Page 43 of A Secret Correspondence
Samuel straightened, losing the playful smirk that had been tilting his lips. The edge of fear moved through his limbs. Images of the shadowed man peering through her shop windows flashed in his mind. “What happened?”
“Someone broke into the shop,” Marguerite said.
“They had a key,” Ruth corrected. “Or the ability to unlock the door. Nothing was actually broken.”
“And they took nothing.” Oliver held up the doll. “They left this with a note.”
“What does the note say?” Samuel asked.
Marguerite held out the paper.
He took it from her hand and stepped forward, holding the white sheet closer to Ruth’s candle to read the hastily scrawled words. Whoever had written this had terrible handwriting.
I want the diamonds. If you want your mother’s belongings, we can make a trade.
Samuel lowered the paper, fire running through his blood. “What the devil does this mean?”
“It is a multi-faceted threat, I believe,” Oliver said plainly. “The person wanted to prove to Marguerite they have the ability to reach her, should they choose to.”
“How so?”
“They left the doll on her bed,” Ruth said quietly.
Samuel looked at Marguerite sharply. She reached for the doll in Oliver’s hand and rubbed a thumb along its wooden face, shaking her head. “I am not frightened.”
He scoffed. “This is ridiculous. You cannot mean to remain here.”
Her eyes flicked up. “It is my home. This person has a plan. If their intent is to frighten me, I will not give them the satisfaction of running off to find refuge elsewhere.”
“Then allow someone to remain here with you. Surely the sofa in your parlor can comfortably sleep a man.”
“Who do you propose may do that?” Ruth asked. “Your plan carries merit, but it puts Marguerite’s reputation entirely at risk.”
“Better her reputation than her life, do you not think?”Samuel countered.
“I could do it,” Oliver offered. “Surely if I leave before the sun each day, I will not be seen.”
“On the High Street,” Ruth said. “In the center of Harewood, with all manner of people going about their business or leaving the inn’s taproom?”
Oliver shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Ruth is correct. Your reputation would be far safer were you to relocate to our house for the time being.”
Samuel wanted to argue that his house was a better choice, but he knew that was not true. His parents argued with too much regularity, and he would not subject anyone else to that level of unrest in a home. But he wanted to help. He was unