Secret Letters (7 page)

Cartwright stretched himself and reached out for a glass of water on the table. “Well, that is enough free information for the moment. You shan’t get off that easy—not today, Miss Joyce. I’d like to hear what you would have looked for in Lady Rose’s bedroom. Where would you have started?”

“The bed, certainly.”

He winked slyly at me. “Ah, but the bed was turned by the parlor maid before we got there.”

“I would still look underneath it, sir. And pat the mattress down. Girls frequently hide things inside their mattresses, you know.”

“Very true. Well, there was a feather underneath the bed. Now, what?”

A single feather? I thought. Had the mattress been cut open?

“You examined the seams, I hope? Were there any holes?”

He smiled and nodded his approval. “I looked for holes in the covers, of course, and in the seams. I found a single thread, of a dark blue color, adhering to the mattress. The seam was absolutely intact and was sewn together with the same blue thread.”

“Oh, but—that is impossible. If the bed was turned and pounded, as you said, then the thread would have floated off. Unless—unless someone cut the mattress and searched through it before you got there.
After
Lady Rose was gone, and after the maid had cleaned the quarters.”

“Exactly. Very good. You have a curious talent for this sort of thing, I see.” He looked away from me for a moment, and I saw his lips tense briefly. “One of your relatives used to be an officer, by chance? An investigator, possibly?”

“No, of course not,” I retorted stiffly.

“Ah, well. I thought perhaps—deductive skills are frequently hereditary, you know. Well, never mind. So what do you suppose I looked at next?”

I sighed and silently scanned the imagined room. How I wished that I had been there! Would I have seen something that he had missed? Did I dare hope that I might one day be the eyes of the investigation, instead of a passive listener, like a child begging for a bedtime story? “Well, Mr. Cartwright, I would have opened all the dressers and the wardrobe first.”

“Indeed. The latter was filled with clothing and trinkets, but the bottommost drawer of the dresser was empty. I asked Lady Hartfield what the drawer had contained.

“‘My daughter kept all her correspondence, as well as her diaries there,’ she told me. ‘She must have emptied it and taken them with her.’

“I did not say anything at the time, Miss Joyce, but it seemed strange to me: that bottom panel sagged very markedly in the middle, as if it had held the weight of many pounds of paper. Why would a girl take all her correspondence with her when she fled?”

I shook my head. “And how could she scale a tree with so much weighing her down? Perhaps she hid her diaries somewhere before she went, or someone else took them after she had gone. But what did Mr. Porter think of all of this? What was he doing while you were crawling about the floor?”

Cartwright took another sip of water and stuffed a bit of cinnamon pastry into his mouth. “Talking to Lady Hartfield, mostly. Lady Rose had a strange collection of clocks displayed on one of the bookcases, and they were discussing those, I think.”

“Was there something special about the clocks?”

“They were set to different time zones, actually, corresponding to the cities of their origin. Most were very beautiful and made of porcelain or silver. There was one old broken wooden one in the back that did not match the others, but there was nothing particularly interesting about them, no. Mr. Porter likes that sort of thing. I believe they would have talked about ceramics all that evening—if I had not fallen out the window.”

“You fell?!”

“All right, I jumped. Lady Hartfield and Mr. Porter got very excited.”

“Oh, I see. You were trying to re-create Lady Rose’s supposed flight.”

He rolled his eyes and slumped back against the sofa cushion. “You could at least
attempt
to be mystified, Miss Joyce. Just once in a while. It would really help my ego.”

“You appear to mystify the rest of the world, Mr. Cartwright. I think that should be enough for you. But what I want to know is: Did you take a suitcase with you when you leapt courageously out the window? You should have done.”

“Yes, of course. I stuffed it with the appropriate weight of clothing and tried to descend the tree outside her window. The branches were slick with rain and it was near impossible. I slipped, in fact, and might have broken my neck if Porter hadn’t caught me by the collar.”

“Ah, so he is good for something, then. But you haven’t told me about the ground below. Were there any marks upon the soil?”

“A pair of footprints, yes.”

“No imprint of a suitcase?”

