An Unnatural Daughter: A Dark Regency Mystery Read Free

‘She died when I was born.’
    ‘I’m so sorry.’
    ‘So I never knew her, but my father told me about her. She was a dancer.’
    I looked at him through my lashes, wondering how he would take it.
    ‘How marvellous.’
    I stared at him, and couldn’t decide whether or not he was genuine. I decided not to risk telling him she was French.
    ‘And your father? Do you remember anything about him? Was he in the theatre too?’
    ‘No, I-’ I stopped myself just before I revealed too much. ‘I can’t remember. I don’t think he was but…’
    ‘Ah.’ Tristan looked awkward for a moment and busied himself with laying out his brush roll and unscrewing the cap from a jar of water. ‘A dancer, eh? I’ve always had a thing for the theatre. I’d have loved to be a leading man, travelling the country – nay, the world, painting my face up and donning outrageous garb. What a lark it would be! I say, I wonder if you can dance – if you can’t remember, that is?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘We shall have to try it out some time. Once you’re better, I mean.’ He glanced towards my feet, which were shamefully free of stockings or shoes. I curled my toes, but was too embarrassed to draw his attention further by making a show of covering them with my skirts.
    Tristan began sketching and we fell silent. I realised I had grown used to Edwina’s gentle, non-probing conversations. How easy it would be for me to make a mistake. One slip and my lies would unravel and they would hate me. I couldn’t bear it. And to think, it would all have been caused by the careless mention of my father.

CHAPTER 2
    The Beginning, or the Middle
     
     
     
     
     
    I first saw Mr Raynor when he visited my father. He didn’t see me then, and wouldn’t until some days later, but I watched him as he left the house that day. I had been working in the garden, the skirt of my old cotton smock hoisted to my knees, and my hair tied up in a scarf like a beggar woman. Streaked as I was with mud and dust, I chose to stay out of sight of the windows once I had heard the door. Father very rarely had visitors, but when he did I never knew who they were. Generally people from his publishers, or an enthusiastic student delivering specimens. Nobody remotely interesting to me, and Father never expected me to be present. He preferred it if I kept out of the way, so he didn’t have to go to the fuss of introducing me and answering the inevitable questions about Mother. The arrangement pleased me, as I didn’t really know how to behave in company.
    I took my time in the garden. It was something of a relief to know I wouldn’t be wanted to write up notes or label drawers or dust cases for a while. I had plenty of work to do – there were always weeds. A woodlouse scurried from beneath a pile of mulchy leaves, and I let it run over my fingers, enjoying the feather-light tickling feeling. I didn’t mind insects in the garden, where they were alive. It was the ones in Father’s cases that unnerved me.
    The stranger, as he was then, was with Father for such a long time. I had cleared the border down the side of the house and washed my hands under the pump before I heard the front door open. Dropping low, I crept up behind the big hedge and watched the gentleman emerge. I could make out little more than a pale triangle of face visible between the brim of his hat and his up-turned collar. Nothing remarkable. A few moments later there was the sound of horses’ hooves, and he was gone. I went back to the house and changed my clothes before starting to make dinner.
    I didn’t see Father until he faced me over the dinner table. I’d managed to cobble together something with the last of the smoked fish and a few vegetables, but there really wasn’t much in the house. Father seemed displeased, and I worried he’d not eat much. At length he rose, leaving his plate barely touched, and began to pace.
    After a few lengths of the floor had been completed, he stood by the