I did not cease in fleeing until I had securely locked the door and stood braced against it. How could my Uncle have done something so very barbarous? No that was not even the word for it, even barbarians had some sense of civility - this horror was something that might only be named as complete savagery! A man, alive not but four months ago; had been murdered, decapitated, his flesh removed and skull plastered and painted to disguise its true history, and then placed on a shelf to be displayed for guests. My Lord! Uncle Richard was no man but a ghoul! I shuddered to think of him proudly declaring his pride in his pair of Etruscan skulls, enjoying the attention they received, all the while knowing the one to be a fraud - his own special museum piece! Had there been anything left for my stomach to regurgitate I am certain it would have revealed itself as I played over and over his paternalistic admonitions - twisted, now and forever entwined with his evil brutality. Had any doubt of my Uncle's guilt lingered before it had died in that Library with any lasting affection I might have for the man. But what must I do now? Surely Aunt Mabel- No, she might very well be involved herself! Such a silly biddy seemed an unlikely accomplice for murder yet I had not suspected my Uncle either and was now facing the terrible truth of my own willful blindness - it was beyond imagining. Surely, I could never have conceived any civilized man, much less any gentleman, capable of such a thing - so why not a Lady as well? What assured me of my Aunt's innocence in the matter beyond my own desire to believe it. Whatever had been done (and such things I could not entertain specifically in my mind for the mere imaginings threatened my sanity) must have required a great deal of time and effort so how might I expect that she was able to remain wholly ignorant of his doings. Of any of the staff?
Take an ill turn of the mind he had suggested! I doubt my mind shall ever be well again - how easy it might be to slip into insanity at this moment! I felt it knocking in my mind, promising to assuage it from those disturbing images of the day. To sink comfortably into the black madness below never to return, never to know those things I now knew which infected my mind with their poison. No! I jolted myself back from the siren song of the brink. But what should I do? How could I remain knowing what sat staring vacantly in that room? Perhaps I should do as Lord Norbert commanded and return to N-shire. Certainly the task was accomplished: I was engaged now and that was the only motivation they had owned for sending me to town. Lord Norbert possessed, at the very least, a decade of experience in his business of which I was a mere interloper. He could readily procure the key. The key! I had not had the opportunity to tell him of the key before our gruesome discovery, nor of the book in my Uncle's Study! Even were he to gain entrance to the room he would be long delayed in located his quarry... perhaps long enough that he, to, might be discovered and... I involuntarily shuddered as I considered the possibility of his fate matching that of his predecessor. That the next time I was forced to visit there might be three Etruscan skulls on the shelf bearing silent witness. I planted my fist firmly in my palm.
I would get the key, I decided, and then I would acquire the book which I would then leave with the Underhills before I left for the train station with my relatives none the wiser. It made perfect sense! Even were I discovered, certainly Uncle Richard would do me no harm. I would claim it was only my curiosity gotten the better of me; that I had found the key on the floor outside the study and had to test it and then... well so many wonderful books! How could I be blamed for wishing to indulge? But then, how might I procure the key from Dale? An errant late July zephyr wafted through the window bringing with it the lusty odor of the roses which twined about the window. I had never given much thought to Dale's habits beyond his impassive demeanor - Sarah had suggested he carried the key with him at all times, but perhaps, at night... if I followed him I might discover where they lay when their master slept.
That night, after my Uncle and Aunt had retired to bed, I carefully unlocked my door and crept into the hall. The moon was in sympathy with my plot, obscuring the larger part of its pale face in darkness allowing for only the slightest sliver of light to fall on those objects it wished to just scarcely delineate for my benefit. "I owe you a debt." I whispered to the old orb. I pressed a hand to my forehead in frustration, "I'm talking to the moon..." I muttered. And now to myself - an ill turn of the mind indeed! Slinking through the shadowy corridors I managed to arrive at the stair leading to the servant's quarters unnoticed. Halfway up the stair a door at the top of the landing swung open. I fell to kneeling in a heartbeat, hoping the shadows might cover me - a woman emerged - I breathed a sigh of relief 'Oh, it's only Sarah.'
"Marcy! May I borrow a pair of stockings? Mine are full of holes." she called.
"Here!" the voice from a door further down returned. I saw the vague outline of what were likely stockings fly into Sarah's grasp. "Bring me your old ones tomorrow and I'll mend them for you for a pence."
