Arm in arm, Eliza and Minney passed through the lych-gate and into the churchyard of stone, moss-covered markers, and tomb chests. “Do you know where to look?”
“This way, Miss Gillingham.” The girl quickened her pace. “Good thing’ee brought me with ye, right? Ye’d never find it without me, would’ee?”
“No, never.”
Nearer to the rear of the church, Minney bent next to several headstones, read the inscriptions, shook her head, then moved on. Finally, she pointed to two sandstone markers, both with crosses adorning the top. “Here they be, methinks. I remember ’cause I come here sometimes. To visit Papa. Mamm’s not here though. Still in Cornwall, she is.”
Eliza bent next to the first grave. Tiny raindrops fell, as she read the inscription and epitaph, then left pink roses on the mound. What would her life have been like just now if this grave were not here? If she’d always been at Monbury Manor, loved by both parents, comfortable in the ways of society? What would it have been like to have a mother? To feel that kiss, the one the woman in the bed had pressed to cheek, just as it happened in the hazy memory?
“And’ee brother.” Minney motioned to the second one. “Don’t’ee forget about him.”
No, she hadn’t forgotten. Maybe she had for all these years, but not now. She moved beside the second grave, traced her finger along the carved words. This was a part of her. The two lying here, dead to the world, were lost remains she had once loved with everything she knew.
But she had lost them.
And forgotten them.
And loved someone else. Now that someone else was lost to her too. Her dear Captain. Was that the way of life? Having, then losing?
“Miss Gillingham.” The girl’s bony finger jabbed into Eliza’s shoulder. “Look.”
Rising to her feet, Eliza scanned the graveyard. “What do you see?”
“Someone be here. I see’d them.”
The drizzle turned harsher and all the gravestones took on a shiny gleam. Nothing stirred. “I don’t see anything, Minney. Come, let us look at your Papa’s grave—”
“No, no. Leave. Let’s leave.”
“But I thought—”
“Please, Miss Gillingham. I don’t want’ee to stay. Something’ll happen to’ee. I know it.” With a panicky hold on Eliza’s arm, the girl whisked her through the markers in the pelting downpour. They were near the lych-gate when Eliza looked over her shoulder.
Half-hidden behind a tomb chest, a cloaked man flashed out of sight.
Eliza’s heartbeat thudded. They darted for the carriage and scrambled inside before the footman had time to help them. She would not let her imagination overtake her. Not this time. ’Twas probably someone who tended the graves. The vicar, perhaps. Maybe a local urchin boy looking to dig up a grave and loot a gold tooth or two.
Or was her imagination working against her now too, making her deny the obvious?
From across the carriage, with wet hair stuck to her cheeks, Minney’s face twisted in fear and dread and all the things Eliza didn’t want to admit.
Because whoever was in the graveyard had been waiting for her. As if he’d known she would come.
As if someone had already told him she was on her way.
This was an oddity.
Felton stole two glances right and left before he crossed over to the carriage house. No sign of Curry or Mr. Timbrell, but then again, the two were probably already abed for the night. Who wouldn’t be two hours after dark?
Careful not to make much noise, he pulled open one red door and stepped into darkness. The door along the left wall was ajar, and a soft spill of light waited for him.
That wasn’t the only thing waiting for him, either.
His heart picked up pace for reasons he didn’t want to think about—let alone have. He was a fool for coming here at the hasten of a note. His secret trysts with Miss Haverfield were different. They were harmless and flirtatious and more pride-inducing than anything else.
But this…well, this was another matter.
And it unsettled him.
