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The story of your marriage has reached me through former friends near Poldene. I expect it was hopelessly garbled. But if any parts are true, it seems to me that you will not be well treated by my parents. I decided to write and offer you my good wishes. Please be assured that if you ever need a place to go, you can come to me at the address at the bottom of this letter. I have asked an old friend among the servants to make certain it reaches you.
Best wishes,
Tamara Pendrennon Deane
There was a knock at the door. Sarah rose and went to look. Kenver stood in the corridor. “You don’t have to tell me what she writes,” he said, though he clearly wanted to know.
Sarah stepped back to invite him in. Then she handed him the note and watched him read. “So itisLincolnshire,” he said.
As if this was the important part. “Why would she offer me…sanctuary?” Sarah asked him.
“I don’t know.”
“She is your sister.”
“I told you. She is twelve years older. We were never…very well acquainted.”
“But still.”
“And I was not told things,” he continued.
“What things?”
“The things I wasn’t told!” he answered, frustration clear in his tone.
“So you have no idea why your family is at odds or what happened?” Sarah couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. If she’d had a mysterious, missing sister, she would have moved heaven and earth to find out why. And gotten in touch with her as well! How could one not?
“It is never talked of,” Kenver replied. “If Tamara’s name was even mentioned—which it scarcely ever was—everyone went quiet.” He waved his hands. “It was as if a bullet had gone buzzing right past your ear.”
Sarah stared at him. The image was oddly vivid.
“The subject was…frozen into oblivion,” he added.
“By your parents, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“But, Kenver. When you were a child, I can see you would hang back. But later on, not to insist on knowing… She is yoursister.”
“You don’t understand.”
But after even a short time at Poldene, Sarah had an inkling. Opposing Lady Trestan, and the earl, was difficult. If she’d lived with them all her life, trained in their ways, she might hesitate.
“I just let it be.” He had begun to look puzzled. “Perhaps Tamara did something dreadful.”
“What? Murder? Violent lunacy?”
Kenver gaped at her.
“She sounds quite sane in the letter. Not a person capable of nameless crimes.”
“Nameless crimes?” he repeated.
“Though I must say that your mother’s idea of transgressions does not coincide with mine.”
He did not deny it.
“Who would know about Tamara?” Sarah asked, turning back to the mystery. “Who is this friend among the servants, do you think?” She pointed to that line in the letter.