"Thank you but I think they may be beyond mending at this stage."
"Two pence then. I'm certain I can save them."
"You really have to teach me how to mend... or at least sew."
"Then how would I pay for the Fair?" Marcy teased back. Sarah shrugged, satisfied in her lot she returned to her room and shut the door. I waited a few moments before rising again to mount the remainder of the stair. I plunged down the dark corridor softly padding down the wooden hall on stocking-feet until I arrived just short of Dale's apartment, a room situated at the very end of the hall across from the footman and valet's quarters. It was my good fortune that my Aunt and Uncle kept only a small staff on retainer or else my task might have been more difficult to accomplish. Dale would not yet occupy his quarters having duties which stretched well beyond those of his understaff. I slowly turned the door knob, which gave way easily, and slipped inside. "Ouch!" I stifled a cry of pain by furiously sucking in air. No doubt there would be a large bruise on my thigh come morning. I heard the hollow sound of glass bottles shifting about, having been rudely disturbed in their peaceful slumber. My hands searched about me until they found the villain - the sharp edge of an end table jutted out before me, just askance from the door. Following the shape of the table I found its companion, a rough wooden chair, sitting behind. Further on I saw a sliver of light shining through what was likely the window, the curtains ruffled and swayed softly around it causing it to dance in the breeze. My eyes finally adjusted to the blackness enough that I was able to distinguish the scant furniture littered about the room. Beyond the end table (the glinting of the moonlight on the bottles gave me to know this was where he enjoyed his libations without interference) and chair there was a large, old fashioned wardrobe and a rather sizable, unmade post bed. Next to the chair a closet stood, its gaping maw allowing its contents to be seen by all the world. There would be no hiding there - judging by the piles about it the door to that small room was rarely, if ever closed. Left with only one option I tiptoed over to the bed and ran my hand underneath - as I suspected, no trundle stowed beneath. I slid my whole form under, disturbing a disgraceful film of dust as I went, and waited. And wait I did! I could not conjecture for how long I was under that bed before the seemingly loud crashing of the door against its frame followed by Dale's heavy boots clomping upon the floor awoke me from my slumber. The strike of a match was soon accompanied by the faint whiff of smoke and then light! My eyes, having become adjusted to the dark, were painfully stung by the blinding light of the candle. Dale positioned the wax soldier on the end table, revealing a collection of spent bottles and filthy glasses. Seeing them perched so precariously on that small surface - I marveled it was a wonder none had crashed to the floor when I had disturbed them. Procuring a fresh bottle of brandy from under a coat in the closet, he proceeded to pop off the cork and pour the contents into the nearest glass.
"Here's to you Mr. Hurst." he toasted my Uncle before downing the contents. "You devil." he muttered, pouring himself another and downing it as well. He drank as a man might breathe until the contents of the bottle were spent. Returning to the closet he took another from underneath the coat and opened it draining half straight from the bottle before slamming it down on the table. A few drops splashed from the top. "Aye, time to get some shut eye." He took a small ring of three keys from his pocket and dropped them on what I assumed to be the bedside table. Then, divesting himself of his coat and trousers he blew out the candle (after how much alcohol he had consumed I was almost surprised the flame did not come back on him) and fell heavily onto the bed, momentarily pressing me to the floor - the loud scream of the springs managed to covered my cry of shock at being swiftly crushed. Dale wasted no time in falling into heavy snoring. What an unappealing man he was in every manner! I waited sometime before I moved, slithering silently from under the bed to the end table. I could see the object of my search glistening - but something obstructed it from my view. I gently poked the dark object - it was soft, the surface gave way and- it was his hand! His hand had fallen over the keys as he slept. He snorted loudly, no doubt roused by my touch. I ducked below the side of the bed. The hand grasped the keys and drug them close to his chest as though a stuffed toy. I silently cursed my luck. Tomorrow then. I would think of a way to keep this horrid man asleep long enough that I might be able to gain use of the key. I silently withdrew from the room, careful to shut the door without making the slightest sound.
