Secret Letters (17 page)

He paused and looked at me expectantly. I bit my lip and stared fixedly ahead, pretending to be fascinated by Toby’s progress.

I had forgotten to ask about Mark Fellows as Cartwright had requested. After I received his letter, I had been so focused on obtaining a sample of James’s handwriting that I had ignored the lead he had offered me. Cartwright seemed disappointed by my silence but continued as if I had responded. “Mark Fellows abandoned his family five years ago. He simply disappeared without a trace.”

It was then it flashed on me, a comment made by one of the maids about Lord Victor’s mysterious older friend. “
He scared off the one friend he had, Mark Fellows, that gray-haired squire from Lambley
,” she had said.

“But Mr. Fellows was well-known at Hartfield!” I exclaimed. “James must have known that his father had been close with the family.”

“I am certain that he
did
know. But did Lord Victor know the connection? I indulged in a little gossiping with some Lambley housewives and learned that James had been at school the year his father vanished and that after the investigation was over, James disappeared for a time as well, only resurfacing when his mother died last year.”

“What did the police think happened to Mark Fellows?”

“The police thought nothing, as they usually do. Mr. Fellows was known to be something of a philanderer, and it was assumed that he had run off with one of his amours. Lord Victor revealed that Fellows had been thinking of leaving his wife for quite some time. Even the neighbors confirmed that the squire’s marriage was unhappy, though they were surprised by such a sudden turn of events. Also, men usually take their belongings with them when they leave their families, but Fellows disappeared with just the clothes upon his back.”

“That must have seemed suspicious to the police.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, he must have run off with a rich woman, they theorized, and closed the case.”

“But the squire disappeared five years ago. How does Lady Rose’s kidnapping fit into this?”

“As for Lady Rose—I believe we are about to learn that connection very soon.” Toby had suddenly stiffened and let out an urgent yelp. Nose down to the ground, he bore straight ahead, pulling us toward the western edge of Sheffield Green. We were now on the outskirts of the village, and it was evident that Toby was not leading us to the paved main road but rather to a side dirt path, which led to some of the tenant cottages.

The route that we were taking brought us to a sparsely populated area along the western border of the village. We passed two older houses, and Toby finally stopped near an isolated rundown cottage, which appeared from the outside to be unoccupied. He pulled Cartwright around and around in a circle and then finally took off in the direction of the estate.

My friend pulled the dog back and handed me the leash. “This is as far as James went last night,” he whispered, “before he returned to Hartfield. Stay here for a moment while I have a look around.”

We were standing about fifty feet away from the house, behind the toolshed. The piggery and stable next to it had clearly been empty for months, and the equipment by the shed was coated with layers of dust and dirt. Cartwright tossed his hat and coat beside me and crept around the side, while I squatted next to the faithful Toby, who had already rolled over and started to snore. I tied the dog’s leash to a tree and settled down to wait. Cartwright had not been gone a minute when I suddenly heard a far-off whistling sound coming from beyond the hilltop. As the sound grew nearer, I peeked out from behind the shed and saw that a boy was coming up the path, swinging a wicker basket by his side. The child was heading toward the abandoned house.

As he approached, I realized that I would be too far away to observe him, so I moved forward slowly, crawling along on my hands and knees. An overturned broken wheelbarrow, half covered by wild shrubbery, lay closer to the door, and I scrambled underneath it. Crouching there out of sight, I commanded an excellent view of the doorway and could easily hear everything that passed.

The boy gave three brisk taps with the back of his fist and the door swung open. There was a sound of mumbled greeting from inside, and a dark-bearded man in wrinkled clothing emerged. He looked around him anxiously before fixing his attention on the basket in the boy’s hand. “Well, then, what took ye so long?” he demanded.

The boy shrugged. “Sorry, Mr. Ellison. I saw your little girl in the bakery just now, and we got to talkin’.”

A shade of alarm passed over the man’s face. “Well, what did you talk about?”

There was a crafty look in the child’s eyes, and he answered slowly, as if the man’s anxiety was a matter of no importance. “We talked of many things. The weather. The church social. Dinner.” He raised his chin defiantly, an insolent smirk curling his lips. “But there was something she said that I found a bit surprising.”

Ellison grunted and spit a wad of tobacco onto the grass. “And what was that?”

“Well, sir, your daughter seemed to be under the impression that her father was in Southampton, visiting his sick brother.”

“And what did you say to her, boy?”

