“We’re not asking you to meet him immediately,” Mabel said, patting Eleanor’s hand, trying to soothe the discord. “We’re simply suggesting that you put some effort into establishing a necessary understanding of who he is.”
Lillian nodded. “Yes. We must treat this like a proper mystery. We must ferret out the truth just as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle does.”
Mabel’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, we could help you write a letter.”
That was not at all Eleanor’s intention when she’d confessed this secret. Her friends were far too meddlesome. “I do not need help writing a letter, thank you.”
Mabel ignored her. “It will be fun. Lillian, pass me that pencil.”
Dear Captain,
Since we’ve determined that we are friends who can be trusted, I find myself wanting to know more about you. How do you spend your days?
“Agreed,” Mabel said to Lillian. “That’s far preferable to ‘What is your occupation?’”
Eleanor gritted her teeth. The two of them had brushed past every insistence that she could write this letter on her own. Telling them about the Captain had been a truly awful idea.
Lillian cocked her head. “What will you do if he says he’s a layabout with nothing to fill his days but your letters and playing cards?”
Eleanor shuddered. Their not-quite-liaison would be over. “He won’t. I know that much about him.”
Mabel nudged the page impatiently. “We have only a few minutes left. What next?”
Lillian crossed her arms. “Are you married?”
Eleanor’s chest tightened. “He’s not married.”
“But has he ever actually told you that?”
Eleanor ran through all of their past correspondence in her mind. She had declared her marital status, but he’d never once alluded to his. Blast.
“Why don’t we ask about his family?” Mabel suggested. “That’s less bold.”
Despite her original reluctance to reveal the secret of him, she had to admit, their interference was proving beneficial. Warily, she penned the words:You have at least three sisters. Do you have other family?She wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer. Either response might alter her feelings, but curiosity was finally winning out over her need for stasis.
“Ah!” Lillian’s eyes widened. “If you had the choice between a life without coffee or a life without cheese, which would you choose?”
“That is an absurd question,” Mabel replied, rolling her eyes. “What could that possibly tell us?”
Lillian shrugged. “Someone who can’t live without coffee has a highly demanding lifestyle. Someone who can’t live without cheese is more interested in the indulgent aspects of their days.”
That was a very smart calculation. Lillian’s obsession with mystery novels had given her a talent for subterfuge that was coming in handy.
Eleanor nodded and included the question in her next sentence. “How do we uncover his age?” she asked.
Lillian paused for a moment, fingers tapping against her lips once more. “Were you around for the battle of Waterloo?”
Mabel scoffed so loudly, she drew stares from the other compositors in the room, who had, as usual, sat themselves apart from the women. “Waterloo was seventy years ago.”
“Exactly.” Lillian pointed at the letter. “Mr. Osbourne was definitely alive for Waterloo. Hell, he may even have served. The man is ancient.”
“Fair point,” Mabel replied. “So, for the purposes of ruling out Mr. Osbourne, we shall include it.”
The lunch bellclanged. “Dash,” Mabel said as she and Lillian packed up their lunch bags. “We will finish this on the way home.” She paused when she realized Eleanor had not moved.
“Go ahead,” Eleanor said. “I’ll be right there.”
Her friends exchanged surprised glances. Eleanor never dallied. She was militantly on time. But she would not be able to concentrate if she didn’t finish this now, so she ignored them and returned to the page in front of her.
