Chapter Two
There was something oddly peaceful about fog, Daniel mused, as he wound his way along the cemetery path.
It dampened the sound of the city and accentuated the stillness of the air.
Of course, if one were to look on the bleak side, it also distressed the lungs and shielded potential dangers, nefarious and natural, but Daniel shrugged the bleak side away.
On this particular morning, here in Highgate Cemetery, the fog created an atmosphere ripe for claims of ghostly sightings.
Not that such unearthly things bothered Daniel.
He was of the same opinion as his mother.
The dead cannot hurt you. Only the living can do that.
Even as the thought passed through his mind, his heart skipped a full beat at the sight of a small, dark figure seated on the bench across from his mother’s grave.
A woman, seemingly lost in thoughts of her own, not yet aware of his presence.
As much as the sight of her had startled him, Daniel had no desire to reciprocate.
Slowing his step, he cleared his throat by way of an introduction.
Despite his intention, however, the woman gasped, shot to her feet, and turned to face him.
“Forgive me, miss,” Daniel said as he drew near. “I didn’t mean to frighten…” His voice trailed off as he regarded the woman’s face. As he struggled to breathe, all he could hear was the sudden thud of his heart in his ears.
Dear God! It was her. The one who’d been haunting his dreams of late.
Dreams that held no color, only gray and black images, all of them blurred and obscure.
All of them except for her image, which remained totally clear.
A pale face set with wide dark eyes, her loose hair darker still, her mouth unmoving as she silently begged him for protection, for sanctuary.
She spoke, not in words, but in thoughts.
Protection from what, or who, he didn’t know.
While the surrounding fog emulated the blurred background to his dream, some color revealed itself.
The woman was just as pale in reality, but her hair, what he could see of it beneath her bonnet, was not as dark as his dream had suggested.
It appeared to be a lighter shade of brown, while her black attire was indicative of mourning.
Though not exactly like his dream, it was close, except the young lady didn’t appear to be seeking his protection.
If anything, judging by her alarmed expression and the fact she’d just taken a step back, she feared him.
Even as he studied her, she took another step back.
His continued silence, he realized, was adding to her apprehension.
Speak, damn it!
“Forgive me,” he said again, his mind still struggling to accept this bizarre, inexplicable reality.
“It’s just that I didn’t expect to see anyone here and, with the fog and all, I didn’t see you till the last moment.
Er, I brought these for my mother.” He held up his bunch of chrysanthemums and nodded to where his mother lay.
“So, I’ll just put them, er, that is, I’ll just put them on her grave. ”
He went to the grave, removed the wilted flowers from the previous week, and replaced them with the fresh blooms. Then he stepped back, seeming to pay his quiet respects.
In truth, he was silently praying that his appearance and his babbling hadn’t scared the woman away.
He longed to know who she was, to solve the mystery of his dreams. Then another thought occurred to him.
Might this be just another dream? He pinched the flesh on the back of his hand. Nothing changed.
Taking a slow breath, he turned, relieved to see that she was still there, now staring at him with something akin to uncertainty. Seeking to reassure her, Daniel smiled. “I visit my mother’s grave once a week to change the flowers,” he said. “She loved her garden and her flowers.”
“My mother loved flowers too,” the woman replied, and gestured with a nod. “She rests there, next to your mother.”
“Ah.” Daniel nodded, and glanced over his shoulder, observing the fresh bouquet of flowers on the grave as well as the name on the headstone. Evadne Margaret Miller. It meant nothing to him. She had died in July of that year, he noted, as he regarded the young woman once more.
“I usually sit on the bench for a while when I visit,” he said, “but if my presence bothers you, I can remove to another part of the cemetery.”
It was a genuine offer drawn from courtesy, but one he hoped she would counter. He wanted to stay. He wanted her to stay.
She shook her head. “You needn’t do that, sir. If it is solitude you seek, it is perhaps I who should leave.”
“You don’t have to, miss,” Daniel replied. Stay. Please stay. “The bench can seat two persons comfortably. Besides, you were here first.”
The uncertainty on her face remained. “I will not be in the way?”
“Not at all. Actually, it would be nice to have some company.” Desperate for her to remain, Daniel moved toward her and inclined his head. “My name is Daniel Barton.”
“My name is Miriam Sinclair,” she said.
