“Indeed it did.” Cynthia balled her fists on the table. “Judith let me read it. The writer went on for some time about her misdeeds—as Judith lives unconventionally, they had much fodder. Told her she had to give them a thousand guineas, in a location to be disclosed. If not, they’d expose her and shame her family.”
“A thousand guineas?” Tess repeated in shock. “The cheek.”
“I agree, Tess.” I set one of the sweet rolls on a clean plate and pushed it toward Cynthia. “Eat this and calm yourself. I assume Miss Townsend has no intention of paying it.”
“None whatsoever. Judith said that she didn’t put it on the fire right away, because she enjoyed herself reading the more salacious bits out to Bobby.” Cynthia snatched up the roll and stuffed it into her mouth as inelegantly as Tess had. Her face changed as she chewed. “I say, Mrs.H. This is scrumptious.”
“Ain’t it though?” Tess rhapsodized. “The one that went up to table was twisted into a star shape.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t see it—I dined with Judith and Bobby. But this is fine.” Cynthia made short work of the rest of her roll. “Judith is intrigued now that I told her Auntie had one of these letters. She instructed me to rush home and consult you about it.”
I pushed away my plate and turned to my sweet with more composure than my companions. “Would Miss Townsend let me have a look at the letter?” I asked.
Cynthia nodded. “I’m certain she would. Do you have an idea, Mrs.H.?”
“None at all,” I answered truthfully. “But it is very odd.Neither Mrs.Bywater nor Miss Townsend have received the second letter telling them where to leave the cash?”
“Not yet, apparently. I wonder if the writer was happy to vent their spleen with the first letter, and have left off. Perhaps they’ve convinced themselves they’ve rattled the receiver and have decided it’s not worth the bother of the second.”
“Possibly,” I said with doubt. “A letter spewing invective and making vague threats is upsetting, but a specific request to leave a certain sum of money in a certain place becomes a criminal offense. In that case, one stands trial for blackmail. Perhaps the writer is reluctant to cross that line.”
“Judith would be happy for you to look into it,” Cynthia said. “She’d have handed the letter to me to bring home to you, but she wants to see you in person instead. As her guest for tea, whenever you are able.”
“That is very kind.” I was flattered, but Cynthia and her friends did not always understand that a body had to work for a living. “Please warn her that I will not be able to take leave until Monday.”
“Never worry. I’ll fix it with Auntie, and you can pop to see her tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” I said with patience. “Tess’s day out. I will not be able to leave the kitchen.”
Tess looked stricken. “I can stay if ye like, Mrs.H. Wasn’t going to do much—”
“No,” I said firmly. “One thing you must learn as a domestic, Tess, is that you guard your days out fiercely. Once you give one up, the household will believe it not important to you and expect you to work without ceasing. You visit your brother on your days out, do you not?”
Tess nodded, flushing. Her brother was slow and needed looking after. He lived with a trusted friend, but Tess took himsome of what we baked and little gifts, and I imagined he treasured her visits. She also used the time to stroll about London with her beau, Constable Greene, who also had Saturdays free.
“Miss Townsend will have to wait, I am afraid,” I told Cynthia. “If she is too impatient to give me until Monday, I could possibly take tea Sunday afternoon, after the midday dinner, of course. Mr.Bywater will not give up his Sunday roast with all the trimmings so his cook can pay calls.”
“Calm your pride, Mrs.H.” Cynthia finished up the roll and licked her fingers. “Judith is not completely oblivious—she does have staff of her own, and understands. You bake up another of these delicious breads and take it to her on Monday afternoon. She’ll be more than pleased with that.”
Monday afternoons I spent with Grace, but if I could slip away a bit early, I could carve out a half hour to take Miss Townsend the bread and read her letter.
“That can be arranged,” I said. “Please tell her to expect me early Monday afternoon for tea.”
“Done.” Cynthia beamed. “Any more of this bread about, Mrs.H.? I could dine on it.”
Tess leapt to her feet at my nod and brought the rest of the rolls to the table. She and Cynthia, with my permission, gobbled them up, while I sat back and contemplated. Things were becoming intriguing indeed.
* * *
One reason I’d decided to become interested in the problem of the letters—though I would have, in any case—was to ease my mind from constant worry about Daniel.
Not knowing whether he was well or in danger or simply working through tedium kept me ill at ease. I snapped morethan I should have and glowered at Tess when she came home later than usual on Saturday. She explained that she and Caleb had been visiting with her brother, and her brother hadn’t wanted her to leave.
I had compassion for her and her brother both, but I am afraid I testily told her she should have sent word. I apologized later, relieving her of duties after supper, but Tess was put out with me, and I could not blame her. I also could not explain to her the reasons for my grumpiness.
Sunday morning, a grubby boy knocked on the back door with a soiled piece of paper, demanding a penny to give it to the cook.
I heard Elsie arguing with him, declaring a penny was too dear a price. I jerked my hand from the dough I’d been shaping into bread and hurried into the scullery.