Once free of the confines of the room I considered perhaps it was fortunate I had not gained the key tonight. I had given no thought to a proper plan, instead relying on serendipitous happenstance to deposit the key into my possession. Thinking clearly I could readily see my errors. What had I intended to do with the key once I possessed it? If I kept it without replacement, it would surely be missed. I could replace it with my own key but then the culprit would be immediately evident once all the locks in the house were tried. Perhaps I could have a copy made of it... I had heard of such things being made from molds. 'And certainly a mold would be easier for it would allow me to access the Study at my leisure.' I thought, descending the stairs. 'Otherwise, if my Uncle decided to tarry late at his desk on my chosen night I would not be forced to abandon the plan.' But there was another complication to be considered: Dale, the key's keeper. In order to make the mold I would first need to borrow the key, which was a difficult enough prospect in and of itself, but even more difficult, I would then need to return it - and do both without waking him! By now I had reached my own quarters. I locked the door behind and fell into bed cocooning myself in the covers, relieved to be out of danger of discovery for the moment. I had not even realized my own exhaustion. The world around me shifted, darkened - I was back in Dale's room. Wait. Hadn't I left it? I thought I could distinctly recall walking down the hall and descending the stairs. No, I was under the bed. It must be near morning! I had to leave before I was discovered! But there was Dale at his post guarding the door still draining glass after glass of liqueur. He raised a glass, "Here's to you Mr. Hurst... you devil." Devil? My Uncle? But there must be some mistake! I had to find a way out. I scrambled underneath the bed which seemed much more spacious than before but whichever way I looked seemed twisted, bent. I was trapped! I felt a a steely grip on my ankle - I was too frightened to even scream. I felt the thing pulling me from under the bed - but there was Dale in front of me, bottle and glass still in hand, unperturbed by the events only a few feet from him. Instinctively I clawed at the floor with my nails, kicking fiercely at the hand with my free leg. I heard maniacal laughter from behind me! And still I was being drug closer to it. I turned, terrified to face the demon only to see my Uncle's face, red and twisted in a terrifying grin, cackling as he pulled me toward him. Now the screaming began.
I awoke still not able to comprehend my predicament, promptly attempting to escape my captor by falling from the bed. "Oooough." I groaned as I untwisted my body from its improperly sided position to one more suitable to the human frame - lying face-down on the floor. "Ugh... what a frightful nightmare." I said, more in an attempt to dispel the final remaining vestiges than for any purpose. Still, it felt as though a spectre of horror were watching from above, biding its time before it would pounce and tear me to ribbons. And then the first squawk of a bird greeting the morning sun assaulted my ears - never had there been such a welcome sound as that! Assured all was as it should be (in my room, at least) I pulled myself up into a sitting position against the bed. My slender fingers searched the top of the mattress and finally, finding their quarry, pulled the covers upon my head and shoulders like a fat white cloak. There would be no more sleep for me this morning - of that I was certain - but perhaps more pressing matters might now be meditated on more clearly in the light of day. I still had not yet determined how I might obtain the keys from Dale without waking him. If I could only ensure that he would sleep... But how might that be accomplished? The answer seemed so obvious I was embarrassed it had not been an assumed part of my plan - I would only have to drug his drink! I had already been able to enter the room without his noticing, I knew where he kept his liqueur and I knew his habit of imbibing before bed - I even knew there was a half-full bottle left on the end table that he would not have the opportunity to indulge in until tonight. The only complication was what might be used - I did not wish to accidentally kill him, afterall. Medicines were never my strong suit, 'I wonder if there might be any books on the subject in the Library.' My stomach lurched at the thought. The very idea of being under the hollow gaze of Lord Bond made my insides clench and shudder. "No, I cannot go in there again - I just can't!" I argued to myself. "There is no way I shall ever be able to be in that room again." My stomach, still not fully recovered from my discovery gave another lurch, I rushed to the lavatory. "This cannot go on." I muttered, wiping my hand across my lips as I sat, spent, on the floor next to the toilet. "If I am to solve this crime I really must get control of my own functions first. Perhaps Aunt Mabel has some tincture of Belladonna..." not laudanum - that they would offer first - no, not after watching Chet... I should like to never see that vile substance again in my life! But tincture of Belladonna would work easily as well though the taste left something to be desired... It always tried to warn you of its deadly nature by its awful taste - not unlike burning which could be felt even as it entered the stomach though the draught itself was cool. But its effect was instantaneous: calming the stomach, the nerves, the mind - no matter how pressing a trouble might be it was becalmed by the drug and the soundest sleep I had ever known soon followed. But sound sleep and pleasant feelings were not what I needed - or more precisely they were! They were precisely what I needed!
