Chapter 29
Correspondents
She was obliged to recollect that her seeing the letter was a violation of the laws of honour, that no one ought to be judged or to be known by such testimonies, that no private correspondence could bear the eye of others …
Jane Austen, Persuasion
When Adam left, Rosalind and Devon found themselves alone at the top of the stairs.
Rosalind pressed her hand against her mouth, holding back a mixture of sobs, shouted questions, and a dozen different exclamations, none of which were fit for company.
Her mind was racing, but her thoughts did not seem to have any destination.
“We must go tell Clara and her sisters,” said Devon. “They need to know what’s happened.”
“Yes,” agreed Rosalind reluctantly. “Devon, will you go? I will join you in a moment.”
“What is it? You’ve thought of something.” His frown was an expression of uncertainty that verged on actual suspicion. Rosalind saw it, and a wave of exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her.
Rosalind pushed the feeling back and looked Devon directly in the eye.
“Mrs. Lynn’s letters have gone missing. She probably either destroyed them or took them with her, but I just realized where she may have left some behind.
They might give us an idea of her plans, or the identity of her confederates.
I want to look for them before the new staff tidy everything away. ”
She wanted to hold her breath. What she said to him was mostly true, but she needed him to believe all of it.
Had he not been so distracted with the news of the admiral’s death and his thoughts of what it would mean for Clara and her sisters, he might have questioned her more closely, but as it was, he simply nodded.
“Very well. Join us as soon as you can.”
Devon hurried down the stairs, while Rosalind climbed up and rushed down the corridor. She did not worry about being seen. For this one moment, she knew where every person in the household was, and it was vital she conduct her search before that changed.
Because Mrs. Lynn’s room contained no letters, but Elizabeth’s might.
And not just from Mrs. Lynn.
Rosalind did pause as she reached the door to the sisters’ sitting room and look over her shoulder, in case Devon had changed course and come after her. She did not believe he would easily forgive her if it looked like she was about to violate his fiancée’s privacy.
Which I am.
Because it was not only Elizabeth’s things Rosalind meant to search, if she had the chance.
But she was alone, and, thankfully, the door had not been locked. Rosalind slipped into the sitting room and closed the door softly behind her.
Under other circumstances, Rosalind would have been shocked at how untidy the room was—candles had burnt down in their holders; books were scattered across the tea table; shawls were tossed carelessly over the end of the sofa, with one crumpled in the middle of the floor.
A quill lay forgotten on the writing table next to an open bottle of ink. The grate was heaped with ashes.
Three portable writing desks waited on the long table by the window. They were identical. Rosalind ground her teeth in frustration.
You might at least have thought to label them. …
She told herself she was being ridiculous and went to the first of the desks.
Its lid had been left unlocked, and she lifted it. Inside waited a good amount of blank paper, some untrimmed quills, a penknife, and some sealing wax, but nothing else.
Rosalind opened the second desk. Here, her luck was in. A half-written letter waited inside. It was splotched and scratched, and barely legible. Nonetheless, Rosalind made out:
My Dear Admiral Walsingham:
You will You must forgive Father. You must not do any rash thing. Only a little time is wanted. I must ask … I beg you for all the bonds of love admiration affection that are between us our families … wait, and the matter will blow over, I promise swear. …
In her mind, Rosalind heard Cynthia’s voice recounting their visit to their cousins, where they first met the admiral, her talk of warmth, of stability, of finally not feeling that she must walk on tiptoes.
She also remembered her shutting a splotched and much-crossed-out letter into a writing desk so that Rosalind could not accidentally read it.
Then, she saw another letter in the bottom of the desk. This was written in a different hand. She read:
Dear Miss Kinsdale:
I don’t know if this will reach you in time, and I know you will be surprised to hear from me, but after some wrestling with my conscience, I felt I should warn you that my brother, the admiral, has left for Bath, and means to confront your father over his threat to end the lease on Kinsdale House.
I am sorry to report this latest threat has greatly incensed Jack, and I cannot be sure his temper will have cooled by the time he reaches you.
He is staying at his usual …
She got no further.
“Carefully, carefully now.”
The words were spoken softly, but Rosalind jumped, startled. She quickly closed the writing desk and went at once to the door. She paused long enough to take a deep breath and rearrange her features into a mildly concerned mask.
