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“A friend pulled into playing secretary?” I say. “Or a maid coerced into making notes?”
“Either is possible. If Annis decided she didn’t need to take her own notes, she’d certainly find someone else to do it.”
“Leaving her to the higher—and more interesting—role of scientist.”
“Yes. But the handwriting seems more than vaguely familiar. I feel as if I have seen its like— Oh!”
She pushes her stool back and hurries from the room. When I hesitate, she calls “Mallory?” from the hall, and I follow. We take the stairs down a level to where she has her bedchamber, as does Gray.
Isla swings into her room and crosses to a dresser. Both siblings have larger-than-usual rooms for this period, which I strongly suspect once belonged to their parents. While neither room is twenty-first-century-sized, they’ve each chosen one significant extra to turn it into more than just a bedchamber. For Gray, it’s a desk, so he can burn the midnight oilandthe predawn oil.
For Isla, it’s a chaise longue in the most adorable reading nook. That means she doesn’t have a writing desk, and so she stuffs her papers into the dresser. And I do mean “stuffs.” One trait the siblings have in common is that they both, to put it kindly, lack my personal sense of tidiness. Isla only has to tug a drawer on her dresser and papers fly out as if they were rammed in on a spring-loaded base.
“I need a bigger dresser,” she mutters as she bends to pick up pages from the floor.
“Or I could help you organize your things.”
“Theyareorganized,” she says. “There is simply toomuchof them.”
Yep, exactly like her brother.
I don’t offer to help. I learned that lesson with Gray.
“Here!” She waves a folded letter in an opened envelope. “It is from yesterday.”
She hands me the letter. It’s addressed to Isla and as soon as I see the handwriting…
Oh no.
I dowse the flare of dismay and focus on the letter. The envelope is addressed to Isla, but hand-delivered. I open it and skim the letter as any hope that I’m mistaken evaporates.
Dearest Isla,
I know it has been many years since we spoke, but I must say how good it was to see you and Duncan again. I only wish the circumstances could be different. Still, I wanted to thank you for your kindness today. Your sister does not deserve it. I know that, as much as it pains me. I can only hopethat the rift can still be mended, if that is what you want. If it is not, I understand, and I am indebted to you for your kindness in Annis’s time of need.
All my love, always,
Sarah
“There,” Isla says. “That mystery is solved. The person who assisted Annis with her notes was Sarah, which makes complete sense. They were written around the time Sarah came into her life.”
I nod, gaze fixed on that handwriting.
“I am correct, am I not?” Isla says. “It is not precisely the same, but it is close enough to be clearly Sarah, writing twenty years later.” She pushes pages back into the drawer. “Not that it matters. It was a minor and inconsequential mystery.”
Her mood is lighter now. We’ve read Annis’s notes and see nothing concerning there. One fewer thing to implicate her sister. It takes Isla a few moments to realize I’m just standing there, silently holding the note.
“Mallory?”
“I… have seen this writing before,” I say. “Or, at least, the printed version, as on this envelope.”
“Hmm?”
“The box in Ware’s office,” I say. “The box we think the poisoned treats came in.”
Her gaze drops to the letter, and the color falls from her face. I motion for her to wait. Then I bring the traced note from the box and hand it to her.
“Am I wrong?” I say quietly.
