I cannot wait until this is finished, dearest. I shall join you within the month. We shall look for a house together.
Yours, Ever and Truly, S.
P.S. I made the handkerchief as a gift for you. It is for your collection of unusual blooms. When we have our own cottage, you will be able to plant a real garden.
Emma stared at the letter, dumbfounded, until the sound of voices in the hall jerked her out of the small trance. Polly was returning with one of the footmen.
She hoisted up a handful of her skirts. Hastily she stuffed the letter, the handkerchief, and the banknotes into the pockets she wore tied to her waist beneath the heavy gray bombazine traveling gown.
She let her skirts fall back into place just as Polly appeared in the doorway. A burly footman loomed behind her.
“Albert here will take yer trunk down for ye, Miss Greyson. By the way, Mrs. Gatten says to tell ye to take the needlework with her blessing.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Please tell her how very much I appreciate her kindness.”
One thing was certain, she thought as she watched Albert heft her trunk. Whatever else had happened the night Sally Kent disappeared from Ware Castle, she had certainly not packed her own possessions. Contrary to what Polly and Mrs. Gatten believed, someone else had performed that task. Someone who did not know about the money hidden behind the framed needlework.
There were very few reasons why a companion who had gotten herself turned off without references would have left the money behind. None of them boded well for the fate of Sally Kent.
Emma paused at the doorway of the little bedchamber and surveyed it one last time. Her first impression had been correct, she thought. It was not only depressing; there was, indeed, an atmosphere of malevolence about the place.
She hurried toward the staircase, overwhelmingly glad to be leaving Ware Castle.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I knew this would be great fun.” Letty swept through the front door of her town house. “Did I not tell you that you had possibilities, my dear?”
“I believe you did say something of the kind,” Emma said.
She untied her bonnet strings as she followed her former employer into the hall. Shopping with Letty required stamina. She craved a cup of tea.
“My modiste knew just what to do with your bosom,” Letty said with great satisfaction. “I was certain she would.”
“You don’t think that she plans to cut my new gowns a bit too low?” Emma asked dubiously.
“Nonsense. Low necklines are all the fashion, my dear.”
“I shall take your word for it.” The cut of her necklines was the least of her concerns, Emma thought.
The gowns had cost much more than she would collect in her wages. She wondered if she could convince Edison to let her keep them when this affair was ended. Surely there must be some way to pawn dresses the way one did jewelry and candlesticks.
“Whatever you say, Letty.” Emma started toward the stairs. “If you don’t mind, I believe I shall have a tray of tea in my room. I feel the need of some rest. You have exhausted me.”
“Run along, my dear. You must get all the rest you can. You will need it. I have accepted at least a dozen evening invitations for you for the next week alone. To say nothing of the afternoon calls that must be paid.”
Fortunately, Emma thought as she went up the stairs, she would not have to cope with the rigors of Society for long.
On the landing she turned and went down the hall to her bedchamber. She opened the door with a sense of relief. Unlike the dismal little chamber at Ware Castle, this room, with its yellow-and-white-striped wallpaper and white curtains, looked cheerful and welcoming. There was even a pleasant view of the wooded park across the street.
She removed her new green pelisse and sat down on the little satin-covered chair near the writing desk. A knock sounded on the door. The tea tray, with any luck, she thought.
“Enter, please.”
The door opened to reveal Bess, one of the maids, and two footmen. All of them were heavily laden with boxes.
“Madam said that I’m to put away all yer lovely new things.” Bess was bubbling with excitement. “She says I’m to be yer personal lady’s maid.”
A lady’s maid, indeed. Life had certainly changed in the past few days, Emma thought. She felt as if she were in the middle of a fairy tale.
She eyed the heaps of boxes that were being carried into her bedchamber. She would not get any rest here. Bess would want to examine and exclaim over each new pair of gloves and every cap and petticoat.
A brisk walk would be more refreshing than a cup of tea, she decided. The need to get away from the ceaseless demands of her new post for a while was almost overpowering. And she did have a private matter to pursue, one she had put off for the past two days since the return to London because of her commitments to Edison.
“Very well, Bess.” Emma got to her feet and went to the wardrobe to take out the pelisse she had hung there a few minutes earlier. “If Lady Mayfield inquires about me, please tell her that I am taking a walk in the park.”
“Will you be wanting one of the footmen to go with you, ma’am?”
“No, I think I can manage to walk across the street without assistance.”
Bess’s round face crinkled with concern. “But do ye think ye should be walking out alone, ma’am?”
Emma raised her brows as she refastened the pelisse. “Why ever not, for heaven’s sake? I have taken many walks in the park.”
Bess flushed a dull red and looked extremely uncomfortable. “Aye, but that was before ye was, engaged to Mr. Stokes.”
Emma stared at her. “Good heavens, Bess. Are you worried about my reputation?”
Bess looked at her toes, “Well, it’s just that engaged ladies are supposed to be discreet like.”
“Bear in mind that until quite recently I was Lady Mayfield’s paid companion, Bess. I assure you, I am nothing if not discreet.”
Bess flinched at the sharp tone. Annoyed with herself for having snapped at the girl, Emma sighed, grabbed her reticule, and walked swiftly out the door.
