Secret Letters (16 page)

“I don’t
care
about my career!” he shot back. “And I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me. I don’t want
anyone
sacrificing themself for me!”

“That’s very well, then! Because I’m not doing this for you. I’m here for Adelaide and Lady Rose, remember? And the longer we argue about this—the longer I’m away from Hartfield, the more suspicious everyone becomes. So, please, stop fighting me now and just read that note from Lady Rose. I need to know what you think of it.”

He shook his head and slowly eased the letter from its envelope. While he studied the paper, I shifted impatiently in my seat and waited to hear his verdict.

“Someone dictated this,” he remarked after a few minutes.

I gave him a little smile of triumph. “That is what I thought. But look closer there—Lady Rose had tried to spell out her own message—”

“Yes, the word ‘HELP.’ I noticed that before I read the letter.”

“Oh.” My smile faded. “Right. Well, fine, then. I was just making sure you saw that. Very smart of you.”

He threw his hands up. “Well?”

“Well, Mr. Cartwright, naturally I wanted to know who dictated the letter—who addressed the envelope. So I obtained this sample of James’s writing for comparison.”

I thrust the slip of paper across the table. He stared at it for a moment and then shoved it in his pocket. “Well done—but the writing on the envelope doesn’t match.”

“I know that. Perhaps an accomplice posted it for him.”

“That doesn’t help us much now, does it? And why did you ask me to bring a Bible?”

“Because James is also sending coded messages to Lord Victor, and I believe I’ve found the key to them.”

I placed my last clue beside the book and described the scene with Lord Victor and the ash stains. As I spoke he turned to page 243 (indicated by the first three Roman numerals in the message), and I began to count, “53/11.”

“SHAVE,” he read out.

This was not what I had expected. Still, I would not give up hope so soon. “57/4,” I continued.

“BLOODY,” he said, a faint grin playing on his lips.

I felt my throat constrict. “57/23.”

“TURTLE-DOVES.” He was snickering now. “Go on.”

“No, thank you,” I responded, dropping my head onto my arms. “I think ‘Shave bloody turtle-doves’ is humiliating enough.”

“Ah, well, never mind,” he replied in a kinder tone, and closed the book. “This code was clearly meant to be deciphered only by people with identical editions. And this is simply not the version that we need.”

I sighed and raised my head. “I should have anticipated that. Agatha told me that she saw James thumbing through a set of Dickens once and he had a letter written in code resting next to him. Perhaps he, too, had been trying to decipher the code as we are.”

“And he tried every book in the library until he found the right one.”

“And yet I am certain that he
wrote
the markings on the mantelpiece,” I protested. “James is involved in something guilty, I am sure of it. Agatha told me that she saw him steal away last night and that he returned with dirty trousers and a concealed gun. If we find out where he went last night, I believe it will lead us to the solution.”

“With that, at least, I must agree,” he responded. “And I suppose that’s the reason you requested that I bring a dog?”

I nodded, and a little pride came back into my voice. “James’s shoes smell like licorice. I coated them with anise oil yesterday.”

I saw that I had finally impressed him. He smiled and rose quickly from the bench. “Then the trail should still be warm for us. I have the dog tied up outside.”

I grabbed the Bible and followed him out the door. Lying sprawled out by the bottom step was the animal in question, a speckled, long-haired mutt who was snoring and sighing like an old man after a meal. The dog opened one eye, yawned lazily, and rolled over on his side. “He’s rather an ancient fellow, isn’t he?” I remarked, patting him behind the ear. “Shall I hold his leash?”

“No, I’ll hold him. I have two good arms, and Toby can pull quite hard when he is on the trail.”

“Oh, this is Toby?” I exclaimed. “I’d pictured a larger animal.” I had read about Toby in “The Sign of the Four.” It was somewhat ironic that I had traveled all this way to meet the great detective but had only succeeded in becoming acquainted with his favorite dog. “Shall we go then, Peter?”

But his mood changed again, his expression shifting to one of dawning realization. He had pulled James’s note out from his pocket and was now regarding me with narrowed eyes. I could tell that he was about to say something rather unpleasant, and I had a suspicion about what it was going to be.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what are you worried about now?” I asked him after an uncomfortable pause.

