Her bedchamber is just across the hall.
Tucking Eternally Devoted’s missive into my pocket, I make sure the letter is properly positioned on the writing table and decide it should be a little more centered. As I slide it an inch to the left, I catch sight of my name in the middle of a paragraph.
Mrs. Dowell was writing about me!
I want to be shocked, but gossiping about one’s guests is de rigueur for a house party, and Mrs. Dowell has the right to describe me in any way she likes.
Her privacy must be respected.
Mustbe respected?
To be sure, yes, but by an intruder with greater self-control than me.
Indifferent to the violation, I lean closer and find the beginning of the sentence: “Miss Hyde-Clare is a remarkably slight thing to have caused Father so much trouble. Seb is smitten, of course, which is only to be expected, as he has long cherished a fondness for slight things. Sarah believes we can rout her by treating her with chilly propriety, but I told her it will not work, as the girl does not appear clever enough to realize we are insulting her. But you know how Machiavellian Sarah can be with her machinations. She fixes on her scheme and cannot see how it has no chance of prospering. She still thinks Seb can be persuaded to offer for Miss Jenner, a plan she has been trying to bring across the finishing line since Christmas, to no avail.”
The letter continues, moving on to the tedium of Chester’s efforts to persuade the rest of his family to adopt his eating habits, then complaining about her mother’s plans to redecorate the drawing room. “She is set on a garishly vibrant yellow because Mrs. Jenner called the current color scheme ‘bleak.’ The spiteful old shrew was just being vicious, for the assortment of blues is soothing and genial, but Mother will not listen to reason. Thus I have been obliged to look at fabric swatches in shades of yellow so bright I can only conclude her plan is to thwart Mrs. Jenner’s judgment by making her so blind she cannot see the room.”
Next, she disparages her father’s work habits.
Do I read to the end?
You may be assured that I do.
Having decided to invade Mrs. Dowell’s privacy, I might as well invade her privacy. Keeping to the portion of the letter that mentions me does nothing to restore its sanctity. The walls have been breached, as they say.
Besides, I am curious.
Furthermore, it is heartening to see that she holds members of her own family in the same low esteem as she hold me.
It makes her opinion a little less hurtful.
Butonlya little.
As I return the letter to its proper position, I wonder if Mrs. Dowell destroyed the evidence to protect someone else. If she had recognized the shawl from its description, then she would have good cause to believe the owner is the murderer. Or maybe the garmentishers, as I suspect, and she assumes that one of her sisters borrowed it to kill Keast.
It is worth keeping in mind.
I take a step back to make sure the escritoire looks exactly the way it did when I entered the room and confirm that nothing is amiss. Satisfied with my light touch, I swivel on my heels and stride to the entrance, where I listen for the patter of footfalls or conversation.
Nothing.
Presumably, that means the coast is clear.
Sarah is at the vicarage with her sisters, so I do not have to worry about her finding me looming over her writing table. But what about a servant? As I made no provisions for the second sister’s lady’s maid, she could stumble across me at any moment. Or she could already be in the room, brushing out the wrinkles of the gown Sarah intends to wear to dinner.
There is no way to know!
Well, there isoneway to know.
And it requires courage.
But also a pretext.
If I am going to visit Sarah’s room, then I need a reason to be there.
If only I had had the foresight to bring a book with me or a newspaper or even my embroidery. I could run to the other wing to fetch the latter, but leaving and then coming back feels needlessly risky.
Just come up with something, I think impatiently. It does not have to be clever.
