He took the book and studied it. “After a week of practice, perhaps.”
“Unfortunately, you will have to do it after an hour at most of practice.”
“Any variation from the one Yarnell normally sees will probably be attributed to his injury,” Stratton said.
“He may know my mother is gone by the time he receives this,” Amanda said. “He will be angry, and suspicious of anything and everyone. The signature must be as close as we can make it. I will do it, and not need much practice at all.”
Brentworth and Stratton greeted that with blank, studied, indifferent faces. Both slid glances in Gabriel’s direction, however.
“She is a secretary,” he said. “Of course she would need the least amount of practice.” He rose and offered her the chair at the table.
Amanda studied the signature, then took the pen, dipped it, and tried to copy it on a sheet of paper.
He looked over her shoulder. She did very well. Remarkably well. Better than any of the rest of them could have done even after a week of practice.
She squinted at the real signature, then her copy. She tried again.
Even better this time. He would be hard-pressed to notice any difference from the real signature even if he had good and forged side by side.
She set down the pen and stretched out her arms. She rolled her shoulders like a boxer warming up for a bout. She picked up the pen again and dipped it in ink. Then in quick succession she quickly wrote the signature five times. By the fourth one, the slight hesitation visible in the lines of the first two was gone.
She held out her hand. “The letter, please.”
Stratton gave it to her. She set it down, dipped, wrote, and blotted. She handed it back.
Silence reigned for a ten count. Stratton handed the letter to Brentworth, whose eyebrows rose when he saw it.
“Well done,” Stratton said. “Lady Farnsworth indeed had a prize in you with such a hand as that.”
Amanda’s expression remained impassive. Gabriel placed his hand on her shoulder. She had agreed to do this in order to finish things with Yarnell, but he could tell that demonstrating this other skill in front of others had embarrassed her.
“We will leave you now,” Brentworth said. “Early morning, I will personally serve as messenger and deliver this to Yarnell. Stratton will ensure our culprit above does not abscond, should he wake before noon, which, considering his feast and wine, is unlikely. We should all be prepared for Yarnell to arrive by ten, however, if he comes at all.”
He and Stratton left.
“If they had any questions about me, that should have answered them,” Amanda said.
“You cannot be blamed for something your father taught you when you were a child.”
“Actually, Mama taught me this part.”
“Perhaps we should have had her do it instead.”
She shook her head. “I am far better at it.” She looked up at him. “It sounds like tomorrow it will be over at last.”
Her words, and their real meaning, twisted the knot he had carried for days beneath his heart. “Come lie in my arms and sleep with me and leave tomorrow for another day, Amanda.”
They undressed and climbed into bed. He tried to distract them both with his hands and mouth, with pleasure and release. Afterwards he held her while she slept and watched every small movement her face and body made until dawn began breaking.
* * *
Amanda took the pails of water from the servant and carried them to the basin. Then she woke her mother and bid her wash and dress.
Her mother blinked and yawned. “What time is it?”
“Eight. You must get ready. Yarnell will be here soon, and the gentlemen will apprehend him.”
“Gentlemen?”