A different surname, Daniel noted. “Is it Miss Sinclair?”
“It is,” she replied. “My have my father’s surname. Mama married twice.”
“I see. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sinclair.” Daniel glanced about. “Even under these somber conditions.” He gestured to the bench. “After you, of course.”
She smiled and lifted her chin slightly as she took her seat. “I’m actually waiting for someone,” she said, settling herself at the farthest end of the bench. “I expect he’ll be along at any moment.”
A lie, Daniel knew. A defensive ploy. “The fog has delayed him, perhaps,” he said, taking care to sit at the opposite end of the bench. “In any case, there’s plenty of room for one more.”
“Yes, of course.” She looked toward the graves again. “Might I assume yours is a recent loss, Mr. Barton?”
“You may, Miss Sinclair. Not quite eight weeks. The headstone is close to being finished and should be placed in a few days.”
“Please accept my sympathies, sir.”
“Thank you. Though in truth it was actually a blessing,” Daniel replied. “My mother had been ill for a good while.”
“My mother suffered also.” Miss Sinclair sighed softly. “My stepfather is long deceased, so I am obliged to live with my stepbrother now.”
The latter statement seemed to imply a burden.
Might that have something to do with her desire for protection, Daniel wondered, and then checked himself.
The dream was only that. A dream. Maybe his brain was seeing what it wanted to see.
Maybe the woman in his dream merely resembled the one currently seated on the bench. He checked himself again.
No. It’s her. Definitely her.
“What does he do?” Daniel asked.
“My stepbrother?” There followed a slight pause. “He is the vicar of St. Marks.”
Daniel heard a hint of bitterness in her voice. “On Stilgate Road?”
“Yes.”
“An admirable calling and a handsome church.”
Miss Sinclair gave a vague smile. “And what of you, Mr. Barton? Do you have a family? An occupation?”
Daniel had the distinct impression that Miss Sinclair was deliberately steering the conversation away from her.
“I have a great aunt who lives in Cornwall, though I visit rarely. We share a couple of letters a year. Otherwise, no. Now that my mother is gone, I have no one. As for an occupation, I’m a stonemason. ”
“That is a broad field, sir. Do you have a specialty?” She glanced about. “Headstones, perhaps?”
He chuckled. “Not usually, no, though I am currently working on something along those lines. My specialty is the reparation and restoration of historical buildings and artefacts.”
Miss Sinclair’s face brightened instantly. “Oh, how fascinating! I possess a love of history, especially ancient history. I imagine it must be rewarding to bring things back to the way they used to be.”
“It is indeed, Miss Sinclair, very rewarding,” Daniel replied, aware of a sudden yet vague stirring deep down. Unsettling, but not unpleasant. He had so many questions, but didn’t dare ask them. How could he? The impossible scenario played out in the safety of his mind.
My dear Miss Sinclair, although we have never met before this day, I must tell you that you have been in my nightly dreams this past fortnight, and I understand you need my protection. May I know from what? Or from whom? This stepbrother of yours, perhaps?
It was laughable. Such an outburst would result in the girl being convinced of his madness and fleeing as if her life depended on it.
Besides, providing protection and sanctuary to a woman demanded a commitment of some sort.
Though in his twenty-eighth year, Daniel had not given much thought to marriage.
Life, so far, had kept him away from such considerations.
In recent times, his main concern had been the care of his mother.
That, and the demands of his trade, had left little room for courtship.
“Well, Mr. Barton, it would seem my friend has been overly delayed,” Miss Sinclair said, rising to her feet. “I think, perhaps, I should be on my way.”
“So soon?” Daniel rose also, cursing inwardly at his careless spell of silence, which had likely been misconstrued as indifference.
He should have kept the girl talking to learn more about her, and perhaps begin to solve the mystery of her.
“I hope it is not on my account. You’ve hardly been seated five minutes. ”
“But I was here a good while before you arrived, sir. Close to an hour all told, breathing this unpleasant air. I think it best I go.”
Daniel grabbed at an opportunity. “I understand, of course. Given the conditions, Miss Sinclair, and the fact that your friend has not appeared, please allow me to escort you from the cemetery.”
She hesitated a moment. “Would it not be out of your way? I came via Chester Street. I believe your direction is elsewhere.”