Secret Letters

by Leah Scheier

  “Then, how—?”

  “I’m not going to tell you what I know,” she interrupted. “I don’t know who you are, Miss Dora, but I can see that you aren’t meant to be here. And you’re obviously not a maid; I noticed that right away. No maid has eyes like yours. And there are no female inspectors that I know of—certainly not at your age. So either you’re a criminal—or an actress. Either way, you’re not doing what you ought to be.”

  I smiled to myself. She was certainly right about that, I thought.

  “No, I suppose I’m not,” I replied. “People have been telling me for years that I’m not behaving as I ought to be. But I can’t say that I regret the choices that I’ve made.”

  “Well, then, we’re very different,” she retorted in a bitter voice. “As I’ve spent the last few years regretting nearly every choice I’ve made. All of the blunders, all the embarrassment I’ve caused.” She sighed and sank back farther against the wall. “You see, I never expected to be a disappointment.”

  “Well, no one wants to be a disappointment,” I replied softly. “But I can’t imagine that anyone thinks of you that way.”

  “Well, if you believe that, then you must know nothing about me.” She laughed shortly. “Nearly everybody else has heard about the earl’s clumsy daughter, about Hartfield’s social failure. That’s how they all describe me, if they remember me at all.”

  “But you can still change that,” I insisted. “You have your family behind you, after all.”

  “My family?” she shot back. “No, I don’t think they will support me. How could they? They’ll hate me for uncovering their secret. Still, what else could I do? What would you have done if you’d been me, if you’d been given an opportunity to change your life forever?”

  I wasn’t certain what she was asking me, of course, but I had to say something, and encourage her to continue. “I suppose that I would have taken the chance,” I ventured.

  She sighed and turned away. “But what if, by revealing the truth, you tore down what your family loved most?” she murmured sadly.

  How does one respond to a question like that? I could not claim to understand her feelings without revealing details of my own life, without telling her of my own experience. But she did not want to hear my story, even if I’d been willing to tell it then. In fact she did not appear to want any answer from me, for she was no longer looking at me, but instead was gazing off at some point in the distance. She had only wanted to speak out loud, I realized, to voice the question that had plagued her for so long, which she had not dared to share with anyone.

  “Perhaps, in the end, you won’t have to reveal the secret,” I suggested finally. “Perhaps others will do it for you.”

  She nodded and lay back on the floor. “That might be the best thing after all, I think,” she agreed. “But it can’t happen that way now. I’ve hidden it, you see—and no one will find it without me.”

  That was all she was prepared to say, it seemed, for she had turned her face back to the wall. Her breathing was more regular now, and after a few minutes I saw that she had drifted off to sleep.

  I moved away from her and thought about what she’d just said. Several loose clues were beginning to come together in my mind.

  Lady Rose had not identified James as her abductor, even though there was no question that the valet knew why his mistress had been kidnapped. Over the last few weeks he had spent hours deciphering a code in the Hartfield library; Agatha had seen him with a coded message. And just now Lady Rose had hinted that James had discovered something, that they had both “unearthed a secret,” as she had put it. Flora had mentioned seeing mud on Lady Rose’s fingers; perhaps the girl had literally unearthed it. Had Lady Rose taken something from James and hidden it away for her own purpose? But what had she had taken from him, and, more importantly, where had she concealed it?

  And then it came to me. I had noticed something no one else had. Even Cartwright had missed it, for he had searched Lady Rose’s room in the beginning and found nothing. But I knew now where it was. I knew where she had hidden her secret before she was abducted.

  AS I ROSE TO LEAVE, Mr. Porter stepped into the room and moved to block my path. “One moment, please, young lady. My assistant promised me an explanation later—but I believe I’d like to hear it now. What exactly are you doing here?”

  I did not want to justify my presence to this man. I was minutes away from uncovering Lady Rose’s secret, moments away from my first success, and this grumpy second-rate detective wanted an accounting now? He could apply to his apprentice for an answer.

  “Mr. Cartwright needed my assistance, sir. That is why I’m here.”

  “I beg your pardon?!”

  “Mr. Porter, perhaps you ought to speak with him.”

  “I most certainly intend to speak to him. This has become outrageous. A flirtation is a flirtation, and I do not begrudge a young man his amours, however misguided his choice might be. But to put his blind infatuation in front of his career, to intentionally endanger both—”

  “Infatuation, sir?! You think that I came to Hartfield dressed like a maidservant in order to wink at your assistant?”

  “I do not know what your game is yet, Miss Joyce, and, frankly, I do not care. But when I took that boy on I pledged that I would look after him. I made a promise to myself to do my best by him, to treat him as my own son. And I can honestly say that I’ve kept that promise. He was doing well with me, and learning a great deal. He was recovering, Miss Joyce, faster than anyone could have imagined. And so I think I have a duty now to ask you what you’re about and what your relationship is with my young apprentice. I have the right to understand that much!”

  “I don’t know what you want to hear, sir!” I exclaimed furiously. “Mr. Cartwright asked me to help him!” I was choking on my own anger now, burning crimson with humiliation. “He asked me as a friend, a colleague—as an equal! I realize that you are worried about my involvement in this case, but I’ve done nothing, nothing to shame anyone.”

  I would have continued in that vein, would have protested my innocence until I had convinced him, but my mind had now suddenly clouded over, and a gray fog had swirled before my eyes. Alarmed, I reached my hands out to steady myself against the wall, and then gasped as a searing pain shot across my arm.

  Porter stepped forward and grasped me by the elbow. “Miss Joyce? Are you unwell?” His voice came at me like a distant roar, a muffled rumble without meaning. I shook my head to clear my sight and took a deep breath in. Porter was calling to me now, and I heard myself replying, a dull echo in my head, “I need a moment—please just give me a moment.”

  I couldn’t be sick now; I had come so close! What was the use of all my work if I fell ill when they needed me the most? And I couldn’t faint before this man, this overbearing pompous bag! He would smirk at me and then lecture me about a young girl’s innocent fragility. I could never live that down. I had to overcome this nausea, the sinking blackness in my head.

  A few more breaths brought back some clarity; I shook myself, pulled my shoulders back, and opened my eyes. My vision was slowly returning. I could see Porter’s frowning face, and the unpleasant sight helped to clear my mind. He had stepped forward when he’d moved to catch me, and I saw that he was no longer blocking the doorway. My path to Hartfield was now clear.

  I gave him an ingratiating smile, took a final deep breath, then quickly dodged past him and headed for the door. He spun about and shouted after me. “Where are you going, girl?”

  But I did not stay to answer him; I was already out the door and running toward the Hall. He would not follow me, I knew, for he could not leave Ellison and Lady Rose alone.

  It was nearly evening now and the sun had set into a bleak and cloudy sky; a southerly wind bit at my ankles and snapped at my neck as I sped down across the valley. I hid my wounded hand beneath my cloak to shield it from the biting wind. By the time I reached the Hall, my chest burned with every breath I took, and my
head throbbed as if a crown of freezing lead had been bound around my temples. Clutching the banister, I pulled myself up to Lady Rose’s bedroom and stumbled over to the bookcase.

  The wooden clock, the broken one, was still sitting on the shelf, the only silent, lifeless piece in the entire bookcase. The other ceramic clocks each ticked their tunes, mocking their quiet brother. I plucked it off the shelf and pried the base open with my fingers. There was a hollow cavity inside where the mechanism had once been, and there, rolled into a spiral cone, was a single letter. Carefully I eased it from its hiding place and held it up, trying to read the writing by the dimming light.

  On one side was a list of I ’s and V ’s and X ’s arranged in neat, short columns. On the reverse, in different handwriting, was the translation of the code.

  My dearest Mark, By now you understand why we can no longer see each other. It is becoming obvious that he is your son—

  “DORA!” In a moment, the letter was tucked beneath my apron. Agatha was standing by the door, hands on her hips, shaking her head back and forth like an angry schoolteacher. “What are you doing here? They have been looking for you all afternoon!”

  “I—the clock is broken!” I blurted out and pointed to the dismantled piece upon the shelf.

  “What?”

  My composure was returning to me now, and I tried again. “I was passing by the room, and I saw this clock lying on the floor. I was tryin’ to put it back together.”

  She looked perplexed and shook her head. “That’s where you’ve been all day?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, ’course not. But listen, I think it was the workman that was here before that broke it. I saw him near here earlier.”

  Agatha smiled. “The workman? Ah, the tall one that Flora likes?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “He was just in the library talking with James.”

  “I’ll just go and ask him about the clock, then.”

  “But you won’t find him there now.”

  “Why not?”

  “They both left the Hall a few minutes ago.”

  I was too late. Swallowing my frustration, I turned away from her and peeked out through the window curtain. The grounds were shadowed and quiet. There was no sign of them. “Did they say where they was goin’?”

  “Of course not. ’Tisn’t my business, is it? And I can’t figure out why you think it’s yours.” Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin. “See here, what do you want with James, anyhow?”

  There was really no way to answer that without creating further questions. I had to think of something to throw her off the track, or else I would never be allowed to leave. So I decided to tell her what I thought she would want to hear, as I had run out of ideas.

  “Listen, Agatha,” I whispered miserably. “If I tell you this, you have to swear to me that you won’t tell a livin’ soul.”

  She relaxed a little and stepped closer to me. “You’ve been straight with me, haven’t you?” she told me. “So I’ll be straight with you.”

  I wavered for a moment, exhaled slowly and ducked my head. “That workman that was here, that tall one with the green eyes—he’s very important to me. You see, the truth is—I’m in love with him.”

  “In love with him! That’s wonderful! Oh, but, Dora, does he know?”

  I shook my head and wrung my hands. A shock of pain shot through my palm and real tears started to my eyes. “He asked me to marry him. And, Agatha, I turned him down!”

  “Oh, but why?” she breathed. “If you love him so?”

  I managed a little hiccup of despair. “Oh, Agatha, I’m such a stupid girl! I didn’t know how much I cared for him until I realized that I was going to lose him. He’s leaving tomorrow for Ireland. And I will never see him again!”

  “Ah, Dora, you poor, poor girl.” She clucked her tongue and took my hand. “Don’t cry. I think I might know where they went.”

  I dried my eyes and smiled gratefully at her. This was an unexpected bonus. “You do?”

  “I watched them from the window—and then I followed them. Just for a little bit, mind you. Just because I was so worried about James, you understand.”

  “Of course.”

  “They headed for the cemetery. Due north. Behind the church.”

  “The cemetery? But—”

  “I can’t imagine why, my dear, but I believe that is where they went.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” I told her earnestly. “I cannot tell you what this means to me.”

  “Good luck,” she murmured. “And Godspeed.”

  I fled before she could wonder why I was seeking my lover in a graveyard, instead of waiting for his return to tell him of my passion.

  By the time I reached the church it was nighttime and a light fog had settled on the earth. I wished suddenly that I had brought a dark lantern, for the moon was now my only source of light, and I could not see beyond the iron spikes of the graveyard fence. I stumbled past a tree stump and slipped across a patch of mud, then finally fell upon the gate and pushed it open. All was still within.

  I wondered irritably why I had followed Agatha’s directions. She had said that they had walked in the direction of the cemetery, but she had not actually seen them there. Perhaps they had changed course or had turned around, and now I would have to find my way back through the dark alone. The place was eerie and forbidding, as cemeteries in the nighttime tend to be, and as I turned to flee I realized that I was shivering from real fear as well as from the cold.

