Page 2 of The Case at Castle Rock Cove (Beau Monde Secrets #4)
“W illa!” Miss Hadfield had fallen so far behind, she had to raise her voice. “We really had better turn back now! It is too cold.”
Willa bit her lip and ducked her head, pretending she hadn’t heard. Miss Hadfield was right, of course. It was a cold and cloudy day, and the wind drove at an angle calculated to cut through even a warm cloak. Worse, Willa thought she smelled rain in the air. It was hard to tell for certain, though, given the pervasive odor of the ocean.
How she hated that scent. It would forever remind her of those miserable years in Blackpool. It was half the reason she had objected to spending the spring at Newell. She’d argued intensely in favor of taking a cottage in the Lake District, which was much closer to home, anyway.
But the family doctor insisted that Phoebe and Mama would benefit from the ocean air, and Cousin Sarah had eagerly offered her own home, just off Newell’s High Street. Mama had been happy to stay with a relative rather than taking lodgings in a resort closer to home. Now they were settled in and everyone seemed happy.
Everyone except for Willa, who wanted to pack a valise and run away. In London, the Season would be in full swing. Willa should have been trying on clothes at her modiste’s and brushing up on her dance steps. Instead, she spent her days staring out the window, hoping someone interesting would walk by. If not a person, maybe a stray dog or cat?
By now, she’d reached Castle Rock Point. The view of the sea was undoubtedly impressive, but Willa hardly spared a glance at it. Instead, she scanned the space before the edge of the cliff. There wasn’t much to see: thick grass, an iron bench placed so that holiday trippers could sit down and admire the view of the cove, and—there! A glint of glass!
Willa darted forward and grabbed the bottle. Whoever had found it had reused the original green bottle, corking it tightly. She tucked the bottle into the pocket of her pelisse and turned back to Miss Hadfield.
“We can go home now,” she said brightly.
Miss Hadfield shook her head. The walk had turned her cheeks red, making her round face resemble a blushing apple. At least her hair remained confined in a tidy knot, unlike Willa’s wild locks.
“I believe I’d like to sit down and catch my breath,” Miss Hadfield said. If she noticed the way Willa’s pocket bulged, she made no comment.
No one noticed the bottle when Willa and Miss Hadfield returned home, thoroughly chilled and ready for a hot cup of tea. As soon as she was out of sight, Willa hid the bottle in the trunk at the foot of her bed. She did not want to answer all the questions she’d be asked if anyone caught her uncorking it to remove the note inside.
Between one thing and another, Willa did not have the chance to read the letter until bedtime. As always, Phoebe was sent up to bed an hour before Willa. Usually, Willa would have stayed in the parlor with her mother, talking and stitching and trying not to look annoyed if Cousin Sarah told the same stories she had told yesterday.
Tonight, though, she feigned exhaustion and took a candle upstairs not long after Phoebe retired for the night. Luck was with her for once, Phoebe had fallen asleep quickly. Willa could read her letter without interruption or interrogation.
Willa unrolled the scroll of paper and eagerly scanned the reply.
Dear W.S.:
You do sound miserable! Perhaps I may be of service? I live above the cove, not much more than a mile from the town. If you have any questions about Newell or Market Caseton, you have only to ask. I mention Market Caseton because that is where you will find the nearest circulating library. Mrs. Thatcher runs a stationery shop, but she also sells periodicals and maintains the circulating library. The collection may seem sparse if you are used to London bookshops, but you will at least find something other than Pilgrim’s Progress.
If all else fails, I can loan you some of my books. My personal library mostly consists of books of information, but I do have some novels and tales that may be of interest. Have you read Frankenstein , or The Vampyre ? Or, if you wish for something longer, I have a few of the Waverly novels. Only a few, though; historical novels are not quite my cup of tea.
If you would like to ride with me, I could loan you a hack, as long as you do not ride more than 12 or 13 stone. I should warn you that I do not ride very far, though—mostly just about my grandfather’s estate or down to the village. But there are some pleasant rides along the cliffs, and I should be happy to show you.
Of course, you may not desire company. There is nothing wrong with that, either. I often prefer solitude myself. If you like, I can leave a package of books for you at the bakery in Newell. People frequently trust Mrs. Plummer with passing along a parcel. I am afraid I cannot leave a mount for you that way, though! (I assure you, the bakery is too small for a horse.) I suppose we will have to meet in person if you wish to ride with me.
Please write back to inform me how you wish to proceed!
Sincerely,
B.R.
Willa grinned at the note in her hand. The prospect of making a local friend had brightened up the whole day. Maybe even the whole week.
She only wished B.R. had said more about herself. Was it too much to hope that B.R. might be close to Willa in age? She could not be a very old lady, or she would not still be riding a horse, Willa reasoned. Nor did she write like a busy matron trying to rear a half-dozen children. She might well be a spinster, though. Not that there would be anything wrong with that.
But Willa foolishly hoped that B.R. was an unattached young lady, someone who could chat about bonnets and books and the latest on-dit from the London papers. What, though, could the B. in the initials stand for? Beatrice? Betsey? Boudicia? Willa smothered a giggle at the last idea.
Since the hour was late, she could not reply to the note tonight. But the first spare moment she got tomorrow, she would answer it. She knew just the place to meet B.R.
The next morning, she had so much trouble finding time to respond that she kept her answer practical and short.
Dear B.R.,
I would love to borrow some of your books! But I would also like to talk with you about them. I have read Frankenstein , but not The Vampyre . Even your books of information would be more interesting than my uncle’s books of sermons.
