Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thursday evening, the moon high and the house asleep, Mary-Ann shut the door to her bedroom and leaned against it, the weight of the morning pressing against her ribs. Her gloves were still on, though she hadn’t noticed. The leather was warm now, stretched and creased at the fingers.
She peeled them off slowly, crossing to the vanity. A pitcher of fresh water stood waiting, and beside it, a folded linen bundle with a faint scent of lavender.
A knock at the door startled her.
“Come in,” she called, her voice steadier than she felt.
Mrs. Aldridge stepped in, her hands tucked into the apron she always wore during morning rounds. “Thought you might need fresh towels, miss. And perhaps a moment to breathe.”
Mary-Ann managed a tired smile. “You always know.”
Mrs. Aldridge moved with quiet purpose, setting the bundle on the chair near the hearth. She hesitated just a moment longer than usual.
“There’s more going on in this house than there ought to be,” she said softly. “And some of us have eyes to see it.”
Mary-Ann looked up. “Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Aldridge didn’t answer right away. Instead, she opened the folded linen to reveal not towels, but a familiar cloth-wrapped booklet, the ledger she’d hidden.
Mary-Ann’s breath caught. “But… it was in the wall.” Mary-Ann blinked. “How did you know where to find it?”
Mrs. Aldridge’s mouth curved, just barely. “Same place you hid that kitten when you were nine. The one you found behind the stables and swore to protect from your father’s old hound.”
Mary-Ann’s lips parted. “You remember that?”
“The entire household was turning over boots and boxes looking for that poor creature. Mr. Hollis was the one who found it, curled up behind the panel, shivering and wrapped in one of your old petticoats.”
A breath of laughter escaped her, soft and stunned. “I’d forgotten.”
“We hadn’t,” Mrs. Aldridge said gently. “You’ve always known how to keep what matters safe.
” She stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm.
“You trusted your instincts enough to hide it. Trust them again, miss. And know this: whatever game Mr. Wilkinson and that lady’s maid are playing, not everyone in this house is fooled. ”
Mary-Ann reached for the booklet slowly, cradling it in both hands. She felt the shape of it, the familiar weight. Her fingers tightened. “I hadn’t realized it was missing,” she said quietly.
“You were never meant to,” Mrs. Aldridge replied. “But someone else did.”
There was a long pause. Mary-Ann looked up, emotion rising unbidden in her throat. “You knew,” she said.
Mary-Ann held the book tighter.
Mrs. Aldridge patted her hand gently. “Whatever else happens, you’re not alone. Not with us here.” She turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.
Mary-Ann stood in place for several moments, the ledger clutched against her chest. The quiet settled around her, enveloping her, still and close, but her thoughts moved swiftly, not just about the book or what had been taken, but about the realization that she was no longer alone in this fight.
She set the ledger down gently and crossed to the window, needing some air. Just as she reached to open the windowpane, she caught movement near the gates. A familiar figure was striding up the walk, his coat dark against the green hedges.
Quinton.
He hadn’t sent word ahead, hadn’t asked permission. He simply came, as if drawn by some unspoken summons. Mary-Ann watched him from the window a moment longer, then turned and made her way downstairs.
She found him in the garden a few minutes later, standing near the edge of the rose arbor with his hands clasped behind his back. The breeze teased his hair, and the morning light softened the edge of his profile.
“You’re early for an uninvited caller,” she said lightly.
Quinton turned. The corner of his mouth tilted up. “And you’re late for someone hiding a kingdom behind her wainscoting.”
She arched a brow. “Wait. How do you know about the wainscoting?”
He paused, clearly caught.
“Who told you?” she pressed. “That hiding place wasn’t common knowledge.”
Quinton shifted, not looking away. “No one told me directly. Mrs. Aldridge mentioned that something had been recovered. She didn’t say what, but I put the rest together. She said you’ve always known how to keep what matters safe. That sounded like you.”
Mary-Ann studied him. “So you guessed.”
“I remembered how you used to squirrel things away when we were younger, behind books, under loose stones, inside hollow chair legs. It made sense you’d still do it.”
She tilted her head. “You always were annoyingly observant.”
“And you were always impossible to surprise. I come bearing no refreshments. Only admiration.”
Mary-Ann smiled, the expression unguarded. “That’s new.”
“I’ve always admired you,” he said. “I just wasn’t always brave enough to admit it.”
Something in her chest fluttered, an ache, a memory, a warmth she hadn’t dared name.
That quieted her. For a moment, the garden was filled only with the sounds of birdsong and the faint rustling of leaves.
She stepped closer. “I’m glad you’re here, but I’m also interested to know why, Quinton?”
