Page 5 of A Silence in Belgrave Square (Below Stairs #8)

While I hesitated at reading another’s correspondence, especially that of the mistress of the house, my curiosity got the better of me. I reached for the missive.

Instead of ripping out the letter and reading it immediately, I carefully studied the envelope, as I’d learned from long association with Daniel.

It told me nothing, except that the paper was cheap, such as could be obtained at any stationers in the Strand.

That and the fingers of whoever had carried it had been dirty, though no fingerprints could be seen, only smudges.

While Cynthia watched me impatiently, I withdrew the letter and unfolded it.

What I read made me flinch. The letter writer accused Mrs.Bywater of many and varied reprehensible things, using quite foul language, as Cynthia had indicated. It was a repellent, abusive missive that would sicken even the hardiest soul.

“I understand your aunt’s reaction,” I said. “But also, I do not. If she has done none of these things—which I am certain she hasn’t—why would she not simply thrust it indignantly on the fire?”

“Read to the end,” Cynthia urged.

I had ceased perusing at the bottom of the first page, my senses already offended. I flipped the paper over and read the writing that filled the top half of it.

The writer demanded that Mrs.Bywater leave him or her a sum of money—one hundred guineas, to be precise—at a location to be disclosed in the next letter.

“Drat,” I said.

“My words were more unfortunate,” Cynthia said. “What an awful thing to send to poor Auntie. Not to mention trying to pry money from her. Strange they’d believe she’d pay up. Everyone knows how parsimonious Auntie is.”

I folded the paper to shut out the awful sentences. “I exclaimed because I am unhappy they did not tell us where to leave the money in this letter. If they had, we could lie in wait for whoever it is to collect the funds and then fetch a convenient policeman.”

“They have thought of that.” Cynthia quoted from the letter: “ Tell anyone, and your sins will be exposed to the world. ”

“Your aunt hasn’t told anyone, I am guessing. Who would? If you can find the next letter when it comes, perhaps it will lead us to this horrid person.”

“I will watch out for it,” Cynthia promised. “And lie in wait for this person, as you say. Whoever they are, they will be sorry they upset Auntie in any way.”

I agreed with her. Cynthia began to reach for the letter, but I opened it again and made myself read the lines once more.

Cynthia wrinkled her nose. “You can’t mean to go over it again. I am made of stern stuff, but it nauseated me.”

“This letter writer is amazingly specific at some points, did you notice? They are not spewing general abuse.” I picked out a few phrases.

“ I saw you and your foul lover at the lake in Holland Park…I witnessed what you did under your secret tree on Hampstead Heath…” I regarded Cynthia over the paper.

“I very much doubt your aunt conducted trysts in either of these places. She scarcely likes to get her feet wet.”

“That is true,” Cynthia agreed.

I folded the pages and slipped them into the envelope. “Why does this writer believe Mrs.Bywater will pay to keep quiet about things she never did?”

Cynthia shrugged. “To prevent them spreading lies? Auntie’s friends are prudish in the extreme. If any believed she’d conducted these sorts of affairs, even in the distant past, they’d shun her.”

“Or laugh,” I said. “At the absurdity that anyone could think so. It is ludicrous.” I studied the envelope again.

“The address says The Lady of the Household . As we know your aunt has done none of the things she is accused of, the logical conclusion is that the letter writer did not mean it to go to Mrs.Bywater.”

Cynthia looked puzzled, then her eyes widened. “Good Lord—you don’t suppose they are talking about me ? I’ve never had trysts of any kind, not on Hampstead Heath or in Holland Park or in any other green refuge London has to offer. More’s the pity. How awful they’d think so.”

“No,” I said gently. “Not you. The previous lady of the house, before your aunt came to look after you.”

Cynthia drew a sharp breath, then her chest ceased moving at all. “The mean, foul, nasty bitch .”

Her voice was tight but loud enough that Elsie and Tess glanced in from the scullery, startled.

“Say nothing to your aunt,” I instructed Cynthia, motioning Elsie and Tess to go back to what they were doing.

“You keep a lookout for the second letter, and we’ll have him.

Or her. But please keep this between us for now.

If you must rant, do so to me, or perhaps Mr.Thanos, who is discreet, but no one else. It is important.”

Cynthia continued to splutter in outrage, but I held her with a stern gaze, and finally, she nodded. Her rage was high, but she was wise enough to grasp that if she went on a rampage, she’d frighten away the culprit, and we might never catch them.

She jammed the letter into her pocket. “I don’t like that Auntie has to continue believing this is about her .”