Rosalind opened the sitting room door. As she did, she saw Clara supporting Cynthia down the corridor, with Devon close behind. Cynthia’s face was a sickly shade of gray and she leaned heavily on her sister’s arm.
“I’m all right, I’m all right,” Cynthia declared, even though this was obviously untrue.
“What’s happened?” cried Rosalind.
“She was overcome,” said Clara before Cynthia could speak. “It’s been too much for her.”
Rosalind pulled the door open further, so that Clara could help her sister inside.
“I was stunned for a moment,” muttered Cynthia.
“You fainted,” said Clara. She lowered her sister onto the sofa and went to ring the bell. “Oh! There’s no one—”
“There is,” Rosalind told her. “Some staff has arrived from the Green Briar Inn.”
“Thank goodness.” Clara rang the bell. “We need to get Cynthia to bed at once.”
Cynthia looked ready to protest this, but was interrupted by Laurel appearing at the door.
“Tea and brandy,” ordered Clara. “And someone must make up the fire.”
“Right away, miss,” said Laurel.
Devon was hovering just outside the room, clearly unsure as to whether propriety allowed him to cross the threshold into the women’s private apartments. Rosalind stepped out into the corridor, and drew the door partway shut.
“What happened?” she asked softly as they both stepped away from the door.
“I broke it to Clara and her sisters that the admiral had been shot, and Cynthia collapsed in a faint.”
Rosalind thought about the letters she had seen in the writing desk, and bit her lip.
Devon, of course, noticed, and was about to question her, when a hidden door further down the hallway opened, and one of the Leigh cousins emerged, toting a heavy coal scuttle.
Rosalind signaled that Devon should wait for a moment and went over to the young woman. “I’ve a favor to ask,” she breathed. “When you’ve cleaned the hearth, please make sure the ashes are set aside, not thrown on the dust heap.”
The girl looked at her like she’d suddenly begun speaking Russian, but recovered quickly. “As you like, miss,” she said, making it clear that if Rosalind wanted to engage in patently daft behaviors, it was no business of hers.
“What was that?” asked Devon when she returned to him.
Rosalind looked at him. I’m sorry, she thought. “I told her not to build the fire too high. Cynthia needs warmth, but she will not recover if she’s being stifled.”
Did he believe her? Rosalind found she couldn’t tell.
Guilt clouded her judgment, and she pushed it back with great difficulty.
She didn’t know if there was anything to find in that heap of ashes, or who it might belong to, and yet, Devon had already shown himself to be uncomfortable with her means of proceeding.
She couldn’t let his fastidiousness allow her to miss a chance at discovering the answers they both needed.
“Did you find the letters?” Devon asked.
“Not yet.” But even as she said this, another thought struck her. “Where’s Elizabeth?”
“We left her downstairs.”
“I think I should go talk with her. It might be easier without her sisters.”
“She won’t welcome the attempt,” Devon warned her.
“I know, but I need to try.”
Devon nodded. “I’m going to Sir Anthony’s bookroom. Elizabeth certainly won’t welcome this interference either, but if there are ledgers, or records of any sort, we need to see them sooner rather than later.”
For so many reasons. “An excellent thought.”
“And I’ll see if any of the banknotes from the card party last night have found their way to that room.”
Shame at her deception curdled, but there was no time to talk more.
“Thank you,” she said, and took herself to the stairs. Behind her she heard Devon knocking softly on Cynthia’s door.
Downstairs, she made her way straight to the amber salon. But when she opened the door, she found the room entirely empty.
Rosalind stared at the salon for a moment, as if she thought she could compel some answer from it. Then, she turned and strode to the entrance hall.
A young man whose name she remembered was Duggin, was shrugging his shoulders uneasily in one of the overdecorated coats that were the Kinsdale livery. He looked up and saw her, and blushed bright red.
Rosalind pretended to ignore all this. “Did any of the young ladies go out while you were here?”
“Yes, miss.” Duggin shifted his weight uncomfortably under his borrowed coat. “Just a minute or two ago. Miss Elizabeth Kinsdale, I think?”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No, miss. Just said to tell anybody who asked that she needed some air and she’d be back soon. Oh!” He snapped the fingers on one hand and dug into the coat pocket with the other. “This came. The boy said he’d been told not to wait for an answer.”
From Adam? Rosalind thought as she took the folded paper. But although her name was on it, she didn’t recognize the hand.
There was no seal. Rosalind opened the note and read:
I am at the Green Briar. I beg you to help me.
S. Lynn