Read Online Secret Letters by Leah Scheier - Free Book Online Page B

reflection in the mirror on the mantelpiece and sank into the chair in mute embarrassment. My cheeks were shining from a thin film of perspiration that extended to my collar, and my hair had blown into a cloud of charcoal dust beneath my hat. There was a streak of something inky across my brow. I looked like I had rolled across the city.
    “It was hard to get away. You needn’t laugh,” I gasped out angrily.
    “Well, well, I’m sorry. A drink of water, maybe? You look a little—gray.”
    “No, thank you, I don’t know how long I’ve got.” I paused for a moment and took a ragged breath. “And this is certainly my final trip. Please just tell me what you found at Hartfield.”
    “Your final trip? You do not mean that, surely?” His tone was light and playful, but there was a glimmering of something else behind the sea-green depths—a silent question. “Why, then we must speak of pleasant things, Miss Joyce. Music, maybe, your favorite books, the weather? Let’s not spoil this moment with talk about kidnapped daughters and other scandals.”
    “Then—you believe that she was kidnapped? Truly? Oh, you must tell me, please!”
    He heaved a dramatic sigh and leaned back against the cushion. “I suppose you’ll want to hear all the details, what everyone was wearing, the color of the curtains, the size of the salon—oh, stop frowning, and I will tell you everything from the beginning.”
    I folded my hands patiently and watched him with suspicious eyes. There was still something goading and deceptive in his look, like that of a child extending sweets which he intends to snatch away.
    He shook his head at my expression, gave another sigh and began his statement. “We arrived at Hartfield Hall yesterday evening and were instructed to wait for Her Ladyship in the drawing room. Porter and I were both disguised as workmen, come to consult on alterations to Lady Rose’s bedroom. I was dressed in a very fetching number, brown plaid with patches at the elbow, and my colleague was all in gray, with a red scarf for accent. The room was simply stunning , Miss Joyce, for it was decorated in the Oriental fashion, but with a curious assortment of English antiques.” His voice had risen to a comic pitch during this description; his mocking falsetto tone resembled a chirping schoolgirl’s. “Oh, and next to the piano there was a charming little Ming vase which I was simply mad over—All right, where are you going?”
    I had risen to my feet and grabbed my purse. “I am going home. You clearly do not need me here, and I am tired of being treated like a funny pet. Good day, sir.”
    He leaned forward, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me down into my chair again. “I’ll stop, I promise. Please don’t go.”
    “Then tell me only what you would tell a male colleague. In your regular voice, please.”
    He cleared his throat and began again, hesitantly this time, but in his natural low, soft murmur. “A portrait of the missing Lady Rose smiled at us from over the fireplace—a duplicate of the one that the earl had given us. I was studying it when the door opened to admit the lady of the house and her stepson, Lord Victor.
    “Lady Hartfield was quite handsome, petite and blond, with the same clear eyes as the ones that gazed upon us from her daughter’s portrait. Her face was pale and composed, but there was a tightness to her lips and a tense alertness in her posture that expressed her cautious pride. She smiled as she glanced over our workmen’s attire and thanked us both for coming in disguise and for the effort we had made to preserve their privacy—”
    “One moment,” I interrupted. “Would you mind telling me exactly what everyone said? It’s more accurate than a summary.”
    He raised his eyebrows and laughed quietly. “Just as you wish, sergeant,” he murmured. “Let’s see, I believe Lord Victor spoke next, and he echoed his stepmother.‘I admit that I was opposed to calling in a detective at this