My dear Miss Sinclair, although we have never met before this day, I must tell you that you have been in my nightly dreams this past fortnight, and I understand you need my protection. May I know from what? Or from whom?This stepbrother of yours, perhaps?
It was laughable. Such an outburst would result in the girl being convinced of his madness and fleeing as if her life depended on it. Besides, providing protection and sanctuary to a woman demanded a commitment of some sort. Though in his twenty-eighth year, Daniel had not given much thoughtto marriage. Life, so far, had kept him away from such considerations. In recent times, his main concern had been the care of his mother. That, and the demands of his trade, had left little room for courtship.
“Well, Mr. Barton, it would seem my friend has been overly delayed,” Miss Sinclair said, rising to her feet. “I think, perhaps, I should be on my way.”
“So soon?” Daniel rose also, cursing inwardly at his careless spell of silence, which had likely been misconstrued as indifference. He should have kept the girl talking to learn more about her, and perhaps begin to solve the mystery of her. “I hope it is not on my account. You’ve hardly been seated five minutes.”
“But I was here a good while before you arrived, sir. Close to an hour all told, breathing this unpleasant air. I think it best I go.”
Daniel grabbed at an opportunity. “I understand, of course. Given the conditions, Miss Sinclair, and the fact that your friend has not appeared, please allow me to escort you from the cemetery.”
She hesitated a moment. “Would it not be out of your way? I came via Chester Street. I believe your direction is elsewhere.”
Daniel shook his head, hoping his desperation to remain at her side didn’t show. “It means a detour of several minutes, that is all. Not out of my way at all.”
*
Miriam trusted herinstincts, which told her the man at her side was as harmless as he appeared to be. This, despite his unsettling first reaction to her, when he looked as if he’d seen a ghost! Perhaps the fog and her dark attire gave him the impression of one. In any case, he’d since redeemed himself, though Miriam still had a suspicion that something wasbothering him. Having so recently lost his mother, he was, of course, in mourning. Perhaps that was it. Something they had in common.
In any case, all things considered, Mr. Barton appeared to be a decent man, well-mannered and intelligent. Taller than Miriam by a foot, he looked to be in his mid-twenties, though possibly a bit older. She quietly thought him handsome as well, with the hint of a sparkle in his green eyes, and curls of dark blond poking out from beneath his hat. No doubt his profession was responsible for his broad shoulders and overall trim physique. In any case, despite her initial wariness, Miriam now felt at ease beside him. However, when it came to him being an angelic candidate, she couldn’t see how he might be thusly considered. He was most definitely mortal, and his arrival at the graveside, though surprising, had not been an epiphany, nor had it promised deliverance from Miriam’s fears. Besides, this was only her first visit since the scéance yesterday. The message from her mother had asked that she be present every morning till the angel appeared. A mystery yet to resolve itself. What might happen after that remained to be seen.
“Do you visit the cemetery every day, Miss Sinclair?” Mr. Barton asked, pulling her from her reverie.
“Weather permitting,” she replied. “It’s peaceful here, especially early in the morning.”
“Yes, that it is. So, you’re going home now?”
“Actually, no, I’m going to St Mark’s to clean the brasses. I do so every Wednesday.”
“I see,” Mr. Barton said, as the entrance to the cemetery came into view. “I’ll be happy to escort you there if you—”
“No,” she replied abruptly, and instantly regretted the outburst. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir, that was rude of me. I truly appreciate the offer but I have no need of an escort beyond the gate.”
Mr. Barton paused at the gate and regarded her, a slight frown creasing his brow. “In that case, Miss Sinclair,” he said, quietly, “I shall bid you a good day.”
“And I bid you the same, Mr. Barton,” she said, ashamed by the puzzlement in his voice, no doubt caused by her rudeness. What must he think of her? “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said, still frowning. “Perhaps we might meet again next week.”
“Perhaps.” Miriam gave him a quick smile and turned on her heel in readiness to leave, but paused and regarded him once more. “Please do not think badly of me, sir. I am not usually so ill-mannered.”
The frown disappeared. “Rest assured, Miss Sinclair, I do not think badly of you at all.” The hint of a smile appeared as he touched his hat. “Quite the contrary.”
Miriam inclined her head and then went on her way. “Quite the contrary?” she muttered. the warmth in her cheeks rising as she hurried down the street.
Thoughts of Daniel Barton occupied Miriam’s mind as she walked to St. Mark’s, proving to be a pleasant diversion from the anxiety that usually weighed upon her. As she drew near to the church, however, the anxiety returned, even though she knew Silas wouldn’t be there. He always spent Wednesday mornings doing his charity rounds.
Known in the parish as Reverend Miller, Silas was locally considered to be a stern but benevolent man. Only at home did the harsh side of Miriam’s stepbrother show itself. He made no attempt to hide his resentment at Miriam’s presence in the Rectory. She was an unwanted legacy from his father’s second marriage, one he was not obliged to accept. To refuse her a home after her mother’s death, however, would not have looked well on him, especially given his calling. Heaven forbid his polished reputation be tarnished!
