They followed Della to a large room cluttered with papers, a neglected watercolor that had stood half-finished since last Christmas, and several boxes of quilting supplies—her most recent passion. The maids were powerless to impose order on the space in the face of Della’s insistence that she had a method to her madness. In a perfect demonstration of said method, she kicked a box under her bed to clear a path to the armchairs and gathered up all the odds and ends on the table to tuck them in a corner, most likely never to be thought of again. “There. Now then, where were we?”
“Don’t let anyone gamble the family rubies, I believe,” Miss Chatterjee supplied.
They spent another half hour preparing their newest helper for her responsibilities, but to Jane’s horror, she found her mind kept wandering back to the letter as they spoke.
It was a prank, of course. It wasn’t worth another minute of her time. Not when they had Miss Chatterjee before them and had finally escaped the distractions that threatened their progress. She had money to make, and precious little privacy in which to do so.
“Is anything the matter?” Della murmured once Miss Chatterjee had departed, Jane’s borrowed copy ofHoyle’s Gamestucked under one arm and a promise to read it on her lips (the opening chapters on probability in games of chance were quite good, if less detailed than Jane might like). “You don’t seem quite yourself. You didn’t evenmentionyour chart again.”
Jane produced the letter from her reticule and handed it over. It seemed easier than explaining. As Della unfolded the small note and read, her eyes grew rounder and rounder.
“By God, Lieutenant Williams isalive?” Della was not prone to uttering oaths, so this was no small sign of her shock.
“Of course he isn’t. This has to be some malicious person’s ideaof a joke.” Jane fought back a touch of impatience. It was obvious that this was a hoax. Wasn’t it?
“But…” Della bit her lower lip. “Who would ever joke about something like that? And why would they want to targetyou?”
Jane had no answer to that. It wasn’t as though she had enemies. The most offensive thing she’d done was step on a dance partner’s toes (or perhaps frown, if one asked Uncle Bertie). She couldn’t think why anyone would be so cruel as to fake a resurrection.
“It might be someone from our ladies’ club,” Jane said hesitantly. “Mrs. Muller lost quite a lot last week.”
Three pounds two shillings, to be exact. Jane kept the tallies stored carefully in a ledger on her bedside table, but she could recall each one down to the last penny. Those numbers were her future.
“You don’t really think she’s the sort to try something like this, do you?” Della looked back to the note, her lips pressed together in disbelief.
In truth, none of the ladies in their card club seemed a likely culprit. Jane and Della curated their list of invitees carefully, passing over those who might speak too freely of their endeavor or start a scandal. They only admitted people they could trust. But if the note wasn’t from an angry debtor, what explanation was there?
“Lieutenant Williams is dead,” Jane said firmly. She was sure of it. Not so sure as she had been an hour ago, admittedly, but still at least ninety-eight percent sure. Ninety-seven at the worst.
“But they never found a body,” Della said with some hesitation. “And some of his crewmates survived the shipwreck, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Jane admitted. That was what she’d read in the papers, at least. The HMSLibertashad been wrecked in shallow waters during a skirmish with pirates off the coast of Greece. Most of her crew had escaped safely before a great wave dashed the ship against the rocks and dragged the last few men under. Poor Eli had never washedashore. She shuddered. “But it’s been nearly two years. If hehadsurvived” —she couldn’t believe she was saying that—“there would have been some sign of him sooner than this. And I doubt I’m the first person he would write to.”
Della glanced back at the note she still held in her hand, raising one eyebrow pointedly at the salutation. “DearestJane.”
Jane snatched the note back, her face growing hot.
“I didn’t realize you two were on such intimate terms.”
“This isn’tfromhim, so it says nothing whatsoever of what sort of terms we are—were—on.”
Della had a point, though. Whoever had written the letter must have known that she’d granted Eli permission to use her given name, which they had only done in private. Not to mention the presumption of a gentleman writing to her while she was unmarried.
Who could possibly have the means to know she and Eli were so close?
“I wonder if he calls Cecily his ‘dearest,’” Della mused. “Do you think she received anything?”
Cecily.
Jane made a regretful sound halfway between a sigh and a harrumph. “It’s none of my concern if she has.”
In truth, Jane hadn’t even thought of her cousin. She would have to ask, though. Or perhaps she wouldn’t. Cecily didn’t exactly keep secrets. If she’d had a dramatic letter, the whole ton would know soon enough.
“If heisback—”
“He is not.”
“But if he is,” Della continued doggedly, “he and Cecily aren’t…well…you know. She’s gone and married someone else now.”