It took her much longer than she had expected to find the address. Eventually, however, Emma came to a halt in front of a small, gloomy little house in Twigg Lane. She opened her reticule, took out the letter addressed to Miss Judith Hope, and verified the address. Number eleven.
This was the place.
She went up the steps and knocked. While she waited for a response, she glanced at the little watch pinned to the bodice of her gown. She could not stay long here in Twigg Lane. Edison would be annoyed if she was not ready promptly at five for the drive in the park. Employers expected punctuality from their employees.
There was a long pause before she heard footsteps in the hall. A moment later the door opened. A sour looking housekeeper regarded her with grim disapproval.
“Please inform Miss Judith Hope that Miss Emma Greyson is calling with a message from a friend.”
Dark suspicion scrunched up the housekeeper’s stolid features. “What friend would that be?”
“Miss Sally Kent.”
“Never heard of her.” The housekeeper started to close the door.
Emma stepped nimbly across the threshold and put out a hand to prevent the door from being slammed in her face. She glanced quickly into the dingy hall and saw a flight of narrow stairs.
“You will inform Miss Hope that she has a visitor,” Emma said crisply.
“Now, see here—”
A woman’s voice, flat and dreary in tone, came from halfway up the stairs. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Bowie?”
Mrs. Bowie glowered at Emma. “I’m just seeing this here lady on her way. She has come to the wrong address.”
“I have come to call upon Miss Judith Hope and I will not leave until I have seen her,” Emma said loudly.
“You wish to see me?” The woman hovering in the shadows of the staircase sounded bewildered.
“If you are Miss
Hope, the answer is yes. My name is Emma Greyson. I have a message from Sally Kent.”
“Dear God. A message from Sally? But … but that’s impossible.”
“If you will see me for a few minutes, Miss Hope, I shall explain everything.”
Judith hesitated. “Show her in, Mrs. Bowie.”
“You know very well that the mistress don’t want any visitors,” Mrs. Bowie growled.
“Miss Greyson is here to see me, not Mrs. Morton.” Judith’s tone of voice abruptly grew more firm and determined. “Show her in at once.”
Mrs. Bowie continued to look mutinous. Emma gave her a cold smile and shoved hard against the door.
Mrs. Bowie reluctantly stepped back. Emma moved quickly into the dark hall and turned to look at Judith Hope. She concluded instantly that the woman had been sadly misnamed. Hope was a word that had probably disappeared long ago from her vocabulary.
Judith was very likely in her late twenties, but the grimly resigned lines were already deeply etched in what had no doubt once been an attractive face. She was dressed in a dull brown gown. Her hair was scraped back beneath a plain cap. Only the angle of her chin hinted at a deep core of pride and a grim determination.
She crossed the tiny hall with a rigid spine. “Please come into the parlor, Miss Greyson.”
Emma followed her into a heavily draped room and took a seat on the threadbare sofa. There was no fire on the hearth, Judith did not pull the curtains or light a candle. She simply sat down stiffly, folded her hands in her lap, and stared at Emma with an unreadable expression.
“Forgive me for calling on you without an invitation, Miss Hope.”
For the first time a tiny hint of emotion flickered in Judith’s eyes. “I assure you, I have no objection, Miss Greyson. You are the first visitor I have had since I accepted my current post six months ago. My employer does not encourage social calls. Nor do we go out.”
Emma, glanced at the ceiling, silently indicating the rooms above, where she presumed the mysterious Mrs. Morton resided. “Will your employer object to me being here?”
“Probably. She objects to everything else, from the taste of the soup to the books I read to her.” Judith’s hands tightened together. “But I am prepared to risk her wrath if you have news of Sally.”
“I am not certain how to begin. The truth is, I do not know anything about Sally. I have never met her.”
“I see.” Judith looked down at her folded hands. “I am not surprised. I have known for several months that she is likely dead.”
“Dead?” Emma stared at her. “How can you be certain of that?”
Judith looked toward the draped window. “Sally and I were friends. We were … quite close. I think I would know if she was still alive.”
“What makes you believe that she is dead?”
“I have not heard from her,” Judith said with stark simplicity. “She would have contacted me by now if she were still on this earth.”
“I see.”
“As I said, we were very fond of each other, Neither of us has any family, you see. We had planned to save whatever we could and eventually rent a small cottage in the country. But now that will never happen.”
Judith’s quiet, stoic despair nearly broke Emma’s heart. “I am so very sorry.”
Judith turned back to her. “You said you had a message from her?”
“Please let me explain. I was employed until quite recently as a companion. A few days ago I accompanied my employer to a house party at Ware Castle.”
Judith’s face tightened. “That is where Sally went to work as Lady Ware’s paid companion.”
“I know. As it happens, I was given the bedchamber that once belonged to her.” Emma reached into her reticule and removed Sally’s letter. “I found this behind a scrap of embroidery. It is addressed to you.”
“Dear heaven.” Judith took the letter very gingerly and opened it as though half afraid of the contents. She read the note quickly and then looked up. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Forgive me. But now I know for certain that she is dead. He murdered her.”
