The strong sunlight shone through, but there were clouds in the offing.
She bent to uncover porridge and slices of bananas. The letters slipped.
I scooped them up before she did. One had my name, well my new title. The script wasn’t Daniel’s.
Mrs. Gallick’s eyes widened more. “Let me have that. His lordship doesn’t want you distracted with anything but eating.”
Palming the one for me, I handed over the others. “I’m not hungry.”
She took them and put the letters into her apron. “Mouse bites. That’s all you’ve done all week. A grown woman can’t survive like this.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“Suggest to his lordship how to make things better. I think he’ll do anything for you.”
The well-meaning housekeeper offered me a sad smile and left.
I missed what we had too, but he had secrets and I had mine, and neither of us seemed willing to share. I broke the seal of the wax on the correspondence.
Finchely House, London, August 29, 1814
Dear Lady Ashbrook,
Congratulations are in order. There are assets formerly belonging to your late husband that need your attention. I have a buyer willing to pay a fair penny for these assets. I have written to Lord Ashbrook a number of times to no avail.
Blessings to you on your nuptials, though I must warn you, there are members and advocates of the St. Maur family who believe that you are under duress, perhaps of a diminished capacity. If this is wrong, please communicate at once. It would be in your best interest to resolve the matter as soon as possible.
T. Mosey, Solicitor
Sleck Building, Tonbridge
Diminished capacity.That was fancy learned speech for “otherworldly,” “a loon.” The St. Maurs had an interest in me now. I resided in Bedlam for two years, but they wanted me now.
My abdomen lurched. The St. Maurs or my husband could return me to Bedlam. I’d lose Hope again.
Never.
Shaking, I hugged myself, and tossed on my shawl.
Then I remembered me. I wasn’t a victim anymore. I’d scaled buildings. I’d fought a hurricane and won.
No more waiting for someone to come with answers.
No more wanting Daniel to save me.
I pressed on the adjoining door and went inside. I’d check for more Mosey letters before I went to Daniel’s study. The sketch of Phoebe no longer hung on the wall. Only Hope’s drawing remained. I hadn’t noticed that on our wedding night, but I wasn’t paying attention to much but Daniel.
Phoebe’s notes. Daniel’s secrets—they would tell me what he knew. Going into the big closet, I breathed Daniel, sweet cedar and lily of the valley.
On the shelf close to my hip was the waistcoat he wore at our wedding. The white tissue paper cradling it made it seem so delicate, so fragile.
His voice, the memory of it, rang in my ear. His vows to honor and keep me sounded clear and crisp. Could he be part of a conspiracy or just another victim to it?
My hook and rope were on the floor in the corner. Good to know where it was if a fast escape was needed. Yet, I knew Daniel would let nothing happen to me. How could my mind war between him being good or part of the world who took my baby?
I heard a noise outside the closet. Daniel?
Then nothing, no valet or Mrs. Gallick.
