Read Online Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand by Susan Green - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Green
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out a letter. But she didn’t hand it to Helen. She wrapped it up in brown paper with the silk.
Which was odd. Odder still was that Helen didn’t want any ribbon, after all. And if she’d had any letters, why weren’t they sent to the house?
I already knew the answer. Because she didn’t want anyone to know. Why not? I could think of dozens of reasons, some sinister, some perfectly innocent.
You’re on holiday, I told myself. This isn’t a confidential investigation. And it was none of my business.
It turned out that I had a letter too. When we returned to Shantigar, Hannah handed it to me. Who was it from? I didn’t recognise the handwriting. I opened the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper inside.
Dear Verity,
I am sorry if I alarmed you outside the theatre. I did not mean to. Sometimes I get so desperate that
I dropped the sheet of paper as if it were a scorpion. It was from Della Parker. How did she know where I was? How had she managed to get this address? My skin crawled as I imagined her – or someone in her pay – spying, prying, shadowing my every move. Had she come to Alhambra, pretending to be a friend? Even worse, had she followed us up to Castlemaine? I felt like crumpling the letter and throwing it in the rubbish. But that wouldn’t make it go away. I picked it up and read on.
I do foolish things. Forgive me, cousin. I simply want what is mine and I need your help to get it.
Cousin, I cannot believe that you would deliberately commit an injustice. I wrote to my uncle Hiram Parker many times, but he would not acknowledge my existence. He would not even see me. I have letters, papers and documents that prove Waldo Parker was my father. He ran away from home when he was just a boy and his family disinherited him, telling him he would never have any share of the family money. They told everyone he’d died, but it was not true. When you are convinced that I am telling you the truth, I know you will help me.
May I meet with you, so we can talk? You may write to me care of my hotel.
Your long-lost cousin,
Della Parker
I was calmer now and I realised that her story could be true. I knew that money and family troubles often went hand in hand. And from what Papa had told me about the Parkers, they’d been quite capable of disinheriting their son. But what could I do about it? Why was Della appealing to me? All of a sudden I understood. Della wanted me to get Papa to help her.
I couldn’t hide this from Papa any more. Della was desperate, and desperate people could become dangerous. And yet … Though she’d frightened me outside the theatre, now that I knew more of her story, I was beginning to feel sorry for her.
Papa was sitting in the Indian room. Helen and Connie had chosen their songs for tonight’s musical soirée at the Levinys’ and he was listening to them practise. He didn’t seem to notice when I slipped onto the sofa next to him.
I didn’t want to startle him, so I put my hand on his arm. “Papa,” I said softly. “I need to talk to you. Can you come with me?”
“Certainly.” He held out his hands to me and I helped him to his feet. “Helen has a very pretty voice,” he continued as we walked arm in arm down the hall. “But it is Connie who is the real
artiste
. Her playing is exquisite. How will she ever blossom up there on that farm? We must see if we can do something for her.” We reached the verandah and sat down. “Now, what is this about? You look very serious.”
I took his hand in mine. “Papa, have you ever heard of a young woman called Della Parker?”
If I’d worried that the name would shock or alarm him, I needn’t have. Papa merely frowned, as if remembering something unpleasant. He nodded. “Yes, I have heard of her. Why do you ask?”
“She wrote to me.”
“To you?” Papa sat straight up in his chair. “What for?”
“Here,” I said, taking the letter out of my pocket. “Read it.”
He took the letter from me and read
Which was odd. Odder still was that Helen didn’t want any ribbon, after all. And if she’d had any letters, why weren’t they sent to the house?
I already knew the answer. Because she didn’t want anyone to know. Why not? I could think of dozens of reasons, some sinister, some perfectly innocent.
You’re on holiday, I told myself. This isn’t a confidential investigation. And it was none of my business.
It turned out that I had a letter too. When we returned to Shantigar, Hannah handed it to me. Who was it from? I didn’t recognise the handwriting. I opened the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper inside.
Dear Verity,
I am sorry if I alarmed you outside the theatre. I did not mean to. Sometimes I get so desperate that
I dropped the sheet of paper as if it were a scorpion. It was from Della Parker. How did she know where I was? How had she managed to get this address? My skin crawled as I imagined her – or someone in her pay – spying, prying, shadowing my every move. Had she come to Alhambra, pretending to be a friend? Even worse, had she followed us up to Castlemaine? I felt like crumpling the letter and throwing it in the rubbish. But that wouldn’t make it go away. I picked it up and read on.
I do foolish things. Forgive me, cousin. I simply want what is mine and I need your help to get it.
Cousin, I cannot believe that you would deliberately commit an injustice. I wrote to my uncle Hiram Parker many times, but he would not acknowledge my existence. He would not even see me. I have letters, papers and documents that prove Waldo Parker was my father. He ran away from home when he was just a boy and his family disinherited him, telling him he would never have any share of the family money. They told everyone he’d died, but it was not true. When you are convinced that I am telling you the truth, I know you will help me.
May I meet with you, so we can talk? You may write to me care of my hotel.
Your long-lost cousin,
Della Parker
I was calmer now and I realised that her story could be true. I knew that money and family troubles often went hand in hand. And from what Papa had told me about the Parkers, they’d been quite capable of disinheriting their son. But what could I do about it? Why was Della appealing to me? All of a sudden I understood. Della wanted me to get Papa to help her.
I couldn’t hide this from Papa any more. Della was desperate, and desperate people could become dangerous. And yet … Though she’d frightened me outside the theatre, now that I knew more of her story, I was beginning to feel sorry for her.
Papa was sitting in the Indian room. Helen and Connie had chosen their songs for tonight’s musical soirée at the Levinys’ and he was listening to them practise. He didn’t seem to notice when I slipped onto the sofa next to him.
I didn’t want to startle him, so I put my hand on his arm. “Papa,” I said softly. “I need to talk to you. Can you come with me?”
“Certainly.” He held out his hands to me and I helped him to his feet. “Helen has a very pretty voice,” he continued as we walked arm in arm down the hall. “But it is Connie who is the real
artiste
. Her playing is exquisite. How will she ever blossom up there on that farm? We must see if we can do something for her.” We reached the verandah and sat down. “Now, what is this about? You look very serious.”
I took his hand in mine. “Papa, have you ever heard of a young woman called Della Parker?”
If I’d worried that the name would shock or alarm him, I needn’t have. Papa merely frowned, as if remembering something unpleasant. He nodded. “Yes, I have heard of her. Why do you ask?”
“She wrote to me.”
“To you?” Papa sat straight up in his chair. “What for?”
“Here,” I said, taking the letter out of my pocket. “Read it.”
He took the letter from me and read
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