CHAPTER 1

December 1799

Savannah, Georgia

Lara Esterhaus pricked her index finger with the darning needle again, and fought hard against slinging the material across the sitting room. Instead, she laid the aberrant work-in-progress across her lap and stuck the injured digit into her mouth, sucking on it gently.

Why she had to sit three evenings a week to practice a craft that was beyond her was…well, beyond her. She marveled at how she, a woman of intellect, was unable to master something as simple as applying stitches to a satiny fabric without coming close to removing the tip of her finger.

Still, this agreement with her mother was a long-standing one, dating back to when she was only thirteen years of age, and while she regretted ever making the bargain, she would not fail to uphold her end. One would think however, that after a six-year battle with needle and thread, she’d have conquered at least a rudimentary ability; however, she had to admit, looking at the few stitches running along the seam that she had, in some small measure, succeeded. They did look sort of uniform, at least to her, even if her finger was full of holes. She pulled the finger from her mouth to examine it; wondering whether pink lemonade would spurt forth if she were to take a drink. Then she glanced down at the material on her lap, allowing her imagination to run free. If, she thought, the lemonade did spurt from my fingers while I was working, it could very well ruin the fabric and bring my lessons for this evening to a halt. She smiled at the thought, for she knew it was such a silly one. Besides, if she were to ruin the fabric—wittingly or unwittingly—her mother would simply buy her more material and make her start again. She knew she would, because it had happened before—too many times. Of course, not from lemonade spurting from her hole-ridden fingers.

She glanced out the window at the twinkling flame of the street lanterns, which Mr. Solow hadn’t gotten around to extinguishing yet, and then at the grandfather clock sitting in the corner of the room. Eleven o’clock in the evening. Where were her parents? They had assured her that the assembly they were attending would only last a couple of hours and they would return forthwith. Thus, to her way of thinking, they should have been home hours ago, unless her father chose this evening for one of his romantic carriage rides, she surmised, grinning. The grin faded. She looked out the window again at the smattering of snow remaining on the ground and shivered. She couldn’t feel the cold with the warming brick beneath her feet, but she could certainly sense it. Surely, her father wouldn’t take a leisurely buggy ride on such a cold evening. She sighed. She needed to stop fretting over nothing, especially since spontaneity was one of her father’s endearing traits.

She picked up the dress on her lap and braced herself for another round of battle, when a knock sounded at the front door, halting her in mid-stitch. She sighed aloud in relief. Whoever the late night visitor was, they had just saved her from adding more holes in her already pain-ridden fingertips.

She laid the gown aside and stood, waiting patiently for Joshua to announce the visitor. That was another thing that she’d promised her mother early on—that she’d at least attempt to behave as a civilized lady, and allow others to tend to their appointed duties. If she had her way, she’d simply answer the door herself, but her mother assured her that ladies simply did no such thing.

It registered a moment later, the lateness of the hour, and that Joshua could very well be abed. That meant she would have no choice but the see who was at the door. She made her way toward the study door, but jumped, startled, when someone knocked. “Come in.”

“Good evening, Miss Lara.”

“Good evening, Joshua. Don’t you ever sleep?”

“There’s time to sleep when all in the house are sleeping. For now, I stay awake in the event that I’m needed.”

“Oh, Joshua, you know that isn’t necessary.”

“Apparently it is, as I heard a knock on the front door. Had I been asleep, I would have been remiss in my duties,” Joshua said with a grin.

“Point taken, Joshua. You may go and tend to your duties.”

“Yes, Miss Lara.”

A few moments later, a more subdued Joshua returned, “There’s a Mr. Pembroke here to see you. As it is a male caller, I think that I should waken Sasha before showing him in?”

Joshua’s decorum was flawless, but Lara didn’t miss the hesitation in his voice or the lines creasing his normally smiling face, as someone else may have done. “Is something amiss, Joshua?”

“I wouldn’t know that, Miss.”

That formal delivery let Lara know that something was indeed amiss; however, Joshua was relaying to her, in his best butler tone, that it was none of his affair and that she should simply let her visitor explain the purpose of his visit.

“Very well, Joshua. Go ahead and waken Sasha. You don’t think he’s any sort of a threat, do you?”

Joshua’s old smile returned, “No, Miss. No serial killer lurking inside this character,” he answered, and then turned and shuffled out. Lara smiled in remembrance.

It was an old game they had played beginning when Lara was but a child. Whenever a visitor would come to call, she would pull a reluctant Joshua behind a nearby plant, and then each would try to guess the real person lurking behind the smiling facade. After all, Lara had concluded, no one could maintain an obviously fake smile for as long as their visitors did, so they had to be empty shells holding dastardly fiends. Mad scientists, evil monsters, and serial killers were just a few that she determined occupied the bodies. Furthermore, Lara was convinced that those fiends were just waiting for the right moment to spring forth and attack their small city, beginning with the Esterhaus dwelling.

