The letter

On the third floor of the hotel, Buffy put the key into the lock of room eighty, turning it and then swinging the door open. She paused before entering, slowly looking around the room to see if it anything looked familiar.

It was a light and pleasant room with twin cots, one on either side of the sash window. The wallpaper pale and delicately patterned, peach bedding matched the long curtains, and there was a nightstand standing directly beneath the window. So far nothing jogged her memory, but the nightstand was a good place to start looking for clues.

Buffy ignored the electric lamp and instead picked up the small travel alarm clock. Its case had the initials HS & JS embossed onto the leather case. Buffy put the clock back down and instead picked up a selection of travel guides to London, the South Coast and the West Country. She sat down on one of the cots and began flicking through each of the guides. From the quick scan, it looked as if they hadn't been used, but she'd take them back with her for a closer look later.

Next, she pulled the top drawer open. Inside she found underwear, from the girdle and garment sizing she guessed these belonged to her Mom. There was more underwear in the second drawer, this time hers. In the last, she found hosiery, gloves, and scarves. These were all going to come in useful, but they weren't what she was hoping to find.

She tipped out the content of the three drawers on the bed and moved on to the closet. There were two deep-red suitcases on the top and Buffy had to stretch up on tip-toes to reach them. Both felt light when she moved them - most likely they'd be empty. She still took the time to search each one thoroughly. She slid her hand into and along each side compartment and then searched the big pocket on the inside of the lid. Inside of one she found a pair of slippers, and then rolled up in the smaller side pocket, a square of thick, cream-coloured paper.

Buffy opened it to find a short message written in vibrant purple ink."Looking forward to seeing you both again. Owl me on arrival. P."

'Owl me?' Was that a British word for telegram? And who was this 'P' who had seen them before?

Buffy placed the letter down on top of the nightstand, so that she wouldn't forget it, and then eyed the wooden wardrobe on the opposite wall apprehensively. There had better not be another boggart living inside it, she had more than enough trouble with the one she already had.

When Buffy opened the closet doors, she found the inside stuffed with clothing. A surge of pleasure went through her at being able to wear her own clothes again. Since the accident she'd been forced to wear either the skirt and blouse she'd been found in, a faded dress Martha had lent her, or the boy's outfit that she worn for illegal night-time jaunts.

She systematically began pulling each item off the hanger, holding it up against her, and then working out who it belonged to. Apart from her Mom's clothes being a size or two larger than hers, there was little difference in style. Something about wearing Mom style clothes struck Buffy as being odd, but she couldn't explain why.

At the bottom of the closet were more cases – one containing footwear and a couple of hats. Buffy took them out and searched the compartments once again for clues. She only found an old receipt for shoes. Finally, she turned to the last item of furniture - the dresser.

The dresser top was covered with make-up, lotions, hairbrushes, styling products, and everything else that a stylish lady in the 1940s might need. Buffy picked up a lipstick and applied a coat of to her lips before turning her attention to the dresser's drawers.

Each of the drawers was full of knitwear. Buffy emptied them out, one at a time, onto the bed in case there were any papers hidden at the bottom. Nothing! Disappointed, she looked around the room, hoping to find something else to search. Ah! She hadn't checked under the bed. Kneeling down in between both beds, Buffy lifted the counterpane on the first one, then the other. She found only dust and a pair of pink slippers that were in her size.

Hopes dashed, she knelt on the floor looking around at the mess she'd made. Belatedly realising that it might have been a better idea packing as she'd searched. Now she would need to move everything all over again.

It was as she was in the process of folding her Mom's rose-coloured cardigan that her hand touched something that crackled like paper inside one of the pockets.

"Please let this be an address for 'P'," Buffy said aloud. If it was, she would call at the Post Office and ask about sending them an... owl.

She unfolded it to find it was a torn letter, the top part missing. The writer's anger was evident in the harshness of the strokes and indentations he'd made pressing the point of the nib into the thin paper.

… allowed you to take all the equity in the house and all the items it contained.

As for Buffy, she is...(what looked like a teardrop obscured the next couple of words.) ...Yes, she is completely blameless.

However, this does not change the fact that you lied to me from the start. You had a choice and chose the course of hiding... (the next words were smeared and illegible)... is, causing more harm for all in the long run. Joyce, you reap what you sow, and I want to be as far away as possible from you when the Reaper calls.

As promised, I include with this letter the correct documentation and the tickets for your journey to England. Do not approach me further. I want nothing more to do with either of you. I have already found someone (more smeared words) ...younger and pre... (tear splodge)...moved on.

Hank Summers.

This was her father? Several choice words floated through Buffy's mind - 'Dad' wasn't one of them. She should be more upset with him, but truly she felt... nothing. She had zero memories of this deadbeat loser and, from his callous abandonment of her, was thankful the name didn't conjure up any strong memories.