That night found me again creeping up the stairs to Dale's room, small brown bottle concealed in my palm. Three teaspoons full would be more than enough to induce a full night's slumber. Even if, by chance, he noted the alteration in flavor - which I doubted for he had not seemed too concerned with the taste of his brew but rather the speed at which he might transfer it from glass to gullet - it any amount imbibed should deepen his slumber. I easily traversed the hall and was in Dale's room without delay. The room was much the same as I had left it the night before - I had forgotten how very dark the room was! Or how much the end table hurt when I walked into it. I could hear the bottle shift perilously. Instinctively (and I cannot begin to fathom how I did it in the pitch blackness) my hand shot out and caught the neck just before it tipped over the edge. I felt the liquid inside I ran my finger across the top; still open! The lush had not even bothered to cork it. I gave it a quick sniff, crinkling my nose at the bitter scent - whisky! No doubt that would hide the burn of the tincture. I pushed the bottle into the crook of my arm, squeezing it against my side while I uncorked the medicine bottle. My fingers felt for the opening again and, holding both near their lips so as to make sure I did not spill, I tilted the diminutive medicine bottle against the edge of the other beginning to pour. Only now did I recognize the error of my plan - I couldn't see the liquid to administer the proper dose! If I lit a candle, even were my presence not noted by a passerby, the smell of a spent flame would be unmistakable. But if I were to pour without measure I could easily over dose the man and risk his life. I stood stock still, bottles still in their acute position before me. I light breeze tickled my nose. I looked to see the window, still open in an attempt to somehow mitigate the attic's heat. Dancing through the curtains was that sliver of golden moon. Not moving my arms from their position I walked stiffly to the window. Tilting the medicine bottle so the liquid perched precipitously on the lip I saw that which I had hoped for - the miniature reflection of the moon in the medicine. Slowly I poured the liquid in three short doses, watching the light carefully each time to gauge how much I had added. 'It should be close enough to three teaspoons.' I concluded. 'I dare not add more.' I quickly replaced the liqueur bottle on the small table, corked the medicine bottle, and slid under the bed and waited.
The following morning I trotted to the blacksmith's foundry. The small paraffin molding I had made of the key wrapped securely in ribbon and protected by a small cedar box. The black bearded man was already hard at work at the anvil pounding out a ringing melody with his hammer and a glowing orange piece of metal.
"Hello Blacksmith!" I hailed with a shout. The man ceased his labor and raised his hammer in salutation.
"Ho, Miss Moore, is it?"
"It is. But how did you know me?"
"Saw you in church with the Hursts. Gossip around town said you were their niece. Congratulations on your engagement - though we had hoped it'd be the preacher's son." he replied, pounding now resumed. "Sorry about the noise, but I want to get this shoe shaped while it's still hot." I was taken aback by his forwardness - I hadn't noticed this man at all, nor any of the other people of the town and yet they had noticed me and showed no compunction against casting about regarding my future. I was not certain whether I should feel humiliated, enraged, or flattered. I gritted my teeth,
"Thank you. But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage Mr..."
"Mallory, ma'am. Greg Mallory. At your service." he replied, dunking the horseshoe in a vat of water. Steamed hissed
"Mr. Mallory, I have an unusual request. The key to my chest broke and I was wondering if you could make me a new one. The chest has been in my family for generations and I should hate to have to damage it." I spoke the lie just as I had rehearsed on the way.
"Do you have the key?"
"Umm, no, I'm afraid not. But I did make a mold of it." I said struggling to pull the box from my satchel and extracting the ribbon wrapped paraffin square. I handed it to him. He unwrapped it dubiously.
"A paraffin mold." he scowled. "Well, at least you made an imprint of both sides. I should have this ready for you by tomorrow."
"Oh, so long?" I could not disguise the disappointment in my voice. He released a heavy sigh,
"Sorry ma'am, but before I can cast it I'll have to make a proper mold from sand - any hot metal would melt this wax in a heartbeat - and that means I'll have to create a dummy key from this in order to make that mold. Not only that but I'll have to craft the bow and shank from naught. With a ward this complicated it takes time if you want it done right." I stared at the man blankly - I recognized the words but not in the order and context they had been placed in. Mr. Mallory smiled as though he were, by some clairvoyance, able to discern the source of my silence. "Anyhow, I will have the task completed by tomorrow."
