Free Secret Letters by Leah Scheier Page B

suitcase from the window with a rope, nor tossed it to the ground.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Did the footprints match a pair of Lady Rose’s slippers?”
    “Not unless the lady chose to wear men’s boots that night. And the only shoes that have gone missing are Lady Rose’s ballroom pumps. Not the best choice for a stealthy flight by dark.”
    “Oh! But I do not understand—how did she escape her room without help, and without leaving any marks beneath her window? And if she was kidnapped—how could her abductor carry her down a tree against her will? Or through the house, for that matter? How could he be sure that none of the servants would see him?”
    “That was what I asked myself before I even arrived at Hartfield. Unfortunately, after I had combed the room and the soil outside, I was no closer to answering that question. So I am afraid that I am at a dead end—for now.”
    “But the servants? Surely you could speak to someone—as a workman, stir up some gossip, whisper in a few ears. You are so very good at winking at strange girls, after all.”
    He looked offended. “I only winked at you because you seemed to appreciate it. All right, don’t pout, I’ll take it back. The truth is, I was only able to speak with the housekeeper for a little while, and I’m afraid I did not get any useful information. She was a gossipy sort and was more than happy to relate all of the sins and troubles relating to her house staff, however. I found out that one of the scullery maids has come into a bit of money from an old uncle and so has left their service. Two of the upper housemaids have gone off to better themselves in Australia, and one unfortunate laundry maid was obliged to leave abruptly due to an affair with an irresponsible gardener. The housekeeper even informed me that she suspects another maid of being in the same ‘situation’ (a valet is responsible this time), but there are no grounds yet to warrant her dismissal.”
    “But you learned nothing at all about James! And why do the love affairs of scullery maids matter to us?”
    “Oh, they don’t matter to me. But I did note that the recent romances beneath the stairs have brought about a staff shortage at Hartfield. A severe staff shortage.”
    I laughed and rose slowly to my feet. “Perhaps you should put on a servant’s cap and apron and apply for the position, then. You’d make a very pretty maid.”
    He did not smile at my little joke, and I thought for a moment that I had offended him again. For a few minutes he sat quietly, chewing thoughtfully on a thumbnail and staring past me out the window. I was wondering if he had heard me or noticed my movement toward the door when he cleared his throat and murmured wistfully, “But—Miss Joyce, they already know my face at Hartfield.”
    His words fell like lead into my lap. I gasped beneath their weight and dropped heavily into my chair. There was a throbbing silence, the blood was beating slowly in my ears, and I felt my hands go cold and numb. I must have misunderstood, I reasoned quickly. He was certainly joking, mocking my enthusiasm, daring me to answer him. And yet, there was no laughter in his eyes. His shoulders were bowed and tense, his fingers clasped, his lips drawn tight. He would not look at me.
    “What do you mean—?” I exclaimed desperately. “Mr. Cartwright, you cannot think—please, you must tell me what you meant.” I was choking on the words; my voice was harsh and dry as gravel.
    He rose slowly from the sofa and moved to sit across from me, pulling up the opposite chair so that his feet almost touched my skirt. Leaning toward me, with his elbows resting lightly on his knees and his fingers clasped together, he looked at me, not at my ashen face or shaking hands, but deep into my eyes as if he would read me, fixing me with a gaze that stopped my breath.
    I realized suddenly that I had not misunderstood his meaning; I knew finally what he wanted from me, what he had been hoping