Page 19 of A Legacy of Lies

“He’s gone in for the evening. I’ve just come from him.”

She tried to smile. “Then I’ll count the errand successful. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Of course.” She turned and walked back into the mist.

He didn’t follow. Not immediately. He watched the fog curl behind her. Then he looked down.

A page lay crumpled on the gravel. He bent, fingertips brushing the edge, but didn’t unfold it. No seal. No address. The paper was soft with wear. Folded, opened, folded again.

There had been movement earlier, behind the hedge. A shadow slipping away, not fleeing. Not threatening. Familiar.

A tryst? No. She didn’t carry herself like a woman recklessly in love.

But she carried something. And it wasn’t grief.

He straightened, paper in hand. Then he followed.

They walked side by side in silence, the gravel shifting beneath their feet. Lamps glowed in the high windows, turning the Hall into a shape of watchful light. A shutter creaked above them. The wind pressed at Clara’s back like a question.

Nathaniel didn’t speak. Neither did she.

Somewhere beyond the hedge, the mist sighed. This house knows. The words whispered through her mind unbidden. Or were they unspoken no longer?

When they reached the main steps, he held the door. She nodded her thanks and slipped inside.

*

She lit no lamp in her bedchamber. The dusk was kind, and shadows didn’t ask questions.

She reached into her pocket and froze.

The letter. It wasn’t there.

She tried again, slower this time, as if careful fingers might undo what panic already knew. She turned out the lining. Checked her sleeves. Her coat hem. Her reticule.

Nothing.

A cold burst of breath hit her throat. Her heart stuttered and sprinted.

No. No. You had it. You had it when—

She opened the door again, eyes darting down the corridor. Empty. Echoing. Too many footsteps between here and there. Too many eyes. But she didn’t retreat. She ran.

Down the stairs. Through the corridor. Out past the vestibule. Her slippers found gravel. Mist coiled around her as she made her way back to the steward’s office.

She dropped to her knees and searched the ground, hands sweeping stone and damp leaves. Her gloves came away wet. Her breath caught and hitched and clouded the air.

Nothing.

The paper was gone.

She stood, shaking. Her pulse rang in her ears. Her father’s words echoed louder still.

Slowly, she returned to the Hall. Back in her chamber, she locked the door with fingers that barely worked. She tugged back her sleeve. Four bruises, dark and precise.

“If he comes back,” she whispered, “he’ll ruin us both.”

But if someone else had found that letter…He might not need to.