“How will you do that?”
“By finding Drayman. I have—er…delegated that task to the police. I doubt they will call here to tell me what they discover, but don’t be alarmed if they do. Either Jenks will deny you or you can pretend to be me.”
David gave an unexpected shout of laughter. “Like the old days.”
And suddenly itwaslike the old days. Just a little.
*
Constance kept walking,although every nerve urged her to run.
She tensed, gripping the banister hard, for his arms and legs were longer than hers and he could get close enough to push or kick and she would have no chance of fighting back with elbows or heels. Her only chance was to cling to the rail with her hand and get close enough to the bottom for least damage…
Or she could call out.
Which would reveal her fear, and she had learned long ago never to do that.
“Allow me to show you out,” Mortimer said behind her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did my aunt offend you so much that you storm out before she can even ring for a servant? It’s how things are done in a gentleman’s house, you know.”
So it was to be a verbal attack.Thatshe could deal with.
She kept descending the stairs. “I daresay she trusted me not to steal the silver in my rampage through the premises.”
His footsteps sounded behind her. “But then, she doesn’t know your name.”
Meaning Miss Mortimer did notrecognizeConstance Silver’s name? Which meant that her nephew did. No doubt Miss Fernie, yet again.
“My name is hardly secret,” Constance said. Only three steps to go now. He wasn’t going to hurt her.
“And yet you expect to be received like an honest woman?”
She reached the foot of the stairs with relief and turned to face him. “Iaman honest woman. What are you, Mr. Mortimer?”
He brushed past her, not to help her retrieve her coat and hat, but to riffle the little pile of letters on a sturdy table.
“I am her nephew and her heir and she will not receive you again.”
The sight of his picking through the letters made her remember that she had not even asked Miss Mortimer what she meant to about the delivery of her anonymous letter. She was not thinking straight enough or clearly enough.
“Were you here when she received the anonymous letter?” Constance asked abruptly.
His gaze flew to hers, not in guilt or irritation, but in sheer surprise. He had expected a retort to his taunt, not a change of subject. “Yes. It was just before the end of my last visit.”
“How did you know about it?”
He curled his lip. “Are you accusing me of sending it?”
“No,” Constance replied impatiently. “I want to know when and how you saw it. Were you looking for post directed to you, as you are now?”
“Yes, as it happens.” A frown tugged at his handsome brow. “I noticed it because the direction was written in such an odd way, in capital letters all of the same size. She never receives letters like that.”
“What time was this?”
“Time?”
“Of the day,” Constance said urgently. “Was it first thing in the morning?”
“No, it was about this time, round about tea, when the latest post is usually fetched from the village by one of the grooms.”
