Mist of Midnight by Sandra Byrd Page A

veranda.”
    â€œI shall look forward to speaking with you again soon, then,” he replied.
    I nodded with real affection, and after some moments on the veranda I heard a voice behind me.
    â€œThere’s no telling what an impoverished baron looking for a wife will do to make headway with a pretty young heiress, is there, Miss Ravenshaw?”
    I instantly tuned in to his voice. Had he come to see what the doctor had told me?
    â€œIs that a confession, Captain Whitfield?”
    He put his head back and laughed. “I do not, nor shall I ever, meet any of the aforesaid qualifications.” He took a sip from his glass. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to share in playing piano tonight,” he said.
    I noticed that, behind him, Miss Dainley glanced our way, moving forward, and trying, it seemed, to get his attention. “I’ve enjoyed your piano playing, though,” I said. “Will we hear Beethoven as the night goes on? I do hope so.”
    He shook his head. “No. I am not certain what came over me when I played that for you. It was an extraordinary departure from my usual repertoire.”
    â€œI’m honored,” I said. “And glad that such beauty was not denied voice.”
    He took a sip of his wine, then another. “Do you always speak so frankly, Miss Ravenshaw? So flatteringly?”
    â€œNot always, Captain Whitfield. It seems I, too, have made an extraordinary departure from the typical,” I said softly.
    â€œTouché,” he said, his eyes alight with fresh interest before he took a bow. Miss Dainley was nearly upon us now. “I must return to my guests.”
    I inclined my head and he moved on. I watched as he walked away. The doctor had definitely made eye contact with him, and a silent message had been sent and received. Did the doctor question Whitfield in the death of my imposter? Or was he passing Whitfield a message of some other kind? How had Whitfield, and the two maids, by whom he meant the Indian maid and Michelene, taken things in hand?
    Shortly thereafter, the musical evening began. Within a few songs, Miss Dainley was cheerfully turning the pages for Captain Whitfield’s rousing tunes, although I noted that a few other guests had shied away from him, ending conversations with him quickly, turning away from him and toward others if they appeared together in the party’s small groupings, despite his seemingly friendly overtures and his position as host.
    I made my way upstairs. I had an early start the next morning.Mr. Highmore, the solicitor, was coming to call to bring me news from the London Missionary Society and to ask me to recount my experience.
    Michelene had felt unwell earlier in the evening, so I told her I could prepare myself for bed that night. I made my way up the stairs, pausing to look down the corridor of the right wing before turning left to go to my own rooms. In contrast to the music and laughter below, the dark hallway pulsed with curious silence. The carpets were nearly invisible on the floor, the walls alongside the hallway seemed to tilt in strangely. I shook my head and blinked to clear my eyes. Far, far in the recess, eyes glowed.
    Eyes glowed? I must be tired again.
    No. They were there. For a moment it reminded me of the leopards of southern India, which hid in the grounds behind our house, waiting for a cow—or a child—to come along unattended. Fear rose in my throat and I swallowed its acidity.
    The eyes blinked and I was brought back to the present. Tiny eyes. The cat! Why did she lie in front of that door all the time? Was she trying to draw me there? To tell me something? I felt so relieved. My mind was sound!
    I made a kissing noise once, twice, and then the little cat scampered down the hall, mewled, and joined me. She’d never slept in my room, nor sought me in the evening, but that night she did and I could feel myself drifting into a deep sleep nearly the moment I slipped