He looked down at his hands. “Barrington sent me. He thought you might want an update on the investigation. But I think… I think I came because I wanted to see if you were all right.”
Mary-Ann’s breath caught, not from surprise, but from the ache in his voice. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to hear it. She looked away for a moment, steadying herself, and studied him for a long moment. “And what exactly did Barrington tell you?”
Quinton hesitated. “Only that things were shifting. That someone needed to check the weather before the storm broke.”
Mary-Ann’s lips tilted faintly. “He does enjoy speaking in riddles.”
A corner of Quinton’s mouth twitched. “I think he hoped I’d understand yours.”
She looked down at her hands, then back up. “I’m holding steady for now. But I’m beginning to feel the wind shift.”
He met her eyes, and something passed between them, something familiar, fragile, and just beginning to rebuild.
“I never believed you would.” His voice was low, almost reverent.
Their silence stretched again, companionable now. A breeze stirred the ivy near the garden wall.
Mary-Ann exhaled softly. “Did you ever think,” she asked, “that this would be us someday? Trading truths in a garden, as if it were normal?
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on hers, steady and quiet, as if choosing his words with care.
“No,” he said finally. “But I’m glad it is.”
He glanced toward the house, then back at her. “I should go. I wasn’t meant to stay long.”
She nodded slowly, the breeze lifting a strand of hair at her temple. “Thank you…for coming.”
“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, send word,” he said. “I’ll come faster than the weather.”
A smile curved her lips, small and sincere. “I’ll remember that.”
She wanted to reach for him, just lightly, his sleeve, his hand, anything. But instead, she stood still.
He hesitated for just a breath, then gave a slight bow. Then he was gone, striding back down the garden path the same way he had come quietly, without fanfare, but with purpose.
Mary-Ann stayed where she was, the echo of his words lingering like warmth in the air.
She didn’t return to the garden bench. Instead, she stepped back inside and climbed the stairs slowly, the morning quiet settling deeper into the halls. Her room was just as she left it, sunlight streaming across the floor, the ledger still resting atop her vanity.
She reached for it with one hand, intending to tuck it away properly this time, then paused. A folded piece of paper lay atop it, worn at the edges, its parchment thinner than her own.
Her breath caught. It wasn’t hers. She lifted it gently, unfolding the creases with care.
My dearest Mary-Ann,
I do not know whether this letter will reach you. Perhaps by the time it does, if it does, you will have moved on, and I would not blame you. There is no room in war for fairness, nor in fate for decency.
I write because I must. Because silence in these walls is louder than cannon fire.
There is no one here who knows your laugh. No one who would understand the way you used to speak of figures and freight as if it were poetry. No one who would think it a triumph to see you walk into a counting room and make it your own.
I see you in the mornings, in the quiet before orders are shouted. I see you in the long hours when nothing moves but my thoughts. I see you before I sleep, when the dark presses in and I need a reason to hold on.
It is always you.
You are the thought that keeps me upright, the memory that steadies my hands, the future I whisper to myself when hope seems foolish.
I will love you for eternity.
—Q
Mary-Ann stood motionless, the letter trembling in her hands. She traced the edge of the parchment, thinking not only of what had reached her, but what had not. How many letters had vanished into silence? How many truths had been kept from them both?
There was no flourish, no explanation. Just his voice. Undeniably his. Left behind like a heartbeat pressed into the page.
She sat slowly on the edge of the bed, the paper still open across her palm. And for the first time in days, she let the tears come.
Later, once her breath had steadied and the letter lay carefully folded on her desk, Mary-Ann descended the stairs in search of answers. She found Mrs. Aldridge in the laundry, folding linen with practiced precision. The scent of starch and lavender lingered in the warm air.
Mary-Ann didn’t speak at first. She stepped inside and held out the letter.
The housekeeper looked up, saw the paper, and paused.
“I found it inside the ledger,” Mary-Ann said softly. “Did you…?”
Mrs. Aldridge wiped her hands on her apron. “It was tucked there when I retrieved the book, yes. I wasn’t sure if you’d already read it or if it had been hidden.”
“It hadn’t,” Mary-Ann said. Her fingers closed gently around the folded sheet. “Do you know where it came from?”
Mrs. Aldridge shook her head. “Only that Mr. Hollis found it among a parcel the Brigade sent over. Said it had been caught up in the mess of lost correspondence. He recognized the handwriting and thought it might be meant for you. He didn’t read it, of course.”
“No,” Mary-Ann said quietly. “Of course.”
Mrs. Aldridge looked at her for a long moment. “It matters, doesn’t it?”
Mary-Ann nodded. “It changes everything.”