"Do you know what time?"
"I can bring it by the house sometime midday if you like, I to visit the market anyhow."
"No, thank you but I would rather pick it up here." I stumbled, not wishing to be discovered when the plan was going so well. "I... I..." fumbling for an excuse I found one that sounded most plausible: "I don't want my Aunt to know I broke it, she might be upset for it was her mother's chest." The bearded man nodded sympathetically.
"It's not your fault if it broke, just an impurity in the metal. But I understand. You may pick it up here tomorrow morning." I fumbled around in my bag, producing a handful of coins.
"How much do I owe you?"
"I'd like to tell you it's free of charge for a lady as yourself, but I do need to make a living - one pound sound fair?"
"For the work you described it sounds entirely reasonable." I made to hand him the coin, but he pushed it away. "Payment on delivery ma'am. No sense paying before you've seen the result."
"Thank you Mr. Mallory. I will return tomorrow to pick it up. Good day."
"Good day to you ma'am." he said with a wave of his hand, still clutching the paraffin. I walked back toward the house.
"Why must everything take so very long!" I moaned aloud, my only audience the birds chirping overhead. "It is already August! Oh why can't you be my harbingers of the morning?" I cried out accusingly to the little songbirds; venting my frustrations upon them. "I want to go home!" It was the first I had said it and, once spoken, it was all I could desire. My home with my bed and my books, Chet and Artie making mischief somewhere on the Hall grounds, my little sister - that tiny angel: all blond curls and blue eyes - stitching clothes for her dolly by the evening firelight, my little brother, just born - I had not yet even seen him! "Oh God I want to go home!" I howled. "I want to be far away from this horrible house and its secrets and the haunting stares of Lord Bond's empty eyes!" Nothing had I ever wanted more in my entire life than to turn left at the crossroad and board the train back to Greenmoor Commons and never ever return. To forget everything. 'My princess." the memory of Nicholas's clear brown eyes as he said those words, the way his lips moved to form them; and there was Dinah, staring out the window at the river, waiting for her lost love who would never return; the sadness in Quentin's mien as he told the tale of his missing friend - no I could not just abandon them! And then there was Lord Norbert (that intolerable, arrogant man) - were I to leave no doubt he would attempt to uncover my Uncle's activities on his own and would be in grave danger of meeting the same fate as Lord Bond. The unbidden image of three skulls on the library shelf caused me to shudder. I had to complete my mission - then I could return home to my soft chair in the household library with a warm cat and my greatest concern being what I might next read. 'I suppose that would not be long my lot.' I thought, my desperation melting to a bemused smile. No, I was soon to be a bride with my own library to furnish - 'I wonder how Nicholas will take to my choice in literature.'
I continued in that manner of thought (for it soothed my mind enough that I did not feel the compulsion to flee quite so keenly) until I had reached the house. It was still early enough that I might slip in before breakfast; with any luck the walk would have given my cheeks the ruddy complexion that would help to prevent my relations from noticing the exhaustion marking my face with its dark circles and deepening lines. I managed to arrive just before my Aunt at the breakfast table.
"Ah, Philomena - you're up early." she observed.
"Yes, Aunt Mabel." Uncle Richard bumbled heavily into the room. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
"Good morning darling." Aunt Mabel said to her husband.
"Good Morning." my Uncle responded placing an obligatory kiss upon her crown. Setting down to breakfast he cleared his throat "hrumph - My dear I will be calling on the Martin's tomorrow. They have a horse I wish to look at."
"Is there something wrong with our horses?"
"I'm sorry to say the bay's gone lame. It's sinking. There's nothing to be done for it." Aunt Mabel stared sadly at her toast,
"Oh, that is a pity."
"I'm sorry darling, I know you were fond of that one. We did all that we could."
"So you will be at Mr. Martin's house the whole of the morning?" I asked eagerly. I could not have asked for a better opportunity! Uncle Richard laughed jovially,
"Yes, my dear - might you like to accompany me?" He had misinterpreted my enthusiasm to be for Nicholas rather than his own impending absence. How might I refuse-
"That is out of the question!" Aunt Mabel interrupted my thoughts before they were even half formed. "Rely on you to supervise a young woman while you are otherwise engaged with a horse? The very idea! They'll run off the moment you turn your head." I admit I thoroughly enjoyed my Aunt's low opinion of my morals. Knowing that it was impossible I decided to prod the pair into the believing of their suspicions.