  I was only halfway out the gate when I felt a hand upon my shoulder. I opened my mouth to scream, but another hand closed over my lips and pushed me backward. Terrified, I lashed out blindly with my fists, striking desperately at my unknown enemy, in an effort to free myself. Before I could turn to face my attacker, my right arm was pinned behind my back and the hand over my mouth tightened its hold. In a last frantic attempt to escape, I pulled my left elbow forward and with all my strength drove it backward into my assailant’s chest.

  There was a muffled gasp, and the grip upon my arm loosened. I twisted about to face my opponent. The next moment I had fallen back, shaking with laughter and relief.

  “I was not expecting that,” muttered Peter Cartwright, rubbing one hand over his right side. “Two bruises in one day, Miss Joyce. Have you no compassion?”

  I ran my fingers over my sore jaw. “You put your hand over my mouth.”

  “You were about to scream and wake the dead. I tried to speak to you but you were too busy thrashing about to listen.”

  “Where have you been hidden, then?”

  “Behind the cherub tombstone in the corner.” He pointed to an angelic stone baby, and I saw a shadow flicker by a wreath of flowers at the base.

  “James is with you?”

  “And two constables as well. We are expecting company at any moment. I was not, however, expecting you. I distinctly remember telling you—”

  “I came to bring you this,” I interrupted and pulled the letter from my apron. “This is what Lady Rose had hidden. This letter originally belonged to James.”

  He snatched it from me and held it up, squinting at the words in the dim moonlight.

  “‘My dearest Mark,’” he read, and his eyes widened as he skimmed it. “Dora, this is from the earl’s first wife, from Lord Victor’s mother.”

  “Yes, it’s their family secret—and the reason Lady Rose was kidnapped,” I told him.

  “But how did you find it—” he began, then shook his head and grasped me by the shoulder. “Never mind, we’ll have to discuss that later. Come now, quickly, let’s get back into position. He will be here any moment.”

  We hurried over to the tombstone, crouched beneath the icy shadows, and waited in the darkness. The minutes ticked by slowly, my legs grew stiff and cold; but I did not stir, I would not dare. Behind me I could hear the labored breathing of the heavier constable, the nasal whistle of the smaller one, and the irregular panting of the tense valet. I don’
t believe Cartwright breathed at all, for he was as silent as the dead. The night air had an oppressive dampness to it. Someone had recently smoked a cigarette, and the smell of tobacco stung my eyes and made my throat constrict. The scent had never bothered me before, but it was suffocating now; my head swam and my vision blurred. I had begun to lean heavily on my companion, and I felt him shift and put his hand across my forehead. His fingers felt like icicles on my skin.

  “You’re feverish, Dora,” he whispered, a shade of concern coloring his voice. I shivered as he spoke and pulled away from him.

  “I’m just a little warm, that’s all. I ran all the way here.”

  “Hush, now, someone’s coming!” The order came from James, who was hovering above me, having risen from the ground in his excitement.

  From beyond the hill a distant thud of footsteps broke the stillness, and the bulky shadow of a man appeared upon the blue, moonlit horizon. He paused a moment by the church and seemed to look about him warily. I heard him sigh and mutter to himself as he paced before the cemetery fence. Then he pushed open the iron gate and stepped out of the shadows toward us so we could see his face.

  Lord Hartfield had arrived. Peter Cartwright sprang to his feet and slipped into view, an index finger to his lips “Your Lordship,” he hissed. “We have been expecting you. Do not make a sound, I beg of you.”

  The earl heaved an exasperated sigh and shuffled over to our hiding place. “What is the meaning of this?” he rumbled at us. “Why have you called me out here in the dead of night, with this absurd little note?” He held up a slip of paper as he spoke. “Where is Mr. Porter? Why did you instruct me to tell no one about this meeting?” He glanced at me and frowned. “And why is the kitchen maid here?”

  “Please Your Lordship, everything will be clear in moments. But now I must ask you to remain quiet.” Cartwright put a heavy hand upon the earl’s shoulder, and the man sank down beside us, sputtering into irritable silence.