“None.”

“Then she could not have lowered her suitcase from the window with a rope, nor tossed it to the ground.”

“Exactly.”

“Did the footprints match a pair of Lady Rose’s slippers?”

“Not unless the lady chose to wear men’s boots that night. And the only shoes that have gone missing are Lady Rose’s ballroom pumps. Not the best choice for a stealthy flight by dark.”

“Oh! But I do not understand—how did she escape her room without help, and without leaving any marks beneath her window? And if she was kidnapped—how could her abductor carry her down a tree against her will? Or through the house, for that matter? How could he be sure that none of the servants would see him?”

“That was what I asked myself before I even arrived at Hartfield. Unfortunately, after I had combed the room and the soil outside, I was no closer to answering that question. So I am afraid that I am at a dead end—for now.”

“But the servants? Surely you could speak to someone—as a workman, stir up some gossip, whisper in a few ears. You are so very good at winking at strange girls, after all.”

He looked offended. “I only winked at you because you seemed to appreciate it. All right, don’t pout, I’ll take it back. The truth is, I was only able to speak with the housekeeper for a little while, and I’m afraid I did not get any useful information. She was a gossipy sort and was more than happy to relate all of the sins and troubles relating to her house staff, however. I found out that one of the scullery maids has come into a bit of money from an old uncle and so has left their service. Two of the upper housemaids have gone off to better themselves in Australia, and one unfortunate laundry maid was obliged to leave abruptly due to an affair with an irresponsible gardener. The housekeeper even informed me that she suspects another maid of being in the same ‘situation’ (a valet is responsible this time), but there are no grounds yet to warrant her dismissal.”

“But you learned nothing at all about James! And why do the love affairs of scullery maids matter to us?”

“Oh, they don’t matter to me. But I did note that the recent romances beneath the stairs have brought about a staff shortage at Hartfield. A
severe
staff shortage.”

I laughed and rose slowly to my feet. “Perhaps you should put on a servant’s cap and apron and apply for the position, then. You’d make a very pretty maid.”

He did not smile at my little joke, and I thought for a moment that I had offended him again. For a few minutes he sat quietly, chewing thoughtfully on a thumbnail and staring past me out the window. I was wondering if he had heard me or noticed my movement toward the door when he cleared his throat and murmured wistfully, “But—Miss Joyce, they already know
my
face at Hartfield.”

His words fell like lead into my lap. I gasped beneath their weight and dropped heavily into my chair. There was a throbbing silence, the blood was beating slowly in my ears, and I felt my hands go cold and numb. I must have misunderstood, I reasoned quickly. He was certainly joking, mocking my enthusiasm, daring me to answer him. And yet, there was no laughter in his eyes. His shoulders were bowed and tense, his fingers clasped, his lips drawn tight. He would not look at me.

“What do you mean—?” I exclaimed desperately. “Mr. Cartwright, you
cannot
think—please, you
must
tell me what you meant.” I was choking on the words; my voice was harsh and dry as gravel.

He rose slowly from the sofa and moved to sit across from me, pulling up the opposite chair so that his feet almost touched my skirt. Leaning toward me, with his elbows resting lightly on his knees and his fingers clasped together, he
looked
at me, not at my ashen face or shaking hands, but deep into my eyes as if he would read me, fixing me with a gaze that stopped my breath.

I realized suddenly that I had not misunderstood his meaning; I knew finally what he wanted from me, what he had been hoping for when he had asked me to return. And I could not think of anything to say to him. A hundred voices screamed their protest in my ears, a hundred judgments against my reputation, a hundred reasons to refuse. It was unheard of, impossible, and shameful. My family would reject me if they ever learned of it; my cousin would never even think of giving her consent.

The minutes pulsed by slowly and still he watched me, saying nothing, his eyes a timid question fixed on mine.
Are you ready?
they seemed to say.
Will you accept the challenge?
Inside me a tempest raged, pounding me with doubts. How could I leave the city without my guardian’s approval? How would I even claim this post? What if I failed completely, and the case was lost because of me? Who did he think I was—?