"But Aunt Mabel, please allow me to go!" I wheedled. "It has been so long since I have seen the Martin's."
"You mean to say it has been so long since you have seen Nicholas Martin and it has not even been a week since his last visit you impatient child."
"But we are soon to be married!" I objected.
"Yes, Darling, let her come along. There is no harm in them seeing each other." my Uncle enjoined.
"They may see each other as much as they like when they are wed, but until such time as that, they will abide by my rules." Aunt Mabel said firmly. I puffed out my lip in a pout, imploring my Uncle to continue to plead my case, but he only allowed a slight shrug to indicate his surrender,
"I'm sorry, my dear, perhaps next time." Inwardly I sighed with relief - not only did they fully believe my desire to accompany Uncle Richard to the Martin's now I had no reason to fear any suspicion from them as to my intentions for tomorrow.
The following morning I awoke with the sunrise owing gratitude to the cursed birds whose soul purpose seemed to be to drag me from slumber. This morning I was grateful for their interference - I popped from bed and threw on my traveling dress and cloak as though in a single motion - long fingers handily fastening buttons and ties. Within minutes I had escaped the confines of the yard and was off to the Smith's.
"Good Morning Mr. Mallory." I hailed.
"Good Mornin' to you Miss!" the beaded man veritably bellowed. "You're early this mornin'!"
"Oh, is it not finished yet."
"Aye, not quite. I just poured it an hour ago. It'll be a little time yet to clean it."
"To clean it?"
"To take the rough edges off, or it won't fit proper in the lock."
"How long will that take?" I huffed.
"'Bout an hour." I could not conceal my disappointment. "Sorry Miss, I didn't expect you at this hour." I plopped down, in a most unladylike fashion, on a rock near the mossy shelter. For some time we sat in silence - I watched as he broke open the mold and from it pulled an ugly looking item that looked not unlike a key. He easily broke off a set of spindly metal spider legs and a thick line connected to the bow, then, taking a file he leaned against a tree near my roost and began filing away the rough edges. I could tolerate the silence no longer,
"What did you mean you hoped I would marry the minister's son?" I ventured.
"Just what I said. Rev. Underhill is gettin' on in years and we'd like to see him comfortably retired and Mr. Underhill well married to a woman who could support him in the Parish work."
"Then you should be glad I am not his choice in bride."
"You are too harsh on yourself ma'am."
"No, I am just in my evaluation, I think. I would make a fine wife for a scholar but I could not carry out the duties of a Minister's wife."
"Still, I had wished Rev. Underhill might soon have grandchildren and what with all that unpleasantness with his daughter..." I winced. "I was a bit surprised ta hear it was the younger Mr. Martin you chose."
"He is a good man."
"Aye, you'll have no disagreement from me, I've ne'er had a better employer." I was perplexed a moment - Ah yes, Mr. Mallory would be under Mr. Martin's employ what with all their horses. "Generous to a fault that one. But..."
"But what?" I demanded.
"Oh, it's nothin'."
"You started it so now you must tell me or I will suspect the worst of him."
"I'm sorry ma'am, it's nothing like that. He just tends to be a little more on the side of the common man - if you get my meaning."
"No, I'm sure I don't." I was getting irritated by this man's implications.
"Well ma'am, just between you and me - and I don't mean to cause any contention between the two of ya - but he's been secretly meetin' with the leaders at his factory - word is he's tryin' to convince 'em to form a Union."
"A Union!" I replied, shocked. Of all the things Mr. Mallory could have said, this I expected the least! "Are you certain?"
"Yes ma'am, quite certain. I've never seen the like that a business man might act so against his own father and brother, not to mention his own personal interest. I'm sorry if it troubles you to know ma'am - but it wouldn't be right not to tell ya."
"No... No it doesn't trouble me in the least." My face burned, I felt hot tears brimming on the rims of my eyes, threatening to fall at the slightest provocation. "No, I should say it doesn't at all - rather, I do not think I could be more proud of the man than at this moment!" I choked, the tears now falling from their perch onto my wide smile. So he was not a man of mere passionate words at all! What a man of principle! My heart felt as though it might swell to bursting. How fortunate had I been to find such a very good man! Mr. Mallory stared dumbfounded at me,
"I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not upset, no, there is nothing better you might have told me. Thank you Mr. Mallory." I stood, taking his hand sincerely in my own, teardrops spotting their union. "I know now, more than ever what a good, good man I have found, thank you." I turned to leave.
"Ma'am, you're key!" Mr. Mallory called, holding up the item.
"Oh yes, sorry, will it be much longer?"
"Only a quarter hour more. So where do you hail from Miss?"
"Greenmoor Commons, in N-shire." and in this manner of banal conversation we managed to while away the time until the key was finished. The blacksmith held the finished product up to the sunlight, examining it.
"There you are Miss," he said, passing the metal piece to my hands. "Couldn't find a better replacement were the original new."
"Thank you, Mr. Mallory. Here is your payment, plus a few for your children." I dropped double the price into the man's blackened palm.
"God bless you Miss." he replied with a sheepish bow of his filthy beaded head.
May He do so indeed. I thought as I relieved myself from the glen.
Uncle Richard was true to his word, leaving just after Breakfast for Mr. Martin's estate. Aunt Mabel spent the better part of the early morning fussing after me, convinced I was surely coming down with a terrible illness - what with my puffy reddened eyes and skin made clammy from my early morning sojourn. I assured her repeatedly that it was only a result of sleeping with the window open on a damp night and nothing more. I finally managed to slip away just before dinner when she stopped to chastise one of the maids who, apparently, was not dusting the glassware properly. It was only a moment before I was at the door - now Mr. Mallory's work would truly have its test - I gingerly twisted the key half anticipating failure but then clink the tumbler turned and the lock was sprung! The door easily swung open at turn of the knob revealing that long secreted away room. I was at the bookshelf where I had seen my Uncle place the small brown book before in a heartbeat. Standing on a small footstool I quickly located the text between two similarly sized books - innocuous to the world but for me. I cradled the little leatherbound volume in my hand. It was well worn, a simple journal from which protruded a number of letters still encased in their opened envelopes. Placing a finger on the final protrusion I pulled the cover and pages before aside to reveal its home, a sepia edged page of words without context or partner. I open the envelope, unfolding the contents on the open page. The text was singular, such that I could not decipher it - a number of the characters appeared familiar - here there was an A, there a B, a C and a T and something not unlike an upside-down P - but the order was nonsensical! It was not any code nor language I was familiar with. I turned the letter this way and that hoping the answer might reveal itself to no avail - whatever secrets the page held they were thus to remain. I folded the letter roughly and, holding it between my arm and side, returned my attention to the page. There were words - exotic sounding names I did not know: Kandahar, Phayre, Quetta, and a date: July 27th. It was now August 10th - two weeks exactly from the date on the page! I flipped to the other spent pages, each only containing a few cryptic words, numbers, and dates - a few contained penned drawings of lines with dots triangles, squares and X's about them. The letters marking the pages were as indecipherable as the first!
"What are you doing?" My heart plummeted in my chest - for a moment the world before me disappeared. "I asked: What are you doing? Answer me Philomena!" the harsh voice commanded. I turned slowly on the stool to face my Uncle.
"One of the maids must have left the door open while cleaning and I saw the bookshelf so I just had to have a look-"
"The maids have been instructed never to enter this room." His face grew redder with each word.
"Dale then." I tried, my lies utterly transparent before his withering glare. He made for me, his heavy gait fast, I was only just able to alight from the stool before he had gripped me by the hair and twisted my head painfully down. I gasped in pain.
"What have you been about Philomena?" He demanded, jerking my head back - his eyes, burning with rage, boring into my own forced wide open. My mouth, agape from being pulled so far back, struggled to form words like a fish in open air. "How did you get in here? Tell me now!" He forced my head sideways at such an unnatural angle I was veritably blinded by the pain. The book and all its contents fell to the floor. Uncle Richard looked down. "I see. So you have been reading. I trust you learned very little from it."
"I learned enough!" I managed to sputter. "Enough to name you as the villain you are."
"You call me a villain." he said with a snort. "No, I am merely a businessman." He released his grasp on me. Still, I was trapped in the corner - the desk impeding any hope I had of quick escape.
"You are a murderer!" my accusation rang out through the room - or perhaps only so in my mind for having finally given voice to the thing.
"A murderer!" He actually laughed -laughed! "My dear I have never killed a man in my life! Who filled your head with such nonsense?"
"You are a liar and a scoundrel! And I know what you are about - I will... I will go to the police!"
"As though they will believe the hysterical ravings of a madwoman! They'll lock you up for certain my dear." my Uncle laughed.
"They will be less inclined to think me mad when I show them this!" I cried, clutching the first letter, which had managed to hold securely through the abuse, against my chest.
"Mere correspondence with a friend." he attempted. "Please give it back to me Philomena."
"Will they read it that way?"
"Give the letter back." he growled, a coldness I had never before seen sprung to his eyes. For a moment he looked as though he might try to take the letter by force, then he seemed to think better of it, "Still, I would much prefer you did not cause a scene. It would be dangerous for you." he said icily. The chill in his eyes made me shiver - still my blood ran hot,
"Am I to suppose that is a threat."
"Only an observation." he answered. "You would not want to create a scandal - it might impede your upcoming nuptials."
"What of them? If a scandal were to be had and Nicholas abandoned me then he would not be the man I thought him and I should be glad to be rid of him." My Uncle laughed heartily at this pronouncement. "You may choose to laugh if you wish but you will find I care not a whit for my own life nor anything else but justice and thus such things cannot be wielded against me." He chuckled coldly,
"I do believe you may mean that. Perhaps such resolve requires some testing." He cracked his knuckles dangerously and shifted towards me.
"My Princess?" Oh praise the good Lord in Heaven! "Pardon the intrusion Mr. Hurst, but I thought I heard the voice of my, oh there she is! Good Morning Miss Moore." Nicholas smiled brightly at me from the doorway. "Or should I say: the future Mrs. Martin?" I nervously smiled back, my eyes pleading for rescue.
"No intrusion at all, Mr. Martin - I was only giving Philomena some ahem fatherly advice regarding her wedding. You may stay and listen if you wish." Oh yes, please please stay, I silently begged.
"No, I should hate to interrupt such a rare moment." Nicholas smiled, turning to leave he paused a moment, then turned (salvation!). "I'm sorry, I meant to ask: how is your brother faring? Has he recovered from his illness?"
"He is through the worst of it. He should be fully recovered by the end of the month." I answered through a plastered on smile.
"Very good, I'll await you in the foyer." and just as suddenly as it had appeared, my hopes for rescue were banished. My Uncle rounded on me,
"You care not a whit for your own life nor anything else, or so you claim - but I do believe I know of one thing you do care about very dearly, more dearly than you hold anything in the world." The haughty expression of triumph on his face caused my stomach to sicken.
"If you mean Nicholas then I am sorry to disappoint you." I retorted.
"Oh, no, not Nicholas. It is to another young man I refer: a Chester Jenkins Moore III by name." My horror could only be matched by my rage.
"You would not dare!"
"Ah, yes, the shame of the Moore family - you dear brother. I should not feel the least bit of guilt outing that black spot."
"But he is blood!"
"Not my blood! My blood has never produced such a disgrace! There have been whispers about the Clubs regarding his activities. Laudanum! Drunkeness! The whoring and the opium dens! And let us not forget that incident with Lord William's son. I believe it was your brother and his comrade beat him near to death on the roadside. Then abandoned him to the tender mercy of the winter snows. It is a miracle he was found."
"No." I whispered shaking my head.
"And over what I ask? Some simple dishonest card playing? No one would impeach the son of Wyndham - but a Lord's son is more vulnerable. I believe the police are still searching for the assailant; if someone were to possibly suggest to them a name..."
"No please, I'll do anything." Tears flowed down my cheeks.
"I see we have an understanding then. Now hand me the letter." Utterly defeated, I held the letter before me limply. "Now there's a good girl." He snatched it from my hand. "If you even so much as think to speak of this to anyone; I do not need to tell you what will happen." he said gathering together the letters and book still lying on the carpet. I stared at the floor,
"Yes, sir." He walked over to the fireplace and threw the papers, book and all, into the hungry flames,
"Now then, no more of this unpleasantness." his tone sounded positively jolly. "Now go wash up, you don't want your fiance to see you in such a state."
"Yes, sir." I answered, turning from his horrible form and leaving the room. I did not dare wipe the tears, newly formed, from my cheeks until I had turned the corner, no longer within his sight.