Page 37 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

“Except to mention that I took the liberty of enquiring after those letters of hers earlier this evening.”

“What?” Sebastian glanced up. “Enquired of whom?”

“Miss Craddock.”

“My sister’s maid? What the devil would she know about anything?”

“It is only a trifle, my lord. And no secret at all. Hardly worth the effort of discovering it.”

“Go on.”

Milsom bent to retrieve Sebastian boots. “According to Miss Craddock, Lady Harker learned Miss Stafford’s whereabouts from a Miss Cavendish who, in turn, learned them from a Lady Ponsonby. Lady Ponsonby employs Miss Stafford’s former lady’s maid. A woman by the name of Harriet Button.”

Sebastian was instantly alert.

“I understand,” Milsom continued, “that Miss Button was employed by Miss Stafford for many years and was very much in her confidence. She was also highly esteemed by Sir Roderick Stafford.”

“And how did Craddock come by this fascinating information?”

“It seems that Lady Harker requires Miss Craddock to read the post to her each morning whilst she is…” Milsom cleared his throat discreetly. “…in her bath.”

Sebastian grimaced. It sounded like Julia. She had never been a great reader. And she delighted in being coddled by anyone willing to do it. “Am I to infer that Craddock read this letter from Miss Cavendish?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sebastian rose and began to work on the buttons of his trousers. “You’re right, Milsom. A useless trifle.”

“As I said, my lord.”

“Nevertheless…” He stripped off his trousers. “I require you to catch the train into London first thing in the morning.”

“To speak with Miss Button?”

“Precisely.”

“I thought she might be of use, my lord.”

“You thought right,” Sebastian said. Clad only in his drawers, he went to the washstand in his dressing room. “It was Miss Button who was tasked with posting Miss Stafford’s letters to me.”

Milsom paused in the act of draping his master’s trousers and shirt over his arm. “You believe that she meddled with them?”

“It would seem so.” Sebastian poured a ewer of cold water into the washbasin. He plunged his head into it, holding it for a moment, before raising it again to find Milsom at his side, proffering a towel. He took it and proceeded to dry his face and his hair. “I suspect the letters were never sent. I would like to know why.”

“The reason seems plain to me, sir.”

“And to me,” Sebastian said. “But Miss Stafford won’t believe her father had a hand in all of this without proof. She is loyal—even to those who don’t deserve it.”

“You want me to find proof that Sir Roderick was to blame?”

“I want you to discover the truth if you can. Whatever it is.”

“I shall do my best to find out, my lord.”

“You may as well take a small purse,” Sebastian said. “Any former servant of Sir Roderick Stafford will not be averse to taking a bribe. I daresay they might expect one. And Milsom?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I want to know everything, no matter the cost.”