“Perhaps she doesn’t.” I wanted to pat Cynthia’s shoulder or some such and comfort her, but I could not do so to the daughter of the house in the middle of the kitchen. “She must realize it has nothing to do with her. Perhaps she is so upset because she knows who they do mean.”

“Oh.” Cynthia stilled again. “She might. Auntie is oblivious much of the time, but she is no fool. But hang about, Mrs.H. Why send a letter trying to extort money from my poor sister, when she has been gone from us for three years?”

“That might be the most intriguing question of all.” I grasped my knife, preparing to continue chopping. “Put the letter back, say nothing, and watch for the next one. We’ll have this person.” My knife came down and severed the leafy head of an unfortunate carrot.

“Right you are. Thank you, Mrs.H. I’ll keep you informed.” Cynthia saluted me and dashed from the kitchen, nearly running down Mr.Davis on her way.

Mr.Davis stepped aside in deference, then scowled at Cynthia’s back once she’d passed him. He was quite fond of Cynthia but sometimes disapproved of her impetuous ways.

“She’ll come to grief running about like that,” Mr.Davis said to me. “I agree with the mistress that she should take a husband, but only if she finds a gent who likes her temperament.”

“That would be best.” I continued to slice carrots with vigor. “None who will try to break her spirit. Or I shall break him .”

Mr.Davis unbent enough to shoot me a wry smile. “I too, Mrs.Holloway.”

He turned from the kitchen and disappeared back down the hall to his demesne of the butler’s pantry.

* * *

I puzzled over the letter and its purpose as I continued preparing the midday meal.

The Lady of the Household meant Cynthia’s younger sister, Lady Rankin—Lady Emily Shires, that was. She’d been married to Lord Rankin, who held the lease on this house. Lord Rankin, a lofty baron, was not the best of men, but he’d truly grieved when Emily had died.

Lady Emily had been the one to originally hire me on as cook, with dire consequences, I am afraid. Though I suppose the events would have played out whether I’d come here to work or not.

I made myself cease chopping the carrots before they were too minuscule for use and move on to the next task.

“Everything all right, Mrs.H.?” Tess asked me. When she’d finished her conversation with Elsie, she’d begun mixing flour and yeast for a special bread I intended for tonight’s sweet. At the moment I couldn’t remember for the life of me what else went into it.

“I cannot tell you. I’m sorry, Tess.” I scraped the carrot bits from my chopping board into a bowl. “It’s nothing to do with me, and private.”

“Did someone send Lady Cynthia a nasty letter?” Tess added the warm water I’d left out and a bit of finely pounded sugar to the dough and began working it into a clump with a wooden spoon. “I saw you passing one back and forth.”

Tess was quick, her guess almost exact. “I do not wish to speak of it without Cynthia’s permission.”

I stared into the bowl as I stated this, wondering what I’d intended with all these carrots. I was most distracted today.

“If they’re fussing at her for wearing trousers, I’ll have at ’em.

” Tess pounded the dough with her spoon.

“Why shouldn’t a lady wear what she likes?

They’re more practical sometimes, trousers.

Ain’t they? I knew a lass who lived on a farm, and she was always in breeches to do her work with the animals. ”

“It was not about Cynthia and men’s attire. I really can say no more than that.”

Tess continued to beat the dough with vigor. “That’s all right. I’m dead curious, but I don’t want to upset her ladyship. She’s been good to me. If she needs any help though, you look to me. Caleb as well.”

It was kind of her to offer, even if it was partly from inquisitiveness. “Please do not mention this to Constable Greene,” I said quickly. “At least, not yet.”

“You know me.” Tess cheerfully made a sign of locking her lips, smudging the upper one with flour. “I’ll say nothing till you give me the word.”

“Thank you, Tess.” I calmed enough to at last recall what I intended for the bread.

“Work that butter I melted and one egg into the dough, then turn it out and knead it—gently—and we’ll put it aside.

When it’s risen, I’ll show you how to make it into a star shape, which we’ll fill with sugar and cinnamon. ”

“Mmm.” Tess poured in the butter, then cracked an egg into a small bowl before stirring it into the dough. She’d learned not to crack an egg directly into a batter, in case the egg was bad or it sent bits of shell cascading into the other ingredients.

Tess turned a well-mixed ball onto the floured table and began to work it. “Please say we can have some of this.”

“I will make any leftover dough into small portions for us.” I continued to hold the bowl of carrots, still unable to remember the next step with them.