“Ohhhh,” crooned the child in a mocking singsong, “I didn’t tell her nothin’ different, of course.” The boy placed the basket deliberately behind his back and stepped away. “But then I got to thinking—I couldn’t help wonderin’ what it is you’re hidin’ out here away from your little girl? And why can’t you leave this house to get your own food?”

Ellison shot forward, but the boy darted out of his way, tossing the basket at the man as he went. A moldy roll and a half-eaten apple bounced out and, with a roar of fury, the man lunged for the child again. “Where is the food I paid you for?” he bellowed.

The boy was halfway up a tree before he answered, and he crowed at his opponent from the height. “You didn’t pay me enough. There was one pound missing.”

“One
pound
? It was two shillings for the rolls and a shilling for the delivery!” roared the man.

“Aye, sir, that was before I started carryin’ your little secret around with me. Powerful heavy, it is. That’ll cost you extra.”

“You stupid brat,” growled the man. “There is no secret. My brother has lost his house on account of his gambling and drinking. He came to me for help, half-starved and sick, and I could not bring him home like that. Maddy is only ten, and she thinks the world of her uncle. So I am watching over him in this old cottage until he is well enough to take care of himself. And if you tell Maddy, you’ll just be hurting her and not surprising anyone in the village with your tale.

So I want my food as we agreed or you won’t see another farthing from me.”

The boy scrambled down from the branch and rubbed his hands over his dirty knees. With a bowed head and a shamefaced pucker, he whined out a sulky apology and took off down the road. “I’ll bring it, sir, I’ll bring it,” he called over his shoulder. “I have to run an errand for my mum, but I’ll be back with it tonight right after supper.”

Ellison threw a clod of dirt after the child and cursed under his breath. “What am I expected to do now?” he muttered, tugging absentmindedly at his watch chain and gazing at the deserted road with vacant eyes. He gave the watch an irritable tug, and the chain shot forward and snapped in two. Swearing furiously, he tossed the watch into his coat pocket and vanished back into the cottage, shutting the door noisily behind him.

I
STAYED HIDDEN
there for some minutes afterward and watched the house, in case the man should reappear. Finally, when I was confident that all was quiet, I crawled slowly out from my hiding place, keeping my eyes fixed on the cottage. Presently Cartwright emerged from behind the house, waved to me, and ducked behind the shed again. I waited impatiently for him, for I was certain we had reached the last part of our journey and I could not wait to hear what our final step would be. When he joined me his expression was indifferent, but his eyes were bright and focused, his figure tense and poised, like a racer waiting for his cue.

“You heard him?” I whispered eagerly.

He nodded grimly, and his jaw set. “I could not see inside the house. There is a locked back entrance, and every window is shuttered and bolted.”

“Could we apply to the police to search the house, then?”

“Is that what you would do?”

“We must have grounds for a warrant.”

“Do we? Are you prepared to give the case over to the officials and the public, then?”

“You aren’t still concerned about the earl’s privacy?”

“No, but I’d rather have my case complete before I hand it over to Porter. I would like to at least lay eyes on the young lady and hear her story.”

I studied the door for a moment and then turned to face him. An idea had formed in my mind but I was hesitant to share it, for its details were somewhat vague, and I did not wish him to reject it before I could refine it. “I can get in there” was all I said.

“Absolutely not.”

“I shall knock on the door, and Ellison will let me in. He won’t suspect me. I will need two shillings, please.”

“No.”

Had I proposed scaling the roof and descending through the chimney, he could not have been more dismissive. He had already turned away from me with an impatient finality, and I saw with a start of horror that he had drawn a pistol from his coat pocket.

“You will stay hidden here, until I return,” he demanded, his voice hoarse and dark.

I reached my hand out and touched his sleeve. “Just listen to me for a moment, please. I can get inside there, no violence, no weapon. If we are wrong and Lady Rose isn’t there, no one will ever know our error. I will be in the house for less than five minutes, and when I get the opportunity I will unlock one window. Then I shall get him to follow me outside, and you will have your chance to look for her. You will be less than twenty feet away. If anything goes wrong I’ll scream.”

He turned around slowly, arms crossed over his chest, and studied my face for a moment.

“Please,” I added quietly before he answered. “Peter, give me this last chance.”

He uncrossed his arms and tossed over two shillings. “Be careful, Dora.”

