“Yes.” Annie, kneeling beside her father’s oak storage chest, sat back on her heels. “I wonder why he didn’t give it to her?”
“Maybe he meant to and never got the chance.”
“Do you think it might have something to do with my adoption?”
“It might.” Julian knew that’s what she hoped to find. Something in writing from her father that might compensate, in some way, for the shame of her birth. So far, her hopes had been dashed. “We can take a detour to Ferndale Grange on the way to Highfield if you like. Maybe stop off for a day or two, give Hattie the letter, and learn what it’s all about. Assuming she decides to tell us.”
Annie’s eyes widened and a touch of pink came to her cheeks. “Would that be possible?”
“Of course.” Though she’d never asked, Julian had a feeling she wanted to visit her mother and aunt even before she found the letter. The past three days, spent in his company, had seen Annie daring to embrace a future that held no fear. A future where she knew she would be protected and loved. And in embracing her future, she had become more accepting of her past. The shadows beneath her eyes had all but disappeared and her appetite, while still that of a bird, had more or less returned.
All this despite the fact they’d been clearing out what remained in the house on Chester Street, a difficult exercise for Annie, but cleansing, nevertheless. Everything had been inventoried, whether to be kept, stored appropriately, or given away.
Annie had put off clearing out her father’s trunk till this final day.
“That would be lovely, Julian, thank you.” Eyes bright, she leaned over the edge of the trunk once more. “Let’s see what else is in here.”
Her disappointment continued. The contents of the trunk were mostly an inventory of Doctor Clarence Fairfax’s professional life. Lists of patients going back decades, medical records and ledgers. It also contained a few personal letters to Muriel before they married, which Annie set to one side. But, with the exception of the letter addressed to Hattie, there was little else that fostered intrigue.
“I assume it’s to be shipped as well?” Julian asked, getting to his feet as Annie closed the lid on the chest.
“Yes, I think so.” Annie heaved a sigh. “I’d like to keep it for the time being, at least.”
A short while later, they stood together on the step, Annie clutching the house key. Her hand shook as she inserted the key into the lock. She held it there for a moment as if readying herself, drew breath, and then turned it.
The lock clicked.
“There.” She removed the key and gazed up at the house’s façade. “It is finished.”
Julian stroked his knuckles down her cheek. “Are you tired, sweetheart? Shall I hail a cab?”
Smiling up at him, she shook her head and looped her arm through his. “Thank you, but I’d rather walk if you don’t mind. Besides, we’re not expected till seven, though I don’t suppose they’ll mind if we’re a little bit early.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Julian said.
“So am I,” Annie replied. “I’ll miss them. They’ve been so kind to me, Julian.”
It seemed Julian had gained Archibald Mason’s full approval, having been invited to dine with them that evening. It was to be Annie’s final night at the Mason’s house. Indeed, it was their final night in London. Tomorrow, they would begin the journey to Yorkshire, which, as of a half-hour ago, now included a detour into Derbyshire.
As it turned out, dinner for four at the Mason’s house became dinner for five, due to the unexpected arrival of Inspector Taggart. He had not come intending to eat, however. He had come to relay some news to Annie, which he did after being introduced to Julian.
“Karl Hoffman has been found,” he announced, taking a glass of vermouth from the servant’s tray. “However, I consider the harsh facts of his case to be unsuitable for a lady’s ear. Suffice to say, he was discovered some weeks ago somewhere down near the docks, barely conscious and in a sorry state, his identity unknown, his speech incoherent. He was taken to St. Thomas’ hospital, though he was not, initially at least, expected to live. God, evidently, decided otherwise. Though still weak, Mr. Hoffman is now alert and talking. A letter has already been dispatched to his family in Germany.”
Julian, aware of what Annie was about to ask and what the likely answer would be, moved to her side.
“Was Leopold responsible for Mr. Hoffman’s injuries, Inspector?”
The man inclined his head. “I fear he was, Miss Fairfax, and although Mr. Hoffman’s memory of that night is not fully intact, he claims he did not go down without a fight. Suffice to say, Leopold De Witte likely carries a scar on his left cheek. And your lady companion was also correct about the stolen ring. At least, Mr. Hoffman no longer has it, and assumes it was taken from his finger by De Witte, though he has no proof.”
“How dreadful.” Annie heaved a soft sigh. “That poor man. Thank God he survived.”
“Indeed. In any case, we’re still looking for De Witte. I assume you’ve had no correspondence or dealings with him since we lastspoke?”
Julian held his breath and waited.
“Um…” She glanced at Julian. “Actually, yes, Inspector, I have had dealings with him.”
Taggart looked momentarily taken aback. “In person?”