“Well, I can’t help wondering about this note from James,” he muttered finally, holding out the letter. “Why
exactly
did he request a meeting with you?”

I sighed irritably and snatched the paper from his hand. “I never compromised myself. You needn’t glare at me like that.”

“I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Joyce, but I think you’ll have to forgive my doubts about your behavior. You see, I’m still a little sore after your last display. This
is
the first time that I’ve worked with a barroom dancer, after all.”

I suppose that he was bound to mention that eventually. In fact I was surprised he hadn’t reproached me sooner and instead had allowed himself to be distracted by my wounded arm. But I was too tired to argue with him now, especially since, deep down, I knew that he was right to criticize me for what I’d done.

“The dancing was rather much, I know,” I admitted finally, when I realized that he would not speak again. “But it
is
possible for a girl to use her charms without risking anything.”

“Oh, really?” he retorted. “And is that how you obtained this note, then? By being charming? And flirting with a suspected
criminal
?”

“Oh, Peter, what do you
want
from me?” I shot back. “You encourage me to lie to Adelaide, dress me in a servant’s costume, and send me as a spy to investigate a kidnapping. And yet I am supposed to be discreet, demure, an innocent little shadow beneath the stairs? And you? You can behave in any way you like, and no one says a word! You have no reputation to preserve, and yet for some reason you seem obsessed with guarding mine.”

“But we are not the same, Miss Joyce! Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I am just as capable as you are, sir. So I wish that you’d stop treating me like a helpless child!”

He frowned and turned away; I saw his hands ball into fists. Then, without warning, without a sound, he swung about and seized me by the shoulders, pushing me roughly up against the tavern wall. My right wrist was pinned against my back; my left shoulder trapped against the hard, cold brick. I fought furiously, trying to pull my arm free from his grasp, kicking savagely at his shins. He could not mean to harm me; I knew that even as I wrestled with him. But he was not allowed to touch me, not like this! I was supposed to be insulted, shaking, horrified. I should have screamed my outrage at him.

But I did not.

The struggle lasted but a moment for his grip relaxed at once and he leaned his face down close to mine. He was still holding me firmly to the wall, but I could feel a gentleness now beneath the iron strength. The fingers about my uninjured wrist were lax, forgiving; he had not touched my wounded arm, even when I had tried to strike him with it. He brought his lips down to my ear; his cheek was so near mine that I could feel its warmth against my own.

“Dora?”

I could not speak. My throat had gone quite dry, and my mouth was now so close to him that I did not dare to move.

“Dora, you know that I would never hurt you?”

I nodded mutely, and leaned back against the wall.

“But if I’d meant to hurt you here, could you have stopped it?”

“Let me go.”

“Please answer me.”

“I’m going to scream!”

“Just
answer me
!”

I stamped my foot and tried to kick him one more time, not to try to free myself, for I knew that to be useless, but to distract him from my blushing. After a couple of false attempts, my boot finally connected with his knee.

“Ow, Dora, for God’s sake!”

I hadn’t succeeded in freeing myself, but I stopped struggling for a moment and watched him grit his teeth against the pain. I was sorry to have hurt him, but seeing him uncomfortable made me a little less self-conscious. I could think more clearly now, despite the beating warmth surging through my cheeks.

“What would you like to hear?” I hissed at him. “Yes, if you wanted to—you could have hurt me. You could have strangled me, or beaten me, or done anything else you wished.” My voice had sunk into a bitter whisper. “There now, are you satisfied? Or must you humiliate me further and mock my weakness?”

He released me and stepped back, his cheeks darkening with shame.

“I trust I didn’t hurt you,” he said apologetically after a tense pause. “I was only trying to make a point. I’m glad we understand each other now.”