I dropped the coins into my pocket and ran, worried that if I stayed to explain my plan he might change his mind once more. In less than a quarter of an hour I had arrived at the village bakery, and, some minutes later, I was heading back carrying a basket loaded with sweet-smelling, freshly baked muffins and warm loaves of bread. I gave three brisk taps on the cottage door and stood beside the post, out of view from the front windows. The door swung open and old Ellison leaned out of the gap. He started at the sight of me and seemed inclined to shrink back into the house. I smiled and meekly asked for directions to Hartfield, claiming to be new to the area and lost. He relaxed a little and stepped farther out onto the terrace. As he lifted his hand to point out the path back to the estate, I caught a glimpse of his fingers and I knew suddenly what I would say.

My eyes went wide and I smiled broadly, as if in recognition. “Why, sir, I hadn’t recognized you before! Mr. Ellison, you are looking so much better than the last time I saw you, sir!”

The alarmed look returned, and he shook his head. “I don’t think we’ve met before, Miss—”

“Banister, sir! Lizzie Banister! I don’t expect you’d remember me, though, for you were terribly ill then. Around Christmastime, I think it was. I was visiting your neighbors. I helped take care of you, sir. Ask your little Maddy about me. She’ll remember me, right enough.”

He nodded slowly. “I was quite sick then, it’s true, and I doubt I’d have recognized my own mother the state I was in. I lost two whole weeks. You were visiting with the Saunders family, then? One of their cousins, are you?”

“Second cousin. How is Maddy, sir? I have been meaning to stop by and tell her I’ve just gotten a job at the bakery.”

“She’s well, she’s very well.” He paused and pulled nervously at his beard. “Listen, dear girl, if you talk to Maddy, you needn’t mention that you saw me here today. You see”—he coughed several times and jerked his head in the direction of the house—“I’ve been here for some time taking care of an old friend who has come down in the world. I wouldn’t want my little girl to know about it. Maddy’s so young and all, you understand?”

I gave him a reassuring nod. “You needn’t worry. I don’t tell tales, sir. And I’d never say anything that might bother your little girl.” He seemed satisfied and moved back toward the door. I gave a little farewell curtsy and, in doing so, allowed the cloth to fall off my basket. I let him stare hungrily at the uncovered cakes for a moment and then held one out for him. “I’ve already eaten two,” I whispered confidentially. He hesitated, and I laid down my basket and picked up a muffin for myself. “I got some extra, sir, so it’s no trouble.”

He took the proffered muffin, and I bit into mine. The next moment I was choking and spitting and holding my hand desperately to my throat. Old Ellison sprang to my side and gave a little exclamation of concern. The man seemed genuinely alarmed, not by my crisis, I think, but at the prospect of my collapsing on his doorstep and attracting attention to his suspicious situation. He beat on my back with all the enthusiasm of a concerned parent, and I rewarded his efforts by gasping louder and falling to my knees. As he leaned down to help me, my hand found its way into his coat pocket, and I removed his watch and tucked it in my dress before finally sinking down onto the ground. Ellison looked about wildly for a moment and seemed ready to escape back into the house, but I pulled on his jacket tail and whispered, “Water, please—” and pointed to the cottage door. He looked helplessly toward the doorway, and I used the opportunity to fling his watch into some shrubbery beneath the terrace. My coughing had at this point eased a little, but I was still breathing noisily, and my eyes were watering profusely. The man gave me a last look of exasperation and finally extended his arm to assist me into the house.

Once inside the cottage, I found it more difficult to ignore his agitation than to play my part. His hands were shaking as he lowered me down onto a wooden rocking chair, and he glanced repeatedly toward one of the closed doors at the end of the room. Had I been totally ignorant of his purpose in that house, his behavior alone would have convinced me that there was a guilty secret in the place. I breathed deeply again and repeated my request for water. He nodded distractedly and hurried off to the kitchen.

When he had gone, I darted across the room and quickly unfastened the clasp on one of the windows and the hook between its shutters. I placed my handkerchief upon the sill before closing the unlocked shutters once again. By the time Ellison returned with the water I was again reclining on the chair and breathing noisily. I took several sips, smiled gratefully at him, and after a few minutes declared that I was much improved. He saw me out, and, as I bid him farewell, I inquired innocently about the time. He reached his hand into his pocket, discovered that the watch was missing, and gave a loud exclamation of dismay.

“It’s my father’s watch!” he moaned. “It must have dropped from my pocket when I was helping you out there.”

