Page 20 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)

Chapter Fifteen

The ballroom lost its appeal after Samuel’s friends left. Miss Farrow’s conversation was pleasant, but she had been called away to dance the next few sets, and Samuel found he did not relish standing with his mother and watching Miss Farrow move about the floor with other men.

He thought of the first letter he’d ever found of hers, the words that had tied them together like two vines wrapping around one another to create a strong rope.

He stood in the sea of people and no longer felt lonely, knowing she was there, knowing her loneliness was abated by his presence as well.

Together, they assuaged one another’s inward isolation.

Miss Farrow threw her head back and laughed at something her partner said, and Samuel faced his mother. “I will take my leave now. Good night, Mother.”

She sighed, evidently unable to find an argument for him to remain. “I shall see you at home.”

He called for his curricle and was on the road shortly after.

The moon was waxing, growing brighter each evening and making it easier to see the lane ahead of him.

He turned onto the High Street and pulled his reins, commanding his horses to slow to avoid the conveyance parked in the road.

What the devil was Oliver’s carriage doing stopped in front of Marguerite’s shop?

Samuel slowed further, searching the windows as he passed, and saw all of them standing in the shop, Oliver holding a torch, and Ruth holding a candle.

It was difficult to see from this distance, but Oliver’s countenance appeared grave.

Samuel pulled his curricle in front of Oliver’s carriage and leaped to the ground.

He caught the eye of Oliver’s groom. “Watch my pair too, eh?”

“Yes, gov.”

Samuel ambled toward the front door. The scene he found looked morose. Oliver held a doll out that seemed to have seen better days. Marguerite stared at it as though it was the specter of Queen Elizabeth, and Ruth held a candle carefully in both hands, glancing between them.

“This is a frightening scene,” Samuel said plainly.

All three of his friends startled. Marguerite glanced at him and let out a relieved sigh.

“You should not sneak up on people, Sam,” Ruth chastised, clicking her tongue.

“I didn’t. You are all acting as though…” He looked around the shop. “Has something awful occurred?”

Oliver looked at Marguerite, maintaining his silence. It was proof, however, that she had something to share, and he was leaving it up to her to do so.

Samuel straightened, losing the playful smirk that had been tilting his lips. The edge of fear moved through his limbs. Images of the shadowed man peering through her shop windows flashed in his mind. “What happened?”

“Someone broke into the shop,” Marguerite said.

“They had a key,” Ruth corrected. “Or the ability to unlock the door. Nothing was actually broken. ”

“And they took nothing.” Oliver held up the doll. “They left this with a note.”

“What does the note say?” Samuel asked.

Marguerite held out the paper.

He took it from her hand and stepped forward, holding the white sheet closer to Ruth’s candle to read the hastily scrawled words. Whoever had written this had terrible handwriting.

I want the diamonds. If you want your mother’s belongings, we can make a trade.

Samuel lowered the paper, fire running through his blood. “What the devil does this mean?”

“It is a multi-faceted threat, I believe,” Oliver said plainly. “The person wanted to prove to Marguerite they have the ability to reach her, should they choose to.”

“How so?”

“They left the doll on her bed,” Ruth said quietly.

Samuel looked at Marguerite sharply. She reached for the doll in Oliver’s hand and rubbed a thumb along its wooden face, shaking her head. “I am not frightened.”

He scoffed. “This is ridiculous. You cannot mean to remain here.”

Her eyes flicked up. “It is my home. This person has a plan. If their intent is to frighten me, I will not give them the satisfaction of running off to find refuge elsewhere.”

“Then allow someone to remain here with you. Surely the sofa in your parlor can comfortably sleep a man.”

“Who do you propose may do that?” Ruth asked. “Your plan carries merit, but it puts Marguerite’s reputation entirely at risk.”

“Better her reputation than her life, do you not think?” Samuel countered.

“I could do it,” Oliver offered. “Surely if I leave before the sun each day, I will not be seen.”

“On the High Street,” Ruth said. “In the center of Harewood, with all manner of people going about their business or leaving the inn’s taproom?”

Oliver shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Ruth is correct. Your reputation would be far safer were you to relocate to our house for the time being.”

Samuel wanted to argue that his house was a better choice, but he knew that was not true.

His parents argued with too much regularity, and he would not subject anyone else to that level of unrest in a home.

But he wanted to help. He was unsatisfied with the direction this conversation was moving.

Furthermore, he did not like the way Marguerite seemed uninterested in discussing her own safety.

Her attention was fastened on the doll, taken so thoroughly by it, he wondered if she was fully listening to the conversation taking place around her.

He peered closer at it and noted its outdated dress.

Much like the sleeping gown she had gifted Peter, the doll’s red gown appeared as though it had fit with a previous generation.

It was tight to the waist, flaring out in the style Samuel’s mother would have worn when he was young.

The doll had a high forehead, her tangled hair drawn back into a curl Marguerite was twisting gently over her shoulder.

“What is the significance of the doll?” he asked.

She looked up. “It belonged to me as a girl. I have not seen it in twenty years.”

His stomach dropped. “This person left it with the note?”

Marguerite swallowed, lowering the doll in her hands. She looked each of them in the eyes, then closed her own. “I fear none of you know the entirety of the situation. Before, I was concerned, but I did not know for certain if I was being threatened. Now, I know.”

And yet, she appeared less worried .

“You’ve had other letters?” Ruth asked.

“Yes. Wait here.” She took the candle and left through the parlor door, the stairs creaking overhead as she climbed to her bedchamber above.

“What should we do?” Ruth whispered, her words rushed. “We cannot force her out of her home, but this is quite concerning.”

Oliver took her hand. “Help her in whatever way she allows. We can do nothing more.”

“I despise that answer.”

“As do I,” Samuel muttered.