Joshua often told Lara that she had an over-active imagination, which she wouldn’t have, had her father not taught her to read, and then audaciously supplied her with reading material well above her age level. Material, such as Frankenstein[1], The Mysteries of Udolpho[2], The Old English Baron[3], and the works of William Shakespeare provided Lara with fuel for her imaginings.

Of course, that was when she was a child. Lara was all grown up now and realized that the pasted smiles were just society’s way of coping with the tedium of everyday living.

Sasha walked in, bleary-eyed, a few minutes later, having not bothered dressing.

“Did Joshua disturb your beauty sleep, Sasha?” Lara grinned at her attendant, who simply stood there rubbing her eyes excessively. Of course, had her parents been there, she would have been the model of etiquette, but Lara never held her to such standards when they were on their own.

“Why did you have him drag me out of bed?” Sasha whined, plopping onto a nearby chair, stretching her long-legs out in front of her. Just as quickly, she pulled in to herself, wrapping her arms in a tight embrace about her waist, “Brrrrr, it’s chilly in here. You pulled me from my warm bed to catch cold? And just when I was getting to the good part of the dream where the knight in shining armor rides in and whisks me away on his mighty steed.”

“Oh, posh! There is no such critter, and I dragged you out of bed because we have a late night visitor. I obviously need a chaperone, so since you didn’t see fit to dress, you might want to, um, cover up a bit and move that chair into a shadowy corner. I’m sorry it’s chilled in here. I didn’t have Joshua light a fire because I didn’t see the need, since it was but me in here at the time.”

“Couldn’t Joshua have acted as chaperone?”

“Joshua has his own duties to see to, as well you know, Sasha.”

“Fine. Well maybe this person can make his visit short, so I can crawl right back beneath my blankets and write this off as a short annoyance. Who would call at such a god-awful hour anyway?” Lara didn’t supply an answer, merely staring at her in that fashion which told Sasha she needed to stop whining and see to her instructions. Sasha sighed, sat up, and wrapped her robe tighter around her generous cleavage, securing the belt snugly about her little waist. She was thankful that Lara hadn’t insisted she return to her room and get dressed, as her robe was far cozier. She scooted the chair as far back into the shadows as possible, and behind a nearby plant. When done, she theatrically called out, “Send in thou late-night caller, for I am ready to remain out of thine sight!”

Lara laughed, “Well, that’s a relief!” She shook her head in bemusement and then turned to Joshua, who was watching the antics with fondness, “Please show Mr. Pembroke in—if he’s still here,” she said, casting a mock stern glance at her attendant.

Joshua opened the door with formality, “Mr. Daniel Pembroke, Miss.”

A squat, portly gentleman entered the room, his coat draped over his arm and his hat clenched tightly in his fist.

“Wouldn’t you like Joshua to take your hat and coat, Mr. Pembroke?”

“No, no, child. Thank you just the same, but I won’t be staying long. I do apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I’m afraid this couldn’t wait until a more appropriate time.”

As a rule, his reply would be Joshua’s cue to depart and supply refreshments for an extended visit, or continue about his other duties. When he didn’t leave the room, Laura’s brow quirked in question. He gave her a less-than-convincing smile and moved into the shadows to stand next to Sasha. His behavior made her nervous. What was it about this stranger? Did Joshua sense a danger that she had yet to perceive that made him feel the need to provide added security—not for her alone, but Sasha also? She wanted to question him, but now wasn’t the time, as her caller had begun to address the reason for his visit.

“Perhaps you’d best take a seat, Miss Esterhaus.”

“Very well. Will you sit also?” Lara settled into her father’s chair behind his desk and repressed the urge to throw her feet up on the oak surface, especially when she studied her visitor’s face more closely. It reminded her of Joshua’s countenance when he came into the study to announce Mr. Pembroke’s arrival. She cast a glance toward Joshua, who moved further into the shadows. Something is bothering him then, she thought.

She looked more closely at their visitor. Worry lines creased the heavy brow of his face, and he seemed to have difficulty maintaining eye contact with her. Something was definitely wrong.

“I’ll stand, thank you just the same.” He cleared his throat loudly and twisted his hat in his hand. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he said softly, and then stopped, as if uncertain on how to proceed. After a few more minutes of apparent mental battle, he seemed to come to a decision. He straightened his shoulders and finally made eye contact with Lara. “Do you know who I am, Miss Esterhaus?”

“I can’t say that I do, Mr. Pembroke.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t, since I’ve only been assigned my duties a week past. I’m the new constable.”

Lara sat quietly, fingers of dread tracing up and down her spine. A dastardly fiend is hidden inside this one, she thought absurdly. There must be. His gentle, lilting English accent conflicts with his sloppy appearance. A contradiction like that must mean that he’s a dastardly fiend in disguise, and he’s come to strike at my heart and soul. When he next spoke, she wanted to grab her father’s sword and run him through, just as his words pierced through her, as powerful as if he’d wielded his own sword.

[1] The original work, written by Mary Shelley in 1817. Published in 1818.

[2] Written by Anne Radcliffe and published in 1794.

[3] Written by Clara Reeve and published in 1778.