The Secret of Pembrooke Park(78)

Abigail tossed and turned in her bed well past eleven that night but was unable to fall asleep. She rose and paced her room, then quietly crossed the gallery into her mother’s empty room. From its windows facing the churchyard she could see the parsonage. A light shone in the window.

Mr. Chapman was up late. Could he not sleep either? Oh, God, help me heal the rift between us.

Knowing she would not sleep unless she did something, Abigail decided to take a risk. She returned to her room, pulled on stockings and shoes, and slipped a dressing gown and shawl over her nightdress. Taking a candle lamp with her, she tiptoed back into the gallery. Seeing no light under her father’s door, she decided not to disturb him and crept quietly down the stairs.

The servants had likely been asleep for some time. Even so, she tiptoed across the hall, quietly unbolted the door, and let herself outside, closing the door as silently as she could. The night air shivered through her muslin nightdress, and she wrapped the shawl more tightly around herself as she hurried along the verge, avoiding the gravel of the drive. She entered the moonlit churchyard, not allowing her gaze to linger on the gravestones or the swaying willow branches bowing in grief over the dead.

She shivered again, only partly from the cold.

Reaching the parsonage, she paused to collect herself. Her heart beat hard, more than the slight exertion of the walk justified. She took a deep breath and knocked softly. Then again.

A moment later, she heard faint footsteps within, the latch clicking, and the door opening. There stood William Chapman. Dressed in trousers and shirtsleeves, his shirt open at the neck, his hair tousled, his eyes weary, then widening in surprise as he recognized his late-night caller.

“Mr. Chapman, forgive me for showing up on your doorstep at such an hour. I saw your light, so I hoped I wouldn’t wake you.”

“No, I was not asleep.” He gestured vaguely toward the desk inside, where a candle lamp burned and a Bible lay open, paper and quill nearby.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I feel terrible. I never meant to upset Leah, or you. I did not think it through. Or realize how strongly you felt about the Pembrookes. Won’t you forgive me?”

“Miss Foster . . .” He paused, opening the door wider. “Here, step inside out of the cold for a moment.”

She hoped she would not get him into trouble—or ruin her own reputation in the bargain. But she was too cold, and too upset, to worry about propriety at the moment.

He did not invite her any farther than the entryway, she noticed, and left the door ajar behind her. Again he gestured toward the desk. “I was writing you a letter. For it is I who should apologize to you. For a moment I thought I’d fallen asleep mid-letter and dreamt you on my doorstep.”

She shook her head. “I should never have stuck my nose in. What was I thinking to introduce Mr. Pembrooke to your sister? Me—playing matchmaker! As though I have any experience in courtship.”

“True. I don’t recommend a future in matchmaking for you—or for anyone, for that matter. Even so, I should not have spoken so harshly to you. I overreacted, and I apologize.”

“I have heard the rumors about Clive Pembrooke, of course,” she said gently. “I know people believe he may have killed Robert Pembrooke. And I know how highly your father esteemed that gentleman. Had Mac reacted so vehemently, I would not have been shocked. But—”

“But that I, a clergyman, would hold the sins of the father against his son?”

Again, the Numbers verse ran through her mind. “Yes. After all, his family did nothing to yours.”

“I am afraid it is not quite that simple, Miss Foster.”

“If Miles did something—either as a boy or since his return, I am certain he would be happy to try and make amends.”

“It is not within his power to do so.”

“I don’t . . . understand.”

William ran a weary hand over his face. “I know you don’t. And again, I’m sorry. There is more to the story, but it isn’t my story to tell. Just believe me when I tell you, we have reason to dislike and distrust our former neighbors. No good can come from trying to foster a relationship between Miles Pembrooke and my sister.”

She shook her head. “I shall never try that again. Be assured of that. I have learnt my lesson. I only hope Leah will forgive me in time. And you will too.”

“I have already done so. And I hope you will forgive me.”

“Of course I do.”

A grin quirked his lips. “And here I’ve been sitting an hour, trying to compose an apology that was accepted in five minutes.”

She managed a wobbly smile.

Then, remembering something, she said, “I know you offered to ask Leah about anyone named Lizzie she might know, but never mind that now. I—”

He said, “Actually, I think it would be best to leave Leah out of these sorts of questions, Miss Foster. All right?” A hint of defensiveness crept into his voice again, and Abigail regretted mentioning it.

“Very well.”

He looked suddenly over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. “What’s that?”

“Where?” She turned to see what had caught his eye.

“That light in the window.”

She looked, and there in an upper window, light from a single candle bobbed past. Her breath caught. “That’s my mother’s room. But it’s unoccupied at present.”