Midnight in Your Arms Read Free

in the privacy of your flat. This is not at all a frivolous call, I assure you.”
    Laura looked at him for a moment longer, and he gazed back at her gravely, waiting for her to decide. She had a feeling he would wait for as long as he must, that she could stand here considering him for an hour, and he would let her. It was this sort of endearing, canine quality that finally decided her. After all, she allowed total strangers into her home all day long between the hours of nine and six o’clock, with a hypothetical break for tea that she rarely took. She spent most of the day tired and ravenous, bombarded by the emotionally needy. What was another hour without her supper, and another stranger at her table? This one at least said he wanted nothing from her, that he wanted to give her something. Or at least, do something for her. Which was enough of a rarity in her life that she was intrigued.
    She sighed, and opened the door fully, gesturing for him to come in. He did so diffidently, though his eyes darted around her dismal little flat with great interest. She flushed when his gaze lingered on the portrait of Charles in his uniform, which was the sole decoration on her mantel.
    “Sweetheart?” he inquired.
    “Brother,” Laura replied flatly.
    He nodded with true sympathy. “I lost a brother myself. His name was William, but we called him Bill. It was a terrible shock to my poor mother. He was to have come into the firm as well, you see, but …” He shrugged.
    Laura stared at him. He went a little pink, as if embarrassed to have told her so much. “It’s quite alright, Mr. Tisdale,” she said, with a deprecating smile. “I have that effect on people. If you will please follow me.”
    He did so meekly enough, taking the chair she offered him at the scuffed kitchen table where she did her readings and channelling. She set a cup and saucer down in front of him, and another for herself. “Tea?”
    “Please.”
    “Cream? I’ve no lemon, I’m afraid.”
    “Black will do just fine, Miss Dearborn.”
    She nodded, and measured the tea leaves into the pot before adding the water. She set it down on the trivet to steep before finally taking her place across from the preternaturally patient solicitor.
    “I suppose you’re wondering what all the mystery is about, Miss Dearborn.”
    Laura shrugged, though she was growing rather curious, and not a little apprehensive. She couldn’t read Mr. Tisdale. The living were not at all her speciality, but she had learned a few things during her years nursing the nearly dead and irretrievably wounded—not to mention those who survived them. But Mr. Tisdale was kindly, jovial, and completely locked away inside of himself. He was not a man who displayed his secrets as most people did, although Laura had a feeling he had more than a few. But his secrets were none of her concern. She looked at the surface of him, and decided to deal only with what she could see: a man with something important to tell her. Something that may change her life, whether she wanted it to or not.
    “Go on,” she said.
    “Miss Dearborn, I am here on behalf of Stonecross Hall.”
    Laura Dearborn, consummate stalwart, felt punched in the gut. Her heart started to pound painfully in her chest, and her lungs felt as though they could take only the shallowest of breaths. Her fingertips began to tingle as they did only when she was about to encounter the most powerful of channellings. Her ears rang, flooded with the noise of a hundred wireless stations gone off air. Stonecross Hall. So that’s what it’s called.
    She took hold of herself, firmly and calmly. “I have never heard of it,” she said. She picked up the teapot to pour, and to her great relief, her hands were completely steady.
    “Well, I am here to tell you that it has most certainly heard of you.”
    Laura emitted a short laugh. “That is utterly preposterous. How can a house hear of anyone?”
    He chuckled. “Fair enough. What I meant to say