Emma went cold. “What are you saying? Do you mean to imply that Basil Ware murdered Sally?”
“That is precisely what I mean.” Judith’s hand clenched tightly around the letter. “And he will never be brought to justice because of his wealth and position.”
“But why would he do such a thing?”
“Because she had become inconvenient, of course. Sally was very beautiful, you see. She was certain that she could handle Ware. I warned her but she would not listen to me. I think she must have allowed him to seduce her. She had a scheme, which she would not confide to me.”
“What sort of scheme do you think it was?”
“I believe that she lied to him, told him that she was pregnant. She probably had some notion of promising to go away if he would give her some money.”
“I see.”
Judith looked down at the letter. “I warned her not to take such terrible risks. But she was determined to rescue both of us from our dreary careers. Obviously Ware became infuriated by her demands and killed her.”
Emma sighed. Judith’s logic was extremely weak. Rakes of the ton had no need to resort to murder to get rid of inconvenient lovers. They simply ignored them. It was clear that Judith was so distraught with grief that she felt the need to blame Sally’s seducer for her death.
“Even if Sally was involved in a liaison with Mr. Ware,” Emma said gently, “he had no reason to kill her, Miss Hope. We both know how these things work. All he had to do was dismiss her from her post when he grew weary of her. Which, from all accounts, is precisely what happened.”
“If he threw her out of the castle, where is she?” Judith demanded fiercely. “Why did she fail to post this letter?”
Emma hesitated. “I do not know the answers to all of your questions, but I can tell you that the letter is not all she left behind.”
“What do you mean?”
Emma glanced toward the parlor door to make certain that it was closed. Then she quickly lifted the skirts of her new muslin walking dress. She reached into one of the pockets she wore and withdrew the tightly folded banknotes and the handkerchief. She handed them to Judith.
“I don’t understand.” Judith gazed, slack-jawed, at the notes. Then she lifted her uncomprehending eyes to Emma. “How did you—?”
“Hush.” Emma looked meaningfully at the door. On the chance that the housekeeper might have her ear to the panel, she leaned closer to Judith and lowered her voice. “I would say nothing about this if I were you.”
“But this is … this is a fortune,” Judith whispered.
“I found the banknotes and the little handkerchief with the letter. It is obvious Sally meant for you to have the money. Ware must have given it to her, so it was hers to pass along to you.”
“But—”
Emma plucked the handkerchief from Judith’s hand and unfolded it to reveal an unusual bloom done in crimson and purple threads. “Lovely work. I do not recognize the species, however. I wonder if it was something she saw in Lady Ware’s conservatory.”
Judith stared numbly at the flower. “Sally embroidered an entire garden of handkerchiefs for me. She knew how much I loved unusual blooms. She always said that one day we would have a real garden with real flowers.”
“I see.” Emma got to her feet. She raised her voice to a normal conversational level. “If you will excuse me, I must be on my way, Miss Hope. I am supposed to drive out in the park with my, er, fiancé, this afternoon at five o’clock.”
Judith rose slowly. “Yes, of course.” She swallowed. “Miss Greyson, I do not know how to thank you.”
“No thanks are necessary.” Emma lowered her voice again. “I only wish your friend Sally were here so that the two of you could look for that little cottage together.”
“So do L” Judith closed her eyes briefly. “My wonderful, reckless Sally. If only she had listened to line.”
“
I suppose you very wisely advised her not to fall in love with Mr. Ware.” Emma sighed. “It is always a mistake to become romantically involved with one’s employer.”
“Fall in love with him?” Judith’s gaze widened. “Whatever happened at Ware Castle, I can assure you, Sally never loved Basil Ware.”
“How can you know that?”
Judith hesitated. “Without putting too fine a point on it, Miss Greyson, I can tell you that Sally was not fond of men. It is inconceivable that she would have enjoyed an affair with Ware.”
“I see.”
“If she allowed him to seduce her, it was because she hoped to acquire some money from him when the liaison ended. She always said we had to do something to change our fates.”
“Sally has seen to it that you have enough money to change your fate, Miss Hope. What will you do now?”
Judith glanced up at the ceiling. Then she smiled for the first time. It was a very small, very grim sort of smile, but it was genuine. “Why, I believe I shall hand in my notice.”
Emma grinned. “Something tells me that is exactly what Sally would have wanted you to do.”
“You have made great progress, Edison.” Ignatius Lorring handed Edison a glass of brandy and then lowered his birdlike frame into the other wingback chair. “I had every expectation that you would, of course.” There was never another student like you. When I think of how high you could have risen within the great Circle of Vanza—”
“We both know that the way of Vanza would not have suited me forever,” Edison said.
The room was uncomfortably warm. There was a roaring blaze on the hearth although the day was sunny and mild. Edison said nothing about the heat. Ignatius wore a woolen scarf around his throat as though he was sitting in the middle of a snowstorm rather than in his library. There was a small blue vial on the table beside him. Edison knew that it contained an opium concoction. Laudanum, perhaps.
Edison glanced around the familiar room. His transition from wild, reckless youth to self-controlled man had begun here. It was in this mirrored chamber with its walls of books that he had first met Ignatius.