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She lays out the envelope, the traced note and the letter. Looks from it to the handwriting. She’s trying to tell herself that it is not the same hand. That someone in Annis’s household addressed the envelope and must be the person who wrote that note on the box.
Yet that is not the answer, because the writing is unmistakably the same hand, whether written or printed. That hand is Sarah’s.
“Maybe the writing in the box was only similar,” I say.
She shakes her head. “It is the same. Or close enough that if it is at all different, it is the writer attempting to disguise their hand.” She grips the letter. “The writer being Sarah.”
She shakes her head vehemently and turns to me. “I cannot believe it, Mallory. Perhaps it makes me a monstrous sister, but I could sooner see Annis behind this than Sarah. I know it has been many years since I knew Sarah, and not well even then, but I cannot imagine…”
She inhales. “I just cannot imagine. That is all. It makes me wonder…” She trails off.
“Wonder what?” I ask.
Another sharp shake of her head. “Not yet. I am sorry. I just… I cannot yet. We need to see Annis. Tonight. I must… I must get this straight in my head.”
I want to ask more. So much more. But her expression says she’s resolute—both in her determination to see Annis and her determination not to pull me into her confidence yet.
“All right,” I say. “Let us go see Annis.”
FORTY-TWO
When we leave, Gray is in the funerary parlor. I want to speak to him, but Isla is too distressed. She insists we leave a note and go quickly. It’s already past nine, and any delay will make it less likely that Annis will admit us.
We arrive at the Leslie house to find a battlefield, an army camped on either side of the front line. The maid who escorts us in quietly explains that Annis and Sarah are in Annis’s rooms, with access to roughly half of the house, while Leslie’s sister Helen has claimed the other half. The two sides are actively avoiding one another.
“Even Miss Sarah,” the girl whispers. “She is so terribly sweet, and always tries to make peace—particularly between Lord Leslie and his wife—but even she does not dare get involved in this.”
When shoes tap along a nearby hall, both Isla and I tense, knowing who it is and arranging our features into twin masks of impassivity as Sarah rounds the corner.
“Isla,” she says with a smile. “Miss Mitchell.”
“I apologize for the lateness of our visit,” Isla says.
“Not at all. We shall be up for hours yet. Packing, packing, endlessly packing.” She pauses, her hand touching Isla’s arm as she lowers her voice. “Is it true?”
“True…?”
She lowers her voice more. “One of the maids is courting a policeman,and he says a man has been arrested for the poisoning murders, including Gordon’s.”
“There has been progress in the case,” I say.
Relief washes over Sarah’s face. “In other words, yes, although you are not permitted to say so. If this nightmare is anywhere near an end, we shall owe an endless debt of gratitude to you both, as well as Duncan and Detective McCreadie.” She glances toward a lit room down the hall. “I have not told Annis the news, in case it is untrue. May I… hint?”
“Best not yet,” I say. “We’ll know more tomorrow.”
Disappointment fills Sarah’s eyes. “I understand. Another sleepless night, then.” She steers us down the hall and into the room where Annis is packing books.
“Isla,” Annis says. “Miss Mallory. I do hope you came to help me pack.”
“I need to talk to you, Annis,” Isla says.
Annis’s gaze shoots to me.
“I’m going to look for that fig box,” I say. “I know it’s probably long gone, but I’d like to try.”
Annis waves at the hall. “Feel free. If you go past the trophy room, though, you trespass on Helen’s domain. I won’t say you maynotgo there without her permission, only that if you do, tread lightly. The lioness has excellent hearing and is fond of prowling her territory, lest I abscond with anything that is not mine.”
“Come,” Sarah says, beckoning me back to the hall. “I will show you about and then fetch tea for Annis and Isla.”
