Midnight on the River Grey Read online

  Dedication

  For my mother

  My best friend, my first librarian, my biggest fan

  Thank you for showing me what selfless love and true courage looks like and for being one of the few people with whom I share my hopes, fears, and dreams

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ad

  Praise for Abigail Wilson

  Other Books by Abigail Wilson

  Copyright

  Prologue

  1811

  The Scottish Highlands

  “Who’s there?” My mother’s haunted whisper drew me to her bedside. Sickness clung to the air around her bed as grief entombed the space.

  She spoke again. “Rebecca?”

  My heart lightened, and I grasped her frail hand. She’d recognized me only once a few months back, but she hadn’t spoken my name since our move to the highlands six years ago. “Yes, Mama. It’s me.”

  She squinted in the flickering candlelight as if she hadn’t seen me for some time. “How lovely you look tonight.”

  I curved my lips into a small smile, for I knew I looked a fright. Heavens, I’d not left her bedchamber for nearly two days, which wasn’t all that uncommon of late. This particular illness, however, this sudden worsening of her condition, felt different.

  I dabbed a wet cloth against her forehead. “Are you in pain? We have a draught for relief if you require it.”

  She lay stone still, a ghost of the vibrant woman she once was. I tried again. “Perhaps some water? You must take something, surely.”

  I’d made a habit of talking to her as if nothing had changed, even though I knew she wouldn’t respond as any normal person might.

  Veiled by the night’s scrambling shadows, I could just make out the slight shake of her head before she cleared her throat. “Have you heard from Jacob?”

  I froze at my brother’s name, and my gaze slipped to the letter I’d been reading. How did she know? My hand found my throat, my next words cautious. “I received a note from him only yesterday. He writes to say he’s arrived at Greybourne Hall, and Mr. Browning is just as he imagined—cold and inhospitable. Yet, he does plan to stay for some time.”

  “Cold? Fanny Browning’s boy? I don’t doubt it.”

  My heart lurched. She’d remembered something—something from our past. I held still in anticipation. Could she be lucid? My hands trembled as I returned the cloth to the water bowl.

  After years of caring for little more than a childlike stranger, it was far too much to hope for—one night, one moment with my mother, the one I had been so close to as a girl. I didn’t dare move an inch for fear the moment would pass.

  “You alone accompanied me here.” She glanced around as an owlish look took over her hazy eyes. “To this awful place away from all my friends . . . when he never would.”

  “I-I . . .” What could I say? She’d spoken the truth. In a way we had been left—forgotten—but there was so much more. I turned away, determined not to spend another moment dwelling on all we’d been through. “Such fustian. I don’t think it awful here. I wish you could see the mountains, Mama, the plunging sweep of the land, the sharp cliffs, and dithered meadows. There is nothing in the world like the beauty of Scotland. I suppose the cottage is a bit small perhaps, but where better for you to rest? I do not regret for one moment coming here with you.” My shoulders sank. “And please, do not speak so of Jacob. He loves us dearly. With Father gone he has had many responsibilities.”

  The half-truths flowed so easily. I’d said them often enough in London. “Is your mother well?” Society would ask. And every time I’d reply without hesitation, “Well enough, thank you.”

  But she never had been.

  I cringed at the memories—the pitiful looks from our supposed friends. Even now on her deathbed, I found them too painful to contemplate.

  “Rebecca.” She tried to sit up. “There is something I must tell you before . . .” Her voice slipped into a faint whisper.

  I settled her back on the pillow and leaned forward. “Yes, Mama?”

  Her head lolled side to side. “I’m so sorry, so sorry for . . .” Tears coursed down her cheeks, drowning out her words.

  “Shh. You mustn’t speak so.” I touched her wispy gray hair and remembered a time when she had done the same for me.

  Tears welled in my own eyes. I knew quite well what she meant to say. She was sorry for London, for her condition, for all the years I’d been forced to nurse her. But she needn’t say such things aloud. We’d always had an unspoken bond, and as I sensed her passing, it was all forgotten. “I love you, Mama.”

  Her fingers tightened around my hand like a claw. “I’m so sorry . . .” She forced me to meet her icy glare. “So sorry . . . that someday . . . you’ll be just like me.”

  Chapter 1

  Two years later

  London

  “I have news, Aunt Jo.” I sealed the drawing room door behind me and leaned back against the heavy wood. “But it’s not what I’d hoped.”

  Magazine pages fluttered. Muslin rustled. Aunt Josephine floundered across the drawing room. “’Pon my word, Rebecca, I’ve been beside myself with worry these last few hours. Come and sit at once. I’ve something important to tell you.”

  I untied my bonnet and tossed it onto the sofa. “I do apologize for leaving you this morning, but I went to the Court of Chancery . . . regarding Mr. Browning.” I didn’t think the man’s name on my lips would cause the same pain it had nine months prior—when I’d sworn to despise him—but my heart lurched.

  Aunt Jo fumbled the embroidered bell rope, then took a seat, her lace cap askew. “The Court of Chancery? What are you getting at, child?”

  This would be a bit harder to explain than I’d imagined in the wee hours of the morning. I took a quick breath. “I’ve been doing quite a bit of thinking about our, um, present situation, and I thought it might be prudent to appeal to the court for a new guardian.”

  Aunt Jo’s eyes grew round.

  “After all, when Papa named Mr. Browning years ago, no one dreamed he would later inherit the entailed estates. Considering everything that has happened, I thought the court might be willing to reexamine my case.”

  “Oh, Rebecca.” Aunt Jo’s response came out as more of a sigh. “But the scandal—”

  “Is none of my concern. After all, I am determined to find a way for the two of us to set up our own establishment. I owe him nothing.”

  “My dear. Oh, my dearest darling.” Her voice shook. “You do try to look out for your old aunt, and it does you credit, but . . .” The King Charles spaniel who’d been asleep under the table took Aunt Jo’s hesitation as an opportunity and launched into her lap. She snuggled the dog against her worn da
y gown without a glance. “But how are we to live on half a guinea a week?”

  “Your jointure is a tad on the small side, but I do have some money from Papa if only my guardian will let me get at it. And please don’t say the sum was meant to be my dowry, for I will have none of that. The two of us shall do well enough together. You and me . . . and Sophie of course.” I stroked a floppy ear. “I’ll hear no more talk of giving her away.”

  Aunt Jo’s arms constricted around her furry bundle. “I don’t think I could do it, even if I had to.” She swallowed hard. “Give her away, I mean.”

  “Take heart, I am determined to find a way for us.” I frowned. “But it won’t be through the courts at present. The process is far more complicated than I had anticipated. If that horrid Mr. Browning will only allow us to—”

  “Oh, my dear, there is something you must know at once.”

  “What is it?”

  A line spread across her forehead, and her gaze shifted to the door. “It is what I have been trying to tell you since you arrived. He has been here.”

  My smile fell. “Mr. Browning? In London? I don’t believe it.”

  “Yet, it is all too true. The monster himself. In our very house. He left his calling card this morning while I took my chocolate in my room. Oh Rebecca, I must confess, I didn’t know what to do when Mrs. Fisher presented it to me but to respond with a card of my own.” She pointed to the salver in the hall. “His card for you is still there. I hadn’t the nerve to touch it.”

  My pulse tapped a steady beat as I walked to the sideboard. “Don’t be ridiculous.” And ferreted out the offending article.

  Mr. Lewis Browning.

  “Hmm . . . His name looks just as callous in print as I thought it would.” I tossed the card aside. “It is no matter.” I raised my chin. “This precipitous appearance gives me the opportunity to make a new proposition. I had already decided on my walk home to pen him a letter. Now, I shall just speak to him in person and, with any luck, never again.”

  “Oh, my dearest one. You are far braver than I. How your brother could have left you in such a difficult position, I will never understand.”

  A cold rush of memories surged to the surface, and my voice grew chill. “He could not have known he would be murdered.”

  “Rebecca! Hold your tongue at once. You must not say such things. Besides, we don’t know anything of the kind.” Aunt Josephine pressed her handkerchief to her forehead before tapping her finger against the cloth. “Unfortunately, there is more to this wretched business than I thought only yesterday. I received a letter from your cousin Ellen this morning, and she does Mr. Browning no credit. No credit at all.”

  She lifted a white sheet of paper from the side table and unfolded it. “See here, she says the people of Plattsdale have taken to calling him the Midnight Devil—out all hours of the night yet a complete recluse during the day. Ellen says he has finally admitted some responsibility for causing Jacob’s fall from the bridge but nothing more. What are we to make of that?”

  “I . . .” I pressed my lips together and scoured the short missive, craving any news. If anyone had flushed out the details surrounding Jacob’s death, it would be my silly, prattling cousin. But there was nothing beyond what my aunt had already told me. Slowly, I handed the missive back. “Perhaps we should visit Ellen as we once discussed. It would give me a chance to—”

  “No, no, my dear. It won’t do, for the entire family has left for Bath.”

  A loud knock sounded at the front door, and our eyes met. Aunt Jo clutched her chest. “You don’t suppose it is him already?”

  Footsteps echoed down the hall, but neither of us moved. Beyond the wall, the front door clicked open then shut as the tick of the casement clock filled the charged silence between us. Another set of footsteps joined the first, and the drawing room door popped open. A man in a long brown cloak trailed on Mrs. Fisher’s heels.

  Somehow I stood and listened to her announce his name as if far away. How many times had I prepared myself for what I would feel, what I would say to the man who took everything? I’d practiced the moment in my room over and over again, but that was months ago. I glanced at Aunt Jo’s equally stricken form.

  Mr. Browning filled the room with a quiet stride, his bearing youthful yet refined. I was well aware my guardian was only nine and twenty, but my imagination had painted an old wrinkled crow. After all, due to my time in Scotland, I had not seen him for more than ten years. I could not have been more wrong.

  He paused at the edge of the Aubusson rug as his shrewd eyes took in everything. His indifferent half smile dominated the uncomfortable silence. Removing his hat to reveal a mess of curly, dark hair, he bowed, then gestured into the air, a solitary ring on his right hand. “Cousin Rebecca.” Then to my aunt. “And Miss Audley.”

  Due to Sophie’s position in her lap, Aunt Jo remained seated, motioning to a slat-back chair, her fingers wiggling in the air. “Please, Mr. Browning, do have a seat. It is so good of you to call. Rebecca, some tea?”

  I pulled the bell rope before edging onto the sofa, my back unnaturally stiff. I doubted Mrs. Fisher would respond. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t. We were down to one servant after all, and this man didn’t deserve the last of our cake.

  Mr. Browning adjusted his coat and took the offered chair across from us before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. A few seconds of silence passed, then his eyes flicked to mine. “I’ve come about some necessary arrangements.” His voice was deep, his hands never far from his chin.

  So, he had little use for pleasantries. Well, neither did I. “Yes, indeed. You have excellent timing, cousin. I had intended to write to you this very afternoon.”

  He froze. “Write to me?”

  I forced a smile. Any man could be flattered, and all I needed was time to figure out my next step toward independence. “My aunt and I have made a few plans we’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Plans?”

  Did he intend to repeat every word I said with that insufferable mocking tone?

  “Yes, plans.” I took a deep breath. “You were in the right of it to leave us alone these last few months, as it has given me the opportunity to contemplate my future. Rest assured, I have everything in hand and require little from you. That is to say, my aunt and I will soon be completely self-sufficient. In the meantime, however, what I would ask of you”—I could feel my body quivering from within—“is permission for the two of us to stay on here in my London townhouse for another year or more until we have the means to set up our own establishment.”

  He lifted his eyebrows.

  I responded by raising my voice. “I can fully understand how you must feel a bit unscrupulous having inherited my brother’s entailed estates after his untimely death, but I will have you know, we mean to provide you some rent. That is, whatever we can afford until we are wholly independent. I am certain you comprehend the difficulty we’ve had adjusting to our sudden change in circumstances since you no doubt feel some level of responsibility.”

  A faint smile curved his lips. “And how exactly do you plan to go about paying me this rent?”

  I didn’t waver. “The details have not entirely been worked out; however, I assure you all will be taken care of.”

  “Indeed.” He gave a slight shrug. “Though I applaud your determination, I’m afraid what you ask is, regrettably, impossible.”

  “Impossible?” I shot a look at Aunt Jo. “Why?”

  “I leased the townhouse but two days ago, which was my express purpose in coming to London—to relay this information to you in person.”

  My lips parted, a surge of shock racing through my core. “You mean to tell me you leased my house?”

  “No.” He paused. “I leased my house.” Then he glanced about the room as if he’d said nothing out of the common way. “I can certainly appreciate your enjoyment of this beautiful spot, but I haven’t the inclination to keep a London residence.”

  I flew to
my feet. “How dare you. Without even a word to my aunt or to me.”

  Startled by the sudden movement, Sophie sprang from my aunt’s lap and scurried beneath the table before directing a slew of ear-piercing barks solely at Mr. Browning’s tasseled boots.

  Aunt Jo, constrained by propriety and her plump middle, swiped wildly beneath the table, but she was unable to reach the dog’s collar. Frantically, she called her name, but Sophie had no intention of relinquishing her attack. She’d found her villain.

  Mrs. Fisher bustled into the room at the same moment with a tea tray and the last of the cake. Terrified as she was of dogs, particularly angry ones, she stumbled upon entry, and I raced to intercept her.

  Mr. Browning was there first, though. He grasped the tray and silenced the dog in one booming, “Enough!”

  The room fell silent. Sophie groaned and laid her fluffy head on the rug as if in penance. The sudden stillness left me stunned and uncomfortably close to the man. So close that I caught a whiff of his tangy, orange cologne. I took a hasty step back as warmth rushed to my face.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fisher.” I nodded to the housekeeper and grasped Sophie’s collar, helping the dog into the hallway in one quick swoop.

  “You’ve had quite enough enjoyment for one day, don’t you think, Miss Sophie? Out you go.”

  I closed the door and turned back to the drawing room determined to affect the confidence I no longer felt. Heaven knows I’d not meant to, but I shared a quick look with Mr. Browning. Something in his witty expression brought my anger rushing back. “Where were we? Oh, yes. I had taken fault with your proposal to turn my aunt and me out on the street.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Not exactly.”

  I flashed a cold smile. “What else would you call it then?”

  “Merely business.” He held up his hand to stave off a reply. “Allow me to finish.”

  Ignoring the man’s plea for civility and his outstretched arm, I found my way back to the sofa and my aunt’s side without assistance. My next move would have to be planned carefully.