Will you attend church at St. Clement’s this Sunday? If so, I could meet you in the churchyard after the service. I will be wearing a red cloak. If you are able to meet, simply leave a note for me at Mrs. Plummer’s bakeshop. I may not be able to walk back to the Point again before Sunday.
If there is no note, I will assume that you are unable to meet, or that you had rather not have company. As you say, there is nothing wrong with solitude. But sometimes reading quietly with a congenial companion can be more comfortable than reading alone. The silence is not so loud then, if that be not an Irish bull.
In any case, I hope to hear from you again. But I do hope that we are able to meet after this Sunday’s service!
Sincerely,
W.S.
This time, she did not seal the bottle with wax. It did not need to be waterproofed if she was going to leave it on dry land. She planned to hide it underneath the wrought iron bench, which might offer a little protection from the elements. If nothing else, it would make the bottle harder to see. Willa did not want a stranger to intercept her letter.
But getting the bottle out to the point proved more challenging than Willa had anticipated. There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. Rain began falling late in the morning, and it did not stop until dusk.
Willa suggested a walk the next day, but no one wanted to accompany her. Mama’s lingering cough had worsened overnight, and she kept to her bed. Miss Hadfield insisted that after so much rain, the ground would be too muddy for a walk, and they must wait for it to dry.
The day after that, the ground was still damp, but Willa persuaded one of the maids to accompany her on a walk. If Maggie saw Willa leave the bottle beneath the iron bench, she kept all questions to herself, for which Willa was grateful.
Fortunately, the bakery was open every day but Sunday. On Friday, Willa convinced Miss Hadfield to let her stop there for tea cakes. It did not take much convincing, since Miss Hadfield was nearly as fond of sweets as Willa herself.
While Miss Hadfield and Phoebe picked out treats to take back home, Willa leaned forward and whispered to the matronly looking woman behind the counter. “Are there by chance any notes or packages from B.R. to W.S.?”
“Oh, are you W.S., then, dearie?” The woman smiled at her. “Yes indeed, there’s a note for you.”
She turned around and rummaged in a drawer. It took a surprising amount of time for her to find the sealed letter, but find it she did, and she handed it to Willa.
Unfortunately, this time, Phoebe saw Willa take the letter. “What’s that?”
Willa’s heart skipped a beat. Found out! Then she reasoned with herself. What did it matter if anyone saw her accept a note? Wasn’t she allowed to have friends?
The voice of her better angel whispered that she ought not have any friends who had not been properly introduced or of whom her mother might not approve. But she ignored her conscience and answered her sister with as much confidence as she could muster.
“It is merely a note from an acquaintance I happened to make this week.” Willa tipped her chin up and swept out of the shop. It would have been a more dramatic exit if she had not been holding half of an iced bun in one hand.
Naturally, Phoebe followed her, pestering Willa with questions about the note. Willa refused to answer any of them, but their noisy conversation aroused Miss Hadfield’s suspicions.
“What’s this about an acquaintance, Wilhelmina?”
Willa winced at the sound of her full given name, but she pasted a smile on her face when she glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, only a young lady I met the other day. I am afraid I do not remember her name.”
Miss Hadfield raised her eyebrows. “You don’t remember her name, but you are exchanging letters with her?” She spoke with the cool suspicion of an experienced governess.
“Not letters,” Willa insisted. “Merely a note about looking for each other after church this Sunday.”
Then, since both Phoebe and Miss Hadfield were watching her, she cracked open the note and pored over it, doing her best to look nonchalant.
Dear W.S.
I am afraid piety is not one of my virtues. I rarely attend church, but I am happy to do so this week. I will look for you in the churchyard once the service is over, though I may wait until most of the parishioners have departed. I do not like forcing my way through a crowd.
Thank you for telling me how to recognize you! A red cloak, you say? That’s an unusual color. I don’t own anything quite that distinctive, but I will carry a silver-handled walking stick to help with identification. You might also recognize me by my hair—there are not many people my age who still have blond hair. Usually, it turns to brown by the time one reaches adulthood, or so I have been told. I’m afraid I have not made a study of hair color in humans, though I did once try to develop a system by which to chart the hereditary of coat patterns in barn cats. I gave up that attempt once I realized that female cats in heat will breed with as many toms as they can find, making it quite difficult to ascertain the paternity of their kittens.
You must pardon my digression; sometimes my thoughts move in rather unusual directions. My thinking seems perfectly reasonable to me , but other people have trouble following my line of thought.
Suffice it to say that I will see you on Sunday!
Your friend,
B.R.
The wrinkle in Willa’s brow smoothed out when she reached the letter’s closing. She had a friend in Dorset! But perhaps not as young a lady as she had hoped, given her rambling about her hair color. She seemed to have a rather eclectic set of interests, too, ranging from horrid novels to heredity.
No matter! Any acquaintance would be a pleasant addition to the family circle. If B.R. were an elderly lady, perhaps she could befriend Mama. And if she were learned in the natural sciences, she might get along quite well with Miss Hadfield, who had always had an interest in botany.
Willa happily folded up the note. She looked up at her sister and her former governess with a bright smile. “All is well! I shall meet my friend after church this Sunday! Only to exchange a quick word, of course. I shan’t make you stand around waiting for me.”
Once she’d met B.R. face-to-face, they could make arrangements for future meetings. Then, perhaps, Willa would have something more interesting to do than listen to Phoebe recite verses she’d memorized. Phoebe had both a good voice and a good memory, but there were only so many times that one wanted to listen to a recitation of Miss Grammar’s latest poem.