But then suddenly I knew my answer: it had been inside me all the time. There was no other choice; I had been praying for a chance like this. The words came very calmly when I answered him, the words which I had waited years to say.

“I can go, sir. Let me take the case.”

The tension melted in a moment, his triumphant smile mirroring my own. “I thought I knew my Dora Joyce,” he murmured.

I put my chin up and crossed my arms, suddenly annoyed by his audacity. “I am not
your
Dora Joyce, sir. You did not enter into my consideration. My cousin needs my help, and that is why I have agreed. I am doing this for her.”

“Are you sure about that, Miss Joyce? So you haven’t been dreaming about this moment all your life? Oh, never mind, don’t answer. We have more important business to discuss, and there are still a few details to consider before we begin. The Hartfield housekeeper is already expecting an application from my ‘friend’s sister.’ I will draft the letter for you and provide you with the references and the uniform which you will need. While you are at the estate, I will, of course, be as nearby as possible; but we cannot be seen talking to each other without exciting gossip. Before you arrive I will station a young friend of mine named Perkins near the house, and we will communicate through him.”

“But I cannot simply vanish! What shall I tell my cousin?”

“You know her best, Miss Joyce. I will leave that bit to you.”

I considered the problem for a moment and nodded slowly. “Very well, then. I’ll want a chaperone.”

He threw his head back and barked a laugh. “You’re not serious? A scullion with a chaperone?”

“I’ll need an older woman to escort me from Adelaide’s home and to the train, that’s all. This ‘chaperone’ will be my alibi for the next few days.”

He pursed his lips and frowned. “And what exactly do you plan on telling poor, unsuspecting Lady Forrester?”

I shrugged and gave him a playful smile. “I will tell her that the criminal Underworld is suddenly very interested in my movements.”

“Ah. Someone has been following you, perhaps? You must go into hiding because you’re—”

“—in mortal danger, yes. You will confirm these terrible suspicions, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“I presume Mr. Porter will not be hearing of this development?”

“No, Miss Joyce, not unless you embarrass all of us by your performance. At present he is very busy trying to locate Lady Rose and her supposed lover. He gave me leave to work out my theories on my own. I am lucky that he never asks about my methods; he cares only about results. In any case, you will be at Hartfield for a mere day or two. Scrub a few grates, learn the servant gossip, and then disappear into obscurity. I assume that you can act a little? The accent, for instance, a maidservant’s manners—these are all familiar to you?”

I rose briskly to my feet. “You forget that I have been surrounded by servants all my life. I would never have volunteered if I could not play the part, sir. But now I must be going, for if Adelaide finds me here our adventure ends before it can begin.”

He chuckled and strode over to the door. “
Our
adventure, Miss Joyce? You do not mean that you are including
me
in your investigation? I am truly honored.”

I shrugged and picked my purse up off the ground. “Laugh if you like, I cannot care; I know that you’ll never understand. This is just a job for you, something to do to earn your bread. It obviously means nothing to you.”

He smiled deliberately, pushing up his lips into a tense, fine line, while the humor drained slowly from his face. A light of protest stirred briefly in his eyes; I saw the flash of wounded honor flare and die. My comment about his work had hit the mark, and it had hurt. Detection had never been a dry career for him; and even as I said the words, I had known that they were false. But I had meant to dig a little, to touch his pride. I hoped that he would argue with me and let his guard down for a moment. I wanted to know the story that he had sworn never to tell, to hear about the “subjects that were never to be discussed.” And yet now as I watched the fight in him freeze over, I knew that I had lost the gamble. He would never speak to me and give himself away.

“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten how important your cousin’s case is to you,” he remarked in a sweet voice. “Is that why you swooned so dramatically into my arms when we first met?”

He
would
bring up that humiliating scene every chance he got. That morning would never be allowed to fade; I would relive that swimming darkness every time I saw him. And yet my fainting spell was not what I remembered first when I looked back at it. That moment had merged somehow with the memory of my waking to the brush of his wool jacket on my cheek and his clear voice calling out my name. But I could not think about that now, not while he was studying me with those mocking eyes.