“Exactly,” I agreed.
At least Lydia’s presence got Morrie out of my hair for the moment. As soon as they were out of sight, my mind flew again to the letter. I collapsed into Heathcliff’s chair, fortified by the smoke-and-spice scent of his body that had been woven into the fabric. Quoth fluttered down to rest on the chair arm. He used his beak to push over the arm of the reading lamp.
I turned on the lamp to light a circle across my lap and tossed aside a stack of books and yesterday’sArgleton Gazettewith the sensational headline ARGLETON JEWEL THIEF STRIKES AGAIN! on the front page. I held the envelope close to my face, studying it from every angle. It was square, made of a thick cardstock that felt rough to the touch – homemade or recycled paper. On the front, my name was written in a cursive font with flicked ends that looked oddly familiar, although I couldn’t place the writing now. It was sealed with wax.
My hand trembled. I stared at my name for what felt like an age, my heart fluttering. I couldn’t reconcile this fine envelope and fancy handwriting with the sperm-donor who’d run out on my mother. For my entire life, I’d thought my father was a lowlife criminal who abandoned us. Mum never spoke of him, and she’d evaded every question I ever asked. I only knew the bare details of their relationship – she didn’t want me to grow up surrounded by criminals, so she and my Dad ran away to Argleton. When he couldn’t find honest work, he left us, and he’d never bothered to try and contact us. Mum had never even shown me a picture of him. To me, he was a ghost.
This letter made him real.
Quoth tapped the seal with his beak, twisting his head so his brown eyes regarded mine. Fire flared at the edges.
Whatever that letter contains, you can handle it,he spoke inside my head.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I said, slipping my finger under the wax and breaking the seal.
I pulled out a single sheet of paper, thinner than the envelope but of the same rough, handmade quality. It was folded into quarters, the edges neatly trimmed and filled with a hand-drawn ink border of leaping animals and tiny men carrying swords and shields. A few of the animals ran over the edges of the border, as though they were too wild to be contained. A date in the top corner set the letter about a year after I was born. That date had been crossed out, and another date written beside it. But that had been so rigorously scrawled through that I had no hope of reading it.
I sucked in a breath, and began to read:
My dear Wilhelmina,
I have left this message with Victoria for you to uncover on your visit. I have placed copies with Mary (in 1741) and Henrietta (in 1220), in case I was mistaken about the date you stepped through the bedroom door. When one is talking about time travel, it pays to be thorough.
This done, I will be leaving you.
It is not my wish to abandon you, but it is a father’s duty to keep his daughter safe. My enemy has made his move, and in the great game of chess we two play, it is now my turn. As long as he knows nothing of your existence, you remain safe.
Know that I will always love you, and you and your mother are forever in my heart. For as long as you remain in the protection of Nevermore Bookshop, he cannot harm you. But you must be careful. You are, after all, my daughter.
All my love,
H
I stared at the words until they lost all meaning, until they were just scratches of ink on the page. Even then, scratches made more sense. Quoth nuzzled my hand. I stroked the frill of feathers around his neck with trembling fingers.
My father was somehow connected to Nevermore Bookshop. Before he left my mother, he’d gone into the room upstairs and left a note for me in three different time periods.
But why?
A million questions danced around in my head.Who is this enemy? What does he want with my father, and why would he go after me?
Is he somehow connected to what Victoria said, about me being covered in blood the next time she sees me?
Why did this letter read like an intelligent, articulate man on the run from some kind of trouble? That didn’t at all match the image of my father as a drug-addled small-time criminal who ran out on his family because he didn’t want the responsibility.
What do you need?Quoth asked me.
I folded the letter and shoved it in my pocket. My head spun and pain throbbed across my temples. A lime-green neon light flicked across my vision.Please, no fireworks right now.
I didn’t know what I needed. Right now, Lydia Bennet was downstairs, Morrie was being a wanker, my eyes were getting worse, I hadn’t figured out how I felt about the guys and whatalmosthappened last night, and the village was overrun with Jane Austen fans. I needed to not think aboutthis.
I rose from the chair, steadying myself with the arm of the lamp and holding out my elbow so Quoth could hop on. I picked up the newspaper, showing him the headline about the jewel thief. I skimmed the text. According to the article, five stately homes in the area had been burgled in the last month. In each burglary, the only thing taken was jewelry. There were no signs of forced entry, and many believed the jewelry may have been missing for weeks or months before the thefts were noticed.Imagine being so rich you didn’t know when some of your priceless gems went missing.
The police asked anyone with information to come forward and warned residents to report any jewelry theft.Interesting.Immediately, my mind whirred through possibilities.It has to be someone who had access to the houses, like cleaning staff or a corgi groomer…
Mina, if we could return to the letter of the moment…Quoth hopped along my arm.What do you need?
I grinned. “I need to solve a mystery, one that doesn’t involve my life. What do you say, Quoth? It’s no murder, but catching a jewel thief might be just what I need.”