“I don’t understand you at all, actually,” I responded bitterly. “One moment you’re praising me and encouraging me to succeed, and the next you’re doing your best to frighten me and trying to shelter me as if you feel responsible for me. Why can’t you just make up your mind?”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I don’t know, Dora,” he replied after a pause. “But I do realize how frustrating it must be for you. And I’m sorry, really I am.” He gave me a timid smile and shrugged his shoulders. “I rather overdid it with that demonstration, didn’t I? But you have to understand that I do worry about you—about your safety. Not just because I care about you—but because
I’m
the one who put you in this place. I’ve encouraged you, just as you pointed out. And if anything was to happen to you, it would be entirely my fault. I didn’t appreciate that before, but now I see that I was too hasty, that I didn’t think this through properly. Dora, I just—I don’t want any more people to suffer because of a selfish decision that I made.”

It was a heartfelt apology, sincere and honest, and it made me regret the way I’d spoken to him earlier. And truthfully, I couldn’t help it; one phrase stood out to me from all the rest. Those sweet few words:
not just because I care about you
.

I wanted to hold on to those words, wanted him to speak them again, to tell me more. But of course I could not ask him then. We were moments from tracking James, perhaps minutes from finding Lady Rose. This was clearly not the time for that sort of talk. But I had to say something to him, to laugh off our fight and show him that I’d forgiven him. So I decided to make a careless joke, just to make him smile again.

“You don’t want anyone else to suffer because of one of your decisions, Peter?” I teased him. “So, other young girls have sacrificed themselves for you in the past?”

I had expected him to smile and tease me back, to mock me a little and so smooth over our quarrel. So I could not imagine why he suddenly turned pale and stared at me like I’d just slapped him across the face. It was just a momentary reaction, really. I think that he soon realized I’d been joking and that I hadn’t meant anything by it; but in that instant I saw a startled hurt flame in his eyes, the flash of an unwilling confession. Then it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Not recently, no,” he muttered, and stepped away from me. “All right now, enough of this; it’s time to go, don’t you agree? It will be dark soon, and I’d prefer not to track at night.” He leaned over the dog and held out several cubes of sugar. “Wake up, Toby, wake up!”

There was an irritable iciness to his posture now, and I saw that he had deliberately turned his back to me, as if he were trying to avoid further conversation. I still had no idea what I’d said to upset him so, but there was nothing I could do about it now. He was clearly no longer in the mood to talk. So I decided to carry on as if nothing had occurred between us.

“We should circle the village,” I suggested evenly. “Agatha said that James headed toward Sheffield Green, so the dog should be able to pick up the scent close to the border.”

Cartwright straightened quickly and shook his head.

“Oh, no. You can return to Hartfield now, Miss Joyce. Toby doesn’t need two people pulling at his leash.”

I took a rag out from my pocket and crumpled it in my hand. “You have to put Toby on the scent, remember? This is the cloth that I used yesterday to wipe up the anise spill. So you can let me come with you. Or you can to try to force this napkin from my fingers. Just as you wish.”

He did not seem surprised or even irritated by my challenge. He appeared too weary to object just then, too tired to even look at me. He shrugged and passed his hand over his face. “Very well. Let’s go, then.”

I tossed the rag to him, and he allowed the dog to sniff it for a moment. Then we set off in the direction of the parish church, which stood at the northern corner of the village. At first we walked in silence, for we were both still smarting from our recent tussle. Cartwright limped a little, and I glumly rubbed my wrist every time he looked at me. I wanted to apologize and ask for his forgiveness, but I wasn’t sure yet what I’d said to hurt him. Besides, he didn’t appear to want to talk about it, as if he’d realized that he had already given too much away by his reaction. It seemed that there was only one safe way to mend the rift that I’d just caused and that was to talk about the case.

“Have you learned anything more about the valet since we last met?” I inquired finally.

“I did,” he told me. “Tell me, do you know James’s real family name?”

I shook my head. “No, but I assumed Farringdon was not his real name. Footmen and valets are frequently renamed when they enter service. Besides, criminals usually take on pseudonyms.”

“He had used the alias James Farringdon when he applied for the post at Hartfield. But I was able to find his hometown, and from there to trace him and learn a little about his family. He was the only son of Mark and Abigail Fellows, of Lambley.”