Instead of turning Miriam out, Silas had taken it upon himself to find her a husband, a man ofhischoosing. It wasn’t long till he found what he considered to be a suitable contender in Mr. Stephen Paget. Miriam, however, had resisted the notion of an arranged marriage before even meeting the man. Having since met him, she’d prayed for something,anything, that might allow her to escape her fate.
Mr. Paget, a widower of the parish, was easily thrice her age, balding and bandy-legged, who unabashedly licked his lips in her presence while leering at her like a predator eyeing its prey. Of course, Silas could not actually force her to marry the fellow. Her refusal, however, might allow him to cast her out with justification, citing defiance and obstinacy, both sins in the eyes of God. In any case, Silas intended to post the banns for the first time this coming Sunday, which meant Miriam had three weeks to choose her fate. Marriage to Mr. Paget or…
Or what?
The silence of the church calmed Miriam’s nerves as she settled down to clean the brasses. In no rush to return home, she took her time, quietly reliving her experience at the scéance the previous day and her time in the cemetery that morning.
If her mother’s visit to the scéance was to be believed, a solution to Miriam’s worrying dilemma was within her grasp. But what of this angel? Might it be Daniel Barton? It didn’t seem likely. Miriam frowned as she recalled his initial odd response to her, almost as if he knew her. She was certain, however, they had never met till that moment. And who was Alice? Miriam had wracked her brains trying to recall if her mother had ever mentioned someone of that name. Nothing came to mind. Perhaps Miss Grey had misheard.
After tidying everything away and placing the altar cross and candlesticks back in their place, Miriam headed home. Hopefully, Silas had been delayed and wouldn’t be there.Unfortunately, his hat and coat, hanging on the Rectory’s hall stand, indicated otherwise. The house was quiet, and a vague sense of foreboding set Miriam’s scalp tingling. She hung her coat, removed her bonnet, and went into the parlor to see Silas at the window, gazing out, chin in the air, hands behind his back, clutching a leather riding crop.
“I am returned, Silas,” she said, a chill brushing across her nape as she eyed the whip. “The brasses have been cleaned.”
Silas rocked on his heels but remained silent. Miriam’s stomach clenched. “Silas?” She took a step closer. “Why do you not answer? Is something wrong?”
Silas turned, chest rising as he inhaled deeply. Then, still clutching the crop, he went to the parlor door, closed it, and turned the brass key sitting in the lock.
“Why did you do that?” Miriam asked, suppressing a shiver. “What is going on, Silas?”
“I visited the West Chapel Workhouse this morning,” he said, dropping the key into his waistcoat pocket. “Met a lady there. A volunteer by the name of Mrs. Timms, a parishioner of mine. Do you happen to know where Mrs. Timms lives, Miriam?”
Frowning, Miriam pondered a moment and then shook her head. “No, Silas, I do not. I’ve never heard of her. Answer me. Why did you lock the door?”
“You might be interested to learn that Mrs. Timms lives on Stonefeather Road.” A smile appeared, utterly void of humor. “Number thirty-two, to be precise, which just happens to be across the road from number thirty-three.”
Miriam’s blood turned to ice as she realized the direction of his mind. “I… I don’t understand.”
Another smile appeared as Silas moved closer, stroking a forefinger along the length of the crop. “I have a feeling you understand completely, but I’ll cater to your feigned ignorance with an explanation. It seems the woman who lives at numberthirty-three is known to be the Devil’s conduit. A blasphemer. A necromancer. Are you beginning to see the direction of this conversation now, Miriam?”
Miriam lifted her chin. “No, sir. I am not.”
“Liar!” It happened in the blink of an eye, the hard snap of leather against flesh, followed by a sharp, burning sting across Miriam’s right cheek. She let out a yelp and covered her cheek with her hand. Silas’s lip furled. “You were seen leaving the house yesterday after you—”
“How dare you strike me!” Trembling and fighting tears, her hand still covering her cheek, Miriam stepped back. Silas had been verbally sharp with her many times, but this was the first time he’d struck her.
“And howdareyou lie, deceive, and blaspheme while living beneath my roof?” Spittle gathered in the corners of Silas’s mouth as his flesh darkened to red. “Howdareyou enter a house of sin? Howdareyou make me look like a fool in front of my parishioners? I swear before God, I shall beat the wickedness out of you this day, you… you littlewitch.”
“No!” Miriam ran to the door and clawed madly at the handle. As the shadow of Silas loomed behind her, she turned to face him, pressing herself back against the door. “I just wanted to speak to Mama, Silas, that’s all,” she cried. “It wasn’t evil. I meant no harm. Have mercy, please. I beg of you.”
Silas’s expression softened and the hand clutching the crop lowered as he regarded her for a moment. “Three more weeks,” he said. “Just three more weeks, and you’ll belong to Paget. Either that, or you’ll be seeking charity from Mrs. Timms at the workhouse. I doubt I’d be condemned for sending you there.” A sneer came to his face as he lifted the whip once more. “Beating the wickedness out of you will be my last obligation, and I am duty bound to fulfill it.”
Chapter Three
Daniel’s dreams ofMiss Sinclair had stopped. At least, there hadn’t been a recurrence since that foggy morning a week ago when Daniel had first met her. He hadn’t seen her in reality since then, either. To his dismay, she hadn’t been there when he’d last visited his mother’s grave two days ago. He found her absence concerning, for if memory served, Miss Sinclair had stated that she visited the cemetery every morning. Yet the wilting flowers on Evadne Miller’s grave suggested an absence of several days.
On this particular morning, as Daniel made his way along the cemetery path under cloudy skies, he wondered—no, hehoped—he would find Miss Sinclair at the graveside. His hope faded as the empty bench came into sight. Worse, as he drew near, he noticed the same, wilted bunch of flowers on Evadne Miller’s grave. It seemed Miss Sinclair hadn’t been here all week.
Staring at the floral remains, Daniel searched for some kind of reasoning, the most likely being that Miss Sinclair was unwell. Something trivial, God willing, but enough to keep her from venturing out. Not that Daniel was in a position to make enquiries. Despite his dreams, he and Miss Sinclair, in reality, had shared nothing but a brief conversation, which brought something she’d said to mind.
Today was Wednesday, the day when Miss Sinclair supposedly cleaned the church brasses. Perhaps Daniel couldmake some enquiries about her at the church, assuming someone was there. Definitely worth a try!
Heaving a sigh, he approached Evadne Miller’s grave, removed the rotting flowers, and replaced them with several blooms from the bouquet he’d brought for his mother. Then he went to his mother’s grave to place the remaining flowers, pausing for a moment to ponder the recently-placed headstone, which he had carved from the finest Carrara marble. The sculpture had been an endeavor of love for Daniel, one that had taken several weeks. It had also been a cathartic exercise. Watching the angel emerge from the block of marble had helped to ease the grief that weighed upon him.
“Hope you approve, Mama,” he muttered, as he bent to place the flowers. At that same moment, the skies opened, releasing large, heavy drops that splattered on the marble and pummeled the earth. Uttering a mild curse, Daniel straightened and threw an irritated glance at the sky. Despite the downpour, he was still determined to visit St. Mark’s to ask after Miss Sinclair. He wouldn’t be able to rest till he learned the reason for her absence. The way she’d shifted the conversation away from herself bothered him, as did the fear in her voice whenever she mentioned her stepbrother. Besides, although the strange dreams had stopped, Daniel still hoped to solve their mystery, and he suspected Miriam Sinclair had the answer.
He lifted his collar against the rain, turned to leave, and gasped with shock at the sight of the small, dark figure standing behind him.
“Miss Sinclair!”
