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Felicity raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you open it?”
“I shall. Later,” I say, glancing at Ann. Every one of us has a letter except for her. Every time the post is delivered, it is a misery for her to come away with nothing, no caring soul to write and say she is missed.
Brigid holds a letter up to the light, scowling. “Oh, that man ’as lost ’is wits. This one isn’t ours. Miss Nan Washbrad. No Nan Washbrad ’ere.”
Ann nearly leaps for the envelope. “May I see it?”
Brigid holds it away from her. “Now, now. It’s for Missus Nightwing to decide what to do wi’ it.”
We watch, helpless, as Brigid shuffles Miss Trimble’s long-awaited letter into Nightwing’s correspondence and places them neatly into the pocket of her apron.
“It must be from Mr. Katz. We have to get that back,” Ann says desperately.
“Ann, where does Brigid put Nightwing’s letters?” I ask.
“On her desk,” Ann says, swallowing hard. “Upstairs.”
We are forced by circumstances to wait until evening prayers before we are able to try for Ann’s letter. Whilst the other girls gather their shawls and prayer books, we steal away and let ourselves into Nightwing’s office. It’s old and starched-looking and, much like the bustle at the back of Nightwing’s dress, terribly out of fashion.
“Let’s be quick about it,” I say.
We open drawers, poking about for any sign of Ann’s letter. I open a small wardrobe and peer inside. The shelves are lined with books: When Love Is True, by Miss Mabel Collins. I Have Lived and Loved, by a Mrs. Forrester. The Stronger Passion. Trixie’s Honor. Blind Elsie’s Crime. A Glorious Gallop. Won By Waiting.
“You’ll not believe what I just found,” I say, giggling. “Romance novels! Can you imagine?”
“Gemma, really,” Felicity chides from her lookout post at the door. “We’ve more important matters at hand.”
Shamed, I go to close the wardrobe when I notice a letter, but its postmark is from 1893. It is far too old to be Ann’s letter. Still, the script is oddly familiar. I turn it over, and there’s a broken wax seal with the impression of the crescent eye, so I slide the letter free of the envelope. There is no salutation of any kind.
You’ve ignored my warnings. If you persist in your plan, I shall expose you…
“I found it!” Ann exults.
Felicity’s voice is panicked. “Someone’s coming up the stairs!” she calls.
Hurriedly, I put everything back as it was and close the cabinet doors. Ann grabs her letter and we walk quickly down the hallway.
At the baize door, Brigid greets us with a scowl. “You know you’re not allowed ’ere!”
“We thought we heard a noise,” Felicity lies smoothly.
“Yes, we were terribly frightened,” Ann adds.
Brigid glances down the hall with both suspicion and trepidation. “I’ll call for Mrs. Nightwing, then, and—”
“No!” we all say as one.
“No need for that,” I say. “It was nothing but a hedgehog that had gotten in.”
Brigid blanches. “Hedgehog? I’ll get my broom! He’ll not run amok in my ’ouse!”
“That’s the spirit, Brigid!” I call after her. “I think it was a French hedgehog!”
“A French hedgehog?” Felicity repeats with a bemused expression.
“Oui,” I say.
Ann clutches the letter to her chest. “We’ve got what we came for. Come on. I want to know my fate.”