Marguerite returned and moved toward the counter.

She placed two papers on it and opened them, dropping a long ribbon on the first. “I received these a few weeks ago. The first came with this ribbon. I cannot recall where it comes from, but it is quite familiar.” She picked up one end and held it so they could see.

“They cut it from something—a bonnet or gown, I assume.”

Ruth leaned over and read the note. “ This is only the beginning .”

“This one has been doused with my mother’s perfume,” Marguerite said, her voice sounding more strained. “ You may have the entire bottle ,” she read.

“And now this,” Oliver finished. “ I want the diamonds. If you want your mother’s belongings, we can make a trade.”

“This blackguard has been tormenting you,” Samuel said with disgust. “Playing on your grief.”

“How awful,” Ruth agreed. “Did you inform the constable in Locksley?”

Samuel had found her there only days ago.

“I did not have sufficient cause to do so. The first letter was tucked in my door when I was away. The second was left on my counter when the shop was open, while I was in the parlor with a patron. Neither of those instances, nor the messages, were very threatening.”

A chill ran down the length of Samuel’s spine. Whoever was doing this was being intentional. He didn’t like it, and he had a feeling they did not have all the information yet.

“You think it is Leclair?” Samuel asked.

“I wondered,” Marguerite said quietly, as though she would not condemn the man fully if she whispered. “But he was with us at the ball.”

Oliver let out a heavy breath.

Samuel wanted to ask the obvious question, but he feared seeming presumptuous. He inhaled and did so anyway. “Marguerite, do you have the diamonds they are seeking?”

“No,” she said softly. “It is preposterous.”

“They have the wrong person?”

She did not speak. “They have false information. My mother died in France. Two trunks were meant to meet us here in England, but we only received one. The other held the belongings of my family and never arrived.” Marguerite looked at the doll.

“This was packed in it. As was my mother’s perfume, and I am assuming the item this ribbon was attached to.

Whoever sent these things wanted to prove they have my trunk.

But if my mother packed any of her diamonds outside of her person, they would have found them. They must believe I have them.”

Samuel stared. Did Marguerite realize she had spoken casually of her mother’s diamonds, as though it was commonplace to own something of such value?

Or that she mentioned she had not seen her doll in twenty years?

The doll was packed in the trunk that left France when she did.

He counted back and held his countenance, shoving his surprise clear down to his toes so it would not show on his face.

If Marguerite had fled France two decades ago, she had left at the height of the revolution, when the royalists were being hunted and fleeing in droves. Royalists . Who was this woman?

Samuel pushed the thoughts aside, for they mattered little now. He did not wish to consider the horrors she must have endured. It was no wonder she kept to herself and chose a private life .

“What shall we do to keep you safe?” Ruth asked. “Will you come stay with us at Boone Park?”

“I cannot leave my home.” Marguerite smiled lightly in gratitude. “But I thank you for your offer. I have been sleeping with a pistol beside my pillow. I wake easily, and I do not think that will change.”

Samuel shook his head. “That is not enough.”

“What more can we do? I took these two notes to a friend of my father’s and inquired of him, but he cannot see how anyone would know to find me here. It is unexplainable.”

“Yet Mr. Leclair has.” Samuel tapped the third note. “He is not finished, for he has only revealed his intent and no plan for which he would like to make the trade. I expect you have another letter coming.”

“We need more information.” Ruth chewed on her lip. “Should I host a tea? Invite the Faversham party for lawn games and see what we can discover?”

“You are likely to be rained out,” Oliver said.

“It’s too cold for pall mall,” Samuel agreed. “But anything to remove Marguerite from the shop is good, for it provides an opportunity to leave the note while she is not here.”

“I do not like the idea of someone leaving the note while you are here,” Oliver said.

Marguerite nodded. “We are agreed on that score.”

“We shall fill their calendar,” Samuel said. “You host a tea, and I will host…cards? Dinner?” He considered the expense of such an event and swallowed his reservations. Marguerite’s safety was more important than his purse.

“A musical evening,” Ruth suggested. “Young ladies do so love to show off their skill, and with your recent interest in Miss Farrow, it will be a natural thing for you to do. I will send out cards for battledore and shuttlecock in our ballroom. I am certain that will inspire the men of Faversham to come show off their prowess, and if the weather is fine, we can take the sport outside.”

“After being certain Leclair knows Marguerite will be attending the events, one of us will remain here to watch for the intruder,” Oliver suggested.

“That is too dangerous,” Marguerite breathed, shaking her head. “I will not ask that of you.”

“You are not asking,” Samuel said bluntly. “Is it not better to catch the blackguard in the act? I approve of that plan.”

“As do I.” Ruth looked at her husband with admiration. She swiveled her gaze to Marguerite. “You really ought to see these men fence. That would put your fears to rest.”

The horses whinnied on the street, frustrated for sitting so long in one attitude, undoubtedly.

Oliver took his wife’s hand. “We should move before we attract suspicion.”

Samuel followed him toward the door, Marguerite at their tail.

She did not appear to have been put at ease, but the plan was a good one.

If the man was going to continue along his same pattern, he would wait a few days more before leaving another note with further instructions, likely when Marguerite was out of the shop.

That was enough to allow Samuel to leave her, but only just. His stomach still tightened at the doorway.

“Are you certain you will not leave this place, just for the evening?”

“I am capable of caring for myself,” she said. “Good night, Samuel.”

He dipped a bow and walked toward his curricle, climbing onto the driver’s bench and taking the reins from Oliver’s groom. He looked over his shoulder, surveying the darkened High Street of Harewood, but nothing was amiss. The waxing moon lit it well and no man-shaped shadows made themselves known.

With a wave to his friends, he drove off, but the slippery feeling of being watched did not leave him.