He hurried from the house, pushing me out in front of him, then dove beneath the bushes in his desperate search. I had to toss the piece in four separate hiding places, but the hunt kept Ellison occupied for a quarter of an hour. I had no idea if Cartwright had broken into the place, and still less if he had found the missing girl. It was absolutely still inside; there was no sign of movement or whisper of voices from within. As I edged closer to the house, Ellison finally climbed out from behind the wheelbarrow, clutching his lost timepiece. I looked desperately toward the door, praying for some signal from my friend, and realized too late that I had not planned for complications.

What if there had been a second man in that house, and Cartwright had walked into a trap? Or was it possible that Ellison was actually caring for a relative as he had claimed? I had just encouraged my friend to break into a house while carrying a weapon, and he would be arrested and imprisoned if he were caught. Even now Ellison was getting closer to the door; his foot was on the step and he was glaring at me from beneath his brows. I had to say something, anything, to make him halt—

“Stop! Don’t move. Hands above your head!”
I heard the words, but I had not shouted them.

In front of me I saw Ellison drop heavily to his knees, his face pinched and livid, his arms extended. Peter Cartwright was standing in the doorway, gun in hand, a length of rope wrapped around one shoulder. Holding the pistol barrel to our prisoner’s head, he tossed the twine to me, and I pulled Ellison’s hands behind him and knotted the cord around his wrists. He did not resist when Cartwright grasped him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, just glowered dumbly at me as we led him into the house.

“Well, sir, what have you to say?” Cartwright demanded.

Ellison dropped sullenly into a nearby chair and glared at us. “I don’t got nothing to say, laddie,” he growled, and spat into the corner.

“As I’m sure you understand, you’ll be arrested for the kidnapping of Lady Rose.”

“What of it, then?” The man spit once more, this time straight in front of him.

The wad of tobacco that had landed on his shoe did not amuse my friend. “Tie him to the chair,” he ordered gruffly. “You’ll be comfortable there until the police arrive. And I will stay with Lady Rose until her doctor comes to tend to her.”

As he spoke, he walked over to the corner door and pushed it open. The room inside was windowless and bare, and on a gray and threadbare blanket a young girl was lying, her eyes closed and chin tucked down. She was dressed in a nightgown and a wrinkled travel cloak; her uncombed hair was gathered back in a damp and matted braid. One arm lay outstretched across the floor, and I could see the raw and blistered wheal across her wrist where her arms had been bound together. She opened her eyes briefly and gazed vacantly at us, her dotlike pupils roving lazily about in drugged confusion. With a little murmur of surprise she lifted her hands into the air, as if she was amazed to find them free, then let them drop again as she drifted off to sleep.

Cartwright knelt by the girl and placed his finger on her wrist. “Go fetch a doctor right away,” he told me. “Then run for the police.”

I nodded and put my hand out toward the door, my eyes still fixed on the miserable figure of Lady Rose. From the corner of my eye I saw old Ellison start and jerk back in blank surprise, saw Cartwright spin about and freeze, one arm raised in mute alarm. A moment later I felt a cold draft from the open door behind me and the sting of freezing metal on my temple. Someone wrenched me backward, pinning me to him, the crush of a heavy arm tightening across my chest. I could not move or breathe; even as I struggled the muzzle of a revolver bore deeper into my neck and choked me.

“One move and I will kill her.”

I recognized the voice, but I could not speak, for the barrel was pressed firmly now beneath my chin. Peter Cartwright had risen slowly off the ground, both palms extended in a gesture of surrender and appeal. “Let her go,” he pleaded, his voice high, uncertain. “Let Dora go, James. You have nothing to gain by hurting her.”

I felt the arm around me slacken, but the revolver still hovered menacingly about my throat.

“The weapon in your pocket,” James directed. “Take it out and kick it over to me. Slowly, now.” My heart sank as Cartwright pulled his pistol from his coat and pushed it roughly across the floor. My last hope had now passed into a criminal’s hands. Behind me I felt James relax as he tucked his revolver into his belt and plucked the other off the ground. For a fleeting moment I thought of trying to escape while his weapon was down, but I caught Cartwright’s eye and paused. He shook his head slightly and I understood that I was to trust him and stay still.

“What have you done to Lady Rose?” James demanded.

What had
we
done? I wanted to shout but the sight of his finger on the trigger kept me silent.

“I am now unarmed,” Cartwright replied, ignoring James’s question. “Let Dora go and we can talk. I will not say a word while you are holding her.”

“I do not need to hear your story. I’m here for Lady Rose.”

“Put down the gun.”

James wavered for a moment and dropped his hand, but wrapped his other arm about my waist and pinned me to him. “Now talk.”

“Let her go, James.”