Juliet crossed to a chair adjacent to Miss Russell and sank onto the cushion, a hush threading the air. She hadn’t sufferedsuch a precarious meeting since the day the solicitor informed her that her family’s fortune was gone.
Mr. Russell leaned against the mantel, arms crossed, exuding an effortless confidence. His swept-back hair caught the late-morning light streaming in through the window, setting off a deep golden fire. Every inch of him radiated the authority of a man accustomed to control, his broad shoulders and strong jawline adding to his commanding presence. This was the sort of man whose appearance could inspire a deep-set trust or a cold-sweat fear, dependent solely upon how his gaze landed on you.
And when he looked at her, she was glad to be sitting, for her legs would not have held her.
“The short of it, Miss Finch,” he rumbled, “is that my sister has been tormented by someone who clearly means to frighten her away, if not worse. This is no small matter. In return for your own freedom, you shall help me catch whoever is responsible.”
Juliet nodded slowly, the weight of the situation feeling like a wet woolen blanket pressing her down, chilling her to the bone. She snared animals, not humans. “If that is so, then why not get the law involved?”
His jaw tightened. “The law has little patience for whispers in the dark. Evidence would be required—irrefutable evidence. Besides, I would rather not have the entire town knowing my sister is being harassed by an unknown lunatic. The gossip alone could ruin her reputation and possibly make her more vulnerable than she already is.”
“I see.” Juliet shifted uncomfortably on the chair. This was a tenuous situation, for well did she know how completely—and how quickly—misplaced words could decimate a woman’s character. “How long has this been going on?”
Mr. Russell scowled. “Too long.”
“What my brother means to say,” Miss Russell cut in, “is two months.”
Juliet cocked her head. “And what exactly has been done in that time?”
The siblings exchanged a glance, and at length, Mr. Russell gave his sister a sharp nod. The woman pulled several papers from her pocket, then handed them to Juliet. “It began with these.”
Juliet unfolded the first note. The handwriting was bold and deliberate, each letter formed with the measured precision of a man unused to wasting ink or words.
My dearest Charity,
You are such a precious flower, too ephemeral for the troubles of this world. Consider seeking peace elsewhere, for the countryside is rife with dangers, and a lady of your grace deserves safety and serenity.
With kindest regards,
A friend
A chill crept down Juliet’s spine, for she doubted very much a friend would send such an ominous message. She tucked that paper behind the rest and opened the next.
My dearest Charity,
It must be exhausting, always looking over your shoulder. Perhaps it is time you find refuge elsewhere. The world can be unpredictable, and it is wise to remove oneself from its hazards before they draw too near.
Take care,
A well-wisher
Juliet frowned as she quickly opened the third note.
My dearest Charity,
I see you every day, walking the halls of Bedford Manor. There are shadows around you, darker than you think. You cannot stay here forever. The wise know when to leave.
Do not wait until it is too late.
A concerned soul
That did it for the notes, save for a single penned bit of poetry on what appeared to be an enclosure card—no doubt for flowers, for the faint scent of roses yet clung to the paper.
The roses bloom with crimson grace,
Yet petals fall in death’s embrace.
Beware the thorns that lie in wait,
