She must deal with this alone. She would not be responsible for bringing such a threat into the lives of innocents. Only then would this menace go away.
Can I do it?
I have to. It is his life or mine.
She shuddered again, wrapping her arms round her stomach, her skin goose-bumped with horror. She felt sick.
Sitting down on the newly made bed, she closed her eyes and just breathed. Finally, she rose and went to the window and drew the curtains. Then she turned to the small writing desk set beside the window and sat down. Drawing pen and paper toward her, she mended the pen, stuck the nib in the ink, and began to write.
My dearest Emrys,
If you are reading this then I am already dead, for I do not plan for you to ever see this letter, but I feel that in the circumstance of some ill befalling me, I will owe you some explanation for my disappearance.
I am also giving into your safekeeping a ring that belonged, I am told, to my father. I do not know his identity, only that I am his baseborn daughter and that he is a peer of the realm, of what degree I do not know. My mother was Miss Janet Pringle. For most of my life I thought she was my aunt and that I was the daughterof her brother, Mr. Jeremiah Pringle, and his wife Adela. They died when I was a baby, and I do not remember them. It was only on her deathbed that I learned from my Aunt Janet that she was in fact my mother as well as the identity, such as it is, of my father.
Since her passing, I have been subjected to the most horrible persecution by a man of unknown identity seeking to obtain the ring and kill me. I had thought for a number of years that he had given up his persecution of me, but lately he has resurfaced.
I know this must sound raving, but I assure you he has attacked me before and has now threatened me again. I don’t know why my existence or that of the ring is worth such drastic action, but it is terrifying. I am tired of living in fear and must act now myself.
I am taking steps to eliminate the threat once and for all. But it is essential that he not get his hands on the ring, for if he should do so, he will assuredly kill me. Thus, I am leaving it in your possession, unbeknownst to you. I do not anticipate you will find either it or this letter before I execute my plan.
In the event that I am successful, you will never know of it or of this letter, for I shall take them both back and destroy the letter. But in the event that I am not successful, I wish you to know that I treasured your kisses. You are the kindest, most attractive man I have ever known, and I hold you in the highest esteem.
I recommend that you destroy the ring and tell no one about any of this, for I truly do not wish for you or your delightful children to be placed at risk. I honestly think the risk will die with me, because it seems clear to me now that my existence is the true threat this man wishes to eliminate.
I remain ever yours,
Annis Benedicta Pringle
She read over the letter carefully, sanded it dry, folded it, and placed it and the ring from around her neck in an envelope upon which she had written his name. She folded it in half and, clutching it in her hand, buried it in the folds of her skirt. She then opened her door and checked the hallway. Seeing it empty, she closed and locked her door behind her.
She then walked rapidly to the servants’ stairs and, slipping through the door, made her way to the floor below, where the viscount’s suite was located. She emerged in his dressing room, checking carefully first for the presence of his valet, who was mercifully absent.
It took her a few minutes to select an appropriate hiding place for her little package, but finally she chose the pocket of a quite resplendent evening jacket, which she had never seen him wear and thought he was highly unlikely to wear in the next forty-eight hours. It was the sort of thing he might wear to a ball, being made of black satin, and there were a pair of matching breeches. Satisfied that this was a very unlikely item of clothing to be called into service between now and midnight tomorrow night, she slipped her package into the breast pocket, closed the wardrobe door carefully and slipped back into the servants’ stairs and made her way back to her room.
She had merely to get through the next twenty-four hours as if nothing were wrong. A feat that would call upon all of her acting skills. But having made up her mind to her course of action, she was remarkably calm and focused. She was even, to her surprise, able to sleep soundly.
The next morning Annis spent with her pupils, and since the weather was for the first time in days inclement, the childrenwere forced to remain indoors and play games in the nursery, supervised by Mrs. Green.
This freed Annis to spend the afternoon putting her affairs in order, not that she had a lot to do. She owned very little, but she did want her room to be tidy and her few possessions in good order in the event that the worst should happen.
Just before tea, she popped into the nursery to watch the children wistfully.If this is the last I will see of them...She swallowed a lump in her throat and was forced to clear it hastily when Miss Elizabeth bowled up to her and demanded her opinion of her latest artwork. Not to be outdone, Miss Charlotte wished to show her a sculpture she was making in clay, and she found herself on the floor with the two of them providing artistic advice when the viscount appeared above them.
“Papa!” squealed both girls, flinging themselves at him. He didn’t seem to mind this assault, not even the fact that his clothes were threatened with red paint and wet clay. Hugging both little ladies in turn he got down on the floor, too, and offered his opinion of their artistic efforts.
“Don’t you think he is a little lopsided?” he asked Charlotte of her sculpture.
“He issupposedto be, Papa! He’s a monster. See he has a hunchback and uneven legs.”
“Oh, I see, and what is this that he is chasing?” he said, pointing to the second figure.
“A little girl, of course!” she replied, rolling her eyes.
He glanced at Annis, the smile in his eyes inviting her to share the joke. She smiled in return, relieved that the children seemed to be providing a bridge to cover any awkwardness they might feel after their encounter in the rose garden. She was glad. She would prefer that their last interaction, should it turn out to be so, not be attended by unpleasant feelings.
“Do you like my sunflowers, Papa?” asked Elizabeth claiming his attention.
“I do,” he said.