She reread the letter, her eye drawn to the smeared words and tear stains. He'd sent this to her Mom and she'd cried when reading it. Hank Summers was definitely laying the blame for the marriage break-up firmly at her door.

Buffy had only odd memories from her home life back in America. Flashes of her and her Mom making brownies, the scent of pine trees and cinnamon at Christmas, and a faint memory of a man holding her hand when she was very young. She was glad now that she couldn't remember any more. Whatever had gone on between them wasn't her fault, yet Hank made it clear that he didn't to hear off either of them. That was... kind of cruel. Buffy let out a ragged breath that was close to a sob. She could put aside all those fantasies of a father frantically searching London for his missing family and a golden reunion.

I want to be as far from you as possible... Do not approach me further. I want nothing more to do with either of you.

He didn't care, didn't want to hear from her, and once again she was on her own.

The boggart scratched at the inside of the box, reminding Buffy that time was passing and she still hadn't finished packing or finding the boggart a new home. Folding the last items up, she finished packing the cases and looked around her at the bedroom. The only things left were the letters, which she put in her pocket, and the travel guides and alarm clock which went into her purse. Checking her watch, she found that she had ten minutes left to plant the boggart and book out. She needed to hurry.

Leaving the luggage behind in her room to collect later, Buffy set off to the attic. There was no one around to stop her ascending the next flight of stairs that led to the servant's level. As she passed the hotel's old servant bedrooms she thought again about the letter. From the sound of Hank Summers (he didn't deserve to be called Dad) she couldn't blame her Mom for looking elsewhere. It was a pity that her Mom's new man wasn't here now. She could do with his help.

Buffy pushed open the final door and entered the storage part of the attic. Over the years the hotel had stored their broken and unused pieces of furniture in here, along with old storage crates and guests lost items. There was even a huge wardrobe, listing drunkenly against a sturdy dresser.

When she opened the box, the boggart shot out, zooming around the dark attic at high speed, then coming back to her to stare expectantly in her face.

When Buffy spoke, her voice came out thick with emotion, "This is your new home now, Spikey. Don't scare the kids."

She'd no idea how she'd expected it to respond. When it transformed into her Mom and held out its arms, it seemed only natural to step into them and receive a hug. It didn't feel anything like her Mom. The boggart was as cool as a vampire to touch and wasn't all that comforting. But Buffy guessed boggarts were more used to scaring people than being nice and it is the thought that counts.

"Goodbye, Spikey," Buffy whispered as she pulled away and walking quickly across to the doorway. Even though she couldn't be sure, she had the feeling that the boggart stood, watching the door, long after she'd gone.

On her way back to her room, she bumped into the bellboy and offered him a tip to help her carry the cases downstairs. She knew that she was easily strong enough to carry them all at once by herself, but doing so would only draw attention to herself.

Down in the reception area, Tom sat alone by the fire reading one of his school books. As soon as he spotted her and the bellboy he rose to his feet. He said nothing until the boy had left hearing distance and then asked, "Did you discover any clues to your family's whereabouts?"

Buffy shook her head, but something in her face must have given it away.

"What then?" he pressed, stepping closer to her, dark blue eyes fringed with black lashes boring into hers. "You discovered something. Tell me."

The authoritative tone annoyed the hell out of her, and a snarky remark leaped to the tip of her tongue. Buffy held it back, remembering that she'd seen the photos of his parents in the file they'd found when they had broken into the Town Hall. She supposed it only fair that she share her discovery with him.

She pulled out Hank's letter and handed it over with a scowl. "That!"

Tom unfolded the letter, looking at her questioning.

"It's a private letter to my Mom from my sperm-donor of a father. He makes it clear that he doesn't want anything to do with Mom or me." She huffed. "He's a total waste of space."

Tom read the letter silently, his face betraying no emotion. Handing it back to her, he asked, "Now what will you do?"

Buffy shrugged. "The same as before, hope Mom gets better."

She didn't show Tom the note from the mysterious 'P'. Before reading Hank's letter she'd thought 'P' could be a member of her Mom's family, now it was more likely to be the guy her Mom was having an affair with.

Suddenly remembering the grumpy manager, Buffy looked about her. "Shall we go? If we stay here much longer the guy working here will charge us for loitering."

….

Later that same day, Buffy went to her room planning to reread the letters and travel documents. When she opened the door she found the boggart waiting for her, looking sheepish.

…...

A/N;

The chapter is a bit mopey. Sorry! The story will have a change of direction in the next chapter. A Big Reveal!

If you enjoyed it don't forget to leave a review to let me know you are reading. I get a buzz reading them all. Also it lets me know how many are enjoying it and gives me an incentive to write more.

Also thanks to those who have recommended it so far. :-)

Thank you to Guest who said how much they were enjoying this last chapter.