the vessel, but neither he nor his body had been found. The entire cargo of fifty large crates was his property and would be shipped to the location determined before the storm. The escaped dog was being sought by members of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
The abandoned boat slumped against the shoreline like some lone convict awaiting sentencing.
Chapter Seven
The room was growing dark so I struck a match and lit a bedside lamp. Lucy squinted against the light, shading her eyes with her hand. I sat on the bed next to her, blocking the light for her while her eyes adjusted.
“Oh, I cannot move,” she said, closing her eyes again. I thought for a moment that she would fall back asleep and that I would have a reprieve. But she opened her eyes again, and this time, with an anxious look.
“Well? Did you speak with him?” Despite the lethargy in her body, her eyes peered at me as if she were the predator and I the prey.
“Lucy, my darling, there is no gentle or nice way to say what I must say.” I put my hand over hers, but she drew it away.
I told her the truth: I had gone to speak with Morris Quince, but he had left to go back to America. She did not react as I anticipated, with tears or self-recrimination. She leapt from the bed and tore off her nightdress. She pulled the dress I had laid on the back of a chair over her head. “I don’t believe you,” she said when her head popped out of the top.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You are making too much noise. Your mother is asleep. You’ll wake her.”
“I am going to see for myself. Mina, you have been in league with my mother since you have been here in Whitby. I should never have trusted you.”
She slipped her shoes on but did not bother to lace them and raced to the front door, where she was met with a shock. John Seward and Arthur Holmwood were standing there, Holmwood’s hand raised as if to knock.
“There she is,” Arthur said, kissing Lucy’s forehead. The men entered the room, and Seward put down his black bag. “Miss Lucy, you really should not be out of bed, what with all you have been through.”
Hearing the men’s voices, Mrs. Westenra came rushing in. “Ah, our knights have arrived!”
The men came deeper into the parlor, removing their hats. Everyone stood awkwardly until Mrs. Westenra called for Hilda to make tea.
I will never forget the way that Lucy composed herself at that moment to get the information she so desperately sought. She took a breath and broke into a smile. I knew the smile was utterly false, but I think that the men did not see it. She graciously invited them to sit down. “Mr. Holmwood, I hope you did not upset your holiday in Scarborough for my sake, for as you can see, I am very well.”
“You look as lovely as ever, Miss Lucy,” he said formally. “But I think we should let the good doctor here be the judge of your health.”
“Of course,” Lucy said, looking around the room as if something were missing. “But where there are two, there are usually three. Where is Mr. Quince?”
She astonished me with her innocent tone. Her mother stiffened.
“Why, I have no idea,” Holmwood replied. “He was to travel by land and meet me in Scarborough, but the wretch did not.” His voice was inflected with the sort of affection men reserve for their irascible friends. He turned to Seward. “John, have you heard from Quince?”
Seward scrunched his shoulders in a shrug. “He is our friend, but we allow him to be socially unreliable, as Americans tend to be.”
Holmwood spoke slowly, considering his words. “An interesting breed, but they do not have an English gentleman’s sense of honor, or of the sanctity of his word. He is probably off on an adventure, as per usual. Probably involving one young lady or another.” Holmwood winked at Seward.
“Miss Lucy, you look a little peaked. I would like to check your vital signs,” Dr. Seward said.
But Lucy had reached the limit of her acting skills. “I am not ill. I am well!” Lucy stood, raising her hands into the air like a dancer and then letting her fingers glide down the length of her body as if to emphasize its state of well-being. “I am all
“I apologize on my daughter’s behalf,” Mrs. Westenra said. “She is not herself since the incident.”
“It’s a typical response from a female who has been attacked, Arthur,” Dr. Seward said. “One must not blame the patient.”
Both Seward and Mrs. Westenra searched Holmwood’s face, looking for signals of his mood.
“Why don’t I go check on Lucy?” I said. I started to make my way to Lucy’s room when Holmwood stopped me. He had yet to comment on Lucy’s outburst, but his face was wrenched into an uneasy frown. “Miss Mina, would you please take a message to Miss Lucy?”
Mrs. Westenra put her hand on Holmwood’s sleeve. “Now, Arthur, please do not take any drastic measures. Lucy has had an upset, but she will recover and she will again be the Lucy you proposed to.”
Holmwood look appalled at the lady’s little speech. “Madam, you misinterpret. I would never abandon Lucy in her hour of need.” He looked truly insulted. “Please tell Miss Lucy that whatever unfortunate thing has happened, it will not cause me to love her less. In fact, I-I-” he stammered, looking to Seward as if for inspiration or permission, “In fact, tell her that I wish to expedite the day of our marriage. Tell her that I desire nothing more than to care for her as a husband must care for his wife, and that I shall set an immediate date for our wedding.”
“Mr. Holmwood, I am overwhelmed!” exclaimed Mrs. Westenra, as if it were she who would marry him the sooner.
“That should go a long way to speeding up Lucy’s recovery,” I said politely, though I knew the opposite to be true. I excused myself, with the three of them watching me as I walked away. I found Lucy in the bedroom sitting at the vanity brushing her hair and examining her face in the mirror.
“Mina, I know you think me a fool, but my heart beats with the certainty that Morris would not have abandoned me to Arthur of his own volition.”
“Let us put aside Morris Quince for a moment Lucy-”
She stopped me, holding the hairbrush in front of her like a shield against my words. “I will never put Morris Quince aside. If you knew anything about love, you would not advise me to do so,” Lucy said.
I intended to give an impassioned speech about the wisdom of marrying Arthur Holmwood and becoming mistress of Waverley Manor, when we heard the light rap of Hilda’s knuckles at the door.
“Miss Murray?”
I opened the door, and Hilda handed me a letter. “This just came for you by messenger.”
“Thank you, Hilda,” I said. The envelope of high-quality laid paper with a teardrop flap and a dragon seal was addressed to Miss Mina Murray. The script was extravagant, with large letters finely formed. I tore open the envelope and read the note given in the same penmanship:
