A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(4)

The old woman rapped her cane against the floorboards. “Miss Taylor. Even if I had some information to impart, I would never share it. I would take it to my grave.”

Kate sat back in her chair. “But . . . why?”

Miss Paringham didn’t answer, merely pressed her papery lips into a thin slash of disapproval.

“You never liked me,” Kate whispered. “I knew it. You always made it clear, in small, unspoken ways, that any kindness you showed me was begrudged.”

“Very well. You are correct. I never liked you.”

They regarded one another. There, now the truth was out.

Kate struggled not to reveal any sign of disappointment or hurt. But her wrapped bundle of sheet music slipped to the floor—and as it did, a smug little smile curved Miss Paringham’s lips.

“May I ask on what basis was I so reviled? I was appropriately grateful for every small thing I was given. I didn’t cause mischief. I never complained. I minded my lessons and earned high marks.”

“Precisely. You showed no humility. You behaved as though you had as much claim to joy as any other girl at Margate. Always singing. Always smiling.”

The idea was so absurd, Kate couldn’t help but laugh. “You disliked me because I smiled too much? Should I have been melancholy and brooding?”

“Ashamed!” Miss Paringham barked the word. “A child of shame ought to live ashamed.”

Kate was momentarily stunned silent. A child of shame? “What can you mean? I always thought I was orphaned. You never said—”

“Wicked thing. Your shame goes without saying. God Himself has marked you.” Miss Paringham pointed with a bony finger.

Kate couldn’t even reply. She raised her own trembling hand to her temple.

With her fingertips, she began to idly rub the mark, the same way she’d done as a young girl—as if she might erase it from her skin. Her whole life, she’d believed herself to be a loved child whose parents met an untimely demise. How horrid, to think that she’d been cast away, unwanted.

Her fingers stilled on her birthmark. Perhaps cast away because of this.

“You fool girl.” The old woman’s laugh was a caustic rasp. “Been dreaming of a fairy tale, have you? Thinking someday a messenger will knock on your door and declare you a long-lost princess?”

Kate told herself to stay calm. Clearly, Miss Paringham was a lonely, warped old woman who now lived to make others miserable. She would not give the beastly crone the satisfaction of seeing her rattled.

But she would not stay here a moment longer, either.

She reached to gather her wrapped parcel of music from the floor. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Miss Paringham. I will leave. You needn’t say any more.”

“Oh, I will say more. Ignorant thing that you are, you’ve reached the age of three-and-twenty without understanding this. I see I must take it upon myself to teach you one last lesson.”

“Please, don’t strain yourself.” Rising from her chair, Kate curtsied. She lifted her chin and pasted a defiant smile on her face. “Thank you for the tea. I really must be going if I’m to catch the stagecoach. I’ll see myself out.”

“Impertinent girl!”

The old woman lashed out with her cane, striking Kate in the back of the knees.

Kate stumbled, catching herself in the drawing room entryway. “You struck me. I can’t believe you just struck me.”

“Should have done it years ago. I might have knocked that smile straight from your face.”

Kate braced her shoulder on the doorjamb. The sting of humiliation was far greater than the physical pain. Part of her wanted to crumple into a tiny ball on the floor, but she knew she had to flee this place. More than that, she had to flee these words. These horrible, unthinkable notions that could leave her marked inside, as well as out.

“Good day, Miss Paringham.” She placed weight on her smarting knee and drew a quick breath. The front door was just paces away.

“No one wanted you.” Venom dripped from the old woman’s voice. “No one wanted you then. Who on earth do you think will want you now?”

Someone, Kate’s heart insisted. Someone, somewhere.

“No one.” Malice twisted the old woman’s face as she swung the cane again.

Kate heard its crisp whack against the doorjamb, but by then she was already wrestling open the front latch. She picked up her skirts and darted out into the cobbled street. Her low-heeled boots were worn thin on the soles, and she slipped and stumbled as she ran. The streets of Hastings were narrow and curved, lined with busy shops and inns. There was no possible way the sour-faced woman could have followed her.

Still, she ran.

She ran with hardly a care for which direction she was going, so long as it was away. Perhaps if she kept running fast enough, the truth would never catch up.

As she turned in the direction of the mews, the booming toll of a church bell struck dread in her gut.

One, two, three, four . . .

Oh no. Stop there. Please don’t toll again.

Five.

Her heart flopped. Miss Paringham’s clock must have been slow. She was too late. The coach would have already departed without her. There wouldn’t be another until morning.

Summer had stretched daylight to its greatest length, but in a few hours, night would fall. She’d spent most of her funds at the music shop, leaving only enough money for her passage back to Spindle Cove—no extra coin for an inn or a meal.