Song From the Sea (5 page)

If you only knew
, Callie thought, closing her eyes.
Not only do I lack a position, I lack an identity.
“I beg your pardon,” she murmured. “I am not usually given to tears. It's just that my head hurts so dreadfully.”

“You poor poppet,” Mrs. Simpson said. “I will bring up a nice saline wash that will help to soothe the ache. Dr. Hadley is coming by to see you this afternoon and if he decides it will not be harmful perhaps you can have some laudanum for the pain.”

Callie nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “Could you please draw the draperies? I find the dark easier to bear.”

“Oh, my goodness. How thoughtless of me!” With a series of clucks that sounded like those of a distressed mother hen, Mrs. Simpson crossed over to the window and pulled the curtains across it.

Blessed shadow immediately bathed the room and Callie sighed with relief.

“Rest now, my dear. I will be back shortly to bathe your head. We'll have you feeling better in no time.”

Callie doubted that. Nothing was going to make her feel better until she knew the truth about herself, and she saw no sign that her memory was going to return anytime soon.

A light tap sounded at the door of Adam's study. “Come in,” he called, placing his pen in the quill holder. He'd been busy composing a letter rescinding his previous orders to his solicitor, who would doubtless be puzzled about why Adam had abruptly canceled his lengthy travel plans.

He'd already written to the man whom he'd hired to periodically withdraw funds in his name at various intervals from banks abroad and told him to await further instruction. Silly Miss Magnus really was proving to be a nuisance. At least he'd managed to remove his instructions regarding the running of Stanton during his absence before Nigel had found them. That would have put him in a pretty pickle, having to come up with all sorts of false explanations for Nigel that he was in no mood to give. In any case, he wasn't in the habit of lying to his friends—or at least not to their faces, he amended, given the nature of the deception he was planning on executing. His one real regret was deceiving Nigel, whom he counted as his closest friend.

He looked up as Nigel walked into the study. Not only did Adam consider him a good friend, but he also trusted Nigel implicitly. “Good morning. Thank you for responding so quickly to my summons.”

“Not at all. You look back to your old self, but how is the young woman faring today? Has there been any change?” he asked, his face filled with concern, as if prepared for bad news.

“Amazingly enough, she woke in the night.”

“What excellent news!” Nigel said, his bright eyes and broad smile reflecting his delight. “I had prayed, but given what the doctor said that night I hardly dared to hope. I am very relieved.”

“Yes, yes,” Adam said impatiently, not wanting to revisit the subject of relief. “Apparently the good doctor was overly pessimistic. She has a bad headache and that's little wonder, but she seems to be improving. Actually, she is the reason I called for you.”

“How may I be of service?” Nigel asked, looking remarkably enthusiastic, which surprised Adam. Nigel was loyal and dedicated, but those qualities didn't usually extend to unknown women of unknown origins.

“I would be most grateful if you would go to the shipping offices at Folkestone and make inquiries about a Miss Calliope Magnus. She will have been on a clipper ship, probably coming from France, which arrived three evenings ago. She must be on the passenger manifest of one of them, and I would like to know her point of embarkation and whether she was traveling with any companions.”

“I'd be happy to, but is Miss Magnus not able to provide you with that information herself?”

“As I said, Miss Magnus woke with a headache and therefore was able to give me little information other than her name and that she'd been traveling from somewhere abroad. Italy was her last place of residence, but I don't know if she actually sailed from there. She might easily have gone by land as far as the coast of France.”

“I see. That is not much to go by.” Nigel scratched the back of his head. “Still, a name is at least a start.”

Adam stroked the tip of his finger slowly across his blotter and gave Nigel a long look, wondering how much to tell him. He might trust his friend implicitly, but at this point he only had vague suspicions to go on. “Yes. I also think that someone must have noticed she didn't disembark with the other passengers, and there would be the matter of her uncollected luggage. I'd like you to discover as much as possible about her—her behavior on the journey, whether she kept to herself, that sort of thing. If you can uncover nothing at Folkstone, then go on to Dover and do the same there. See if anyone has been inquiring for her.”

“Hmm. If all goes well and I find any frantic relations or companions, what would you like me to do? Bring them here?”

Adam considered. He'd been mulling that tricky question over for half the night. He liked to be thorough in his affairs, and the last thing he wanted was to end up with another complication. If the girl needed protecting from something or someone, he didn't want to bring the source of the trouble directly to her bedside. On the other hand, a concerned companion or relative, if indeed one existed at all, might be a blessing and could take his unwanted burden off his hands.

“Use your judgment,” he said. “I have always found it to be impeccable. I might as well tell you that I am not at all sure the girl is not in some sort of trouble. People generally don't fall off ships for no good reason. She claims she slipped, which might well be the case, but I cannot help but wonder if there's more to the story.”

Nigel slowly nodded. “I confess that I had wondered the same. A woman would have to be mad to go out on deck in such weather. That sort of rashness is only asking for trouble.”

“She might be rash, but mad? I don't think anything that extreme, although one never knows.”

“Do you think she deliberately meant to fall? She would have to be desperate indeed to do such a thing.” Nigel fixed Adam with a look that disconcerted him, almost as if Nigel knew what he'd been planning himself. He pushed that thought away as being an impossible one. He'd been very careful not to give any indication of his intentions.

“I have no earthly idea,” he said, feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. This was a subject he definitely didn't care to address. “I didn't think so at the time, given the manner in which she fell, all bleats and cries and hand-waving once she'd hit the water. The point is that nothing makes sense. She says she has no relations that she knows of. By her account she is a young woman alone in the world, and yet she's attractive enough and well-spoken— or at least so I thought from the little I managed to get out of her. I have to assume she is not ill-bred.”

“What has that to do with anything? She could have been brought up in a palace and still be on her own if she'd fallen on hard times. Any number of things might have happened to lead her to her present circumstances. Did she tell you
nothing
else? I would be more effective in my inquiries if I had details of any sort.”

Adam made a tent out of his fingertips and gazed down at his desk, thinking. “She said she'd come to England to find employment as a lady's companion. I thought she might have been traveling in that capacity with some elderly woman she neglected to mention. On the other hand, she might have been running away from something or someone.”

“Do you mean a marriage gone wrong, that sort of thing?”

Adam looked back up at Nigel. “I honestly cannot tell you any more, other than I estimate she is in her early twenties and I believe her to be unmarried. Oh, and her hair is light blond, her eyes brown with dark, heavy lashes, and her figure slight in build. In any case, find out what you can and do whatever you think best.”

“I will make every effort. My, what a mystery this is turning out to be. I am positively awash with curiosity.” Nigel grinned. “The girl from the sea. What will she turn out to be?”

“I need none of your misguided, not to mention poor, humor,” Adam snapped. “Go now. See what you can discover and come directly back. I want a full report as soon as you have something to tell me.”

Nigel's step slowed as he strode toward the stables, and he came to a full stop as an extraordinary thought occurred to him. He turned abruptly and looked back at the imposing façade of Stanton Abbey, but his gaze was not trained on the magnificent house, nor the beautifully landscaped lawns and gardens that surrounded it. He barely registered any of it. He focused instead on the look in Adam's eyes when Nigel had left him.

Something was different. Something subtle, almost indefinable, but he could have sworn he'd actually seen a glimmer of real interest, enough anyway for Adam to send him on this investigation.

He doubted Adam even realized that he cared about the fate of this girl, convincing himself that he was simply discharging a duty, but Nigel had a sneaking suspicion that he did care. Perhaps he didn't care very much, but at least he was interested enough to make an effort. He could just as easily have let the girl recover and leave without making any inquiries at all.

It was a beginning. It was a definite beginning. To Nigel's way of thinking, the longer that Miss Magnus stayed around, the better. She would give Adam something to worry about other than his own troubles. Interesting that Adam had described her as attractive … he wouldn't have thought Adam would even notice.

Nigel doubted that he'd be so lucky as to come up empty-handed, but given everything Adam had told him, or rather how little, at least he had a fighting chance.

Callie opened one drowsy eye as she heard a light tap and then the sound of her bedroom door opening. No one in this peculiar household seemed to have much regard for her privacy, let alone her need to sleep. People came and went at all hours and she never knew whom or what to expect. Chambermaids, Mrs. Simpson, the doctor, all seemed to pop up on a regular basis and they all wanted her to do something. Eat, submit to a washing, or worst of all, be examined and poked. She was grateful to be alive, but she really did wish that they'd leave her alone to recover.

Her heart froze in her chest as she took in the tall, imposing figure of the man who'd rescued her. Broad in shoulder, solid in chest with narrow hips and long, powerful legs, he was an altogether intimidating man and not someone she wanted to see in the least. Given the stony expression on his face, he wasn't pleased to see her, either.

Callie licked her lips and forced her other eye open, trying hard to focus. “Mr. Carlyle—I mean Lord Vale,” she croaked. “Good afternoon, or is it good evening? I don't seem to be able to keep track of time.”

“It's evening, Miss Magnum,” he said, taking the chair by the bed that had hosted what seemed like an entire parade of people by now. “I spoke with Dr. Hadley before he left. He is encouraged by your progress, although he does think that you might continue to feel weak and ill for some time to come. He said it's the natural outcome of a nasty head injury.”

“I am sorry to inconvenience you,” she replied, wondering if he deliberately wanted to make her feel like an imposition, or if he was high-handed, rude, and brusque with everyone who crossed his path. “As I told you, I will be on my way as soon as I am able.”

“I have every confidence,” he said, regarding her lazily with his startling sapphire eyes, eyes she could read nothing at all from. “The question remains what that destination will be. However, you need not trouble yourself over that just yet. You must rest and regain your strength, and you are welcome to stay here until you do.”

Completely at a loss, Callie could find absolutely nothing to say. One moment she felt as if he wanted nothing more than to be rid of her, and in the next she felt as if he had all the time in the world to harbor an invalid who had literally dropped into his life. He was an enigma to her, as much as she'd become one to herself. Struggling to find words she could only manage to say, “Thank you. Forgive me. I am very tired.”

“Dr. Hadley said he'd given you laudanum to ease your headache. I won't trouble you any further. I wanted only to see that you were resting more comfortably. If there's anything you need, do not hesitate to ask one of the servants.” He rose. “Sleep. We will speak again when you're feeling more clearheaded.”

As he left, Callie fought back an irrational desire to weep. How could someone who appeared so distant and cold manage to touch her as if he'd laid a hand directly on her heart? Releasing a long breath she closed her eyes, deciding that she could postpone that question until tomorrow. She was clearly addled and not thinking with any sort of logic.

3

P
ulling the collar of his coat higher up around his neck as protection against the lashing rain, Nigel picked his way around a large puddle, sidestepped a carriage that barreled down the muddy street without any thought to the pedestrians in its way, and safely made his way to the other side. He stopped in front of a small glass-fronted door emblazoned with the names Rothwell and Gilford, Shipping Brokers. The smallest of the Dover firms, it was nothing more than a little pigeonhole surrounded by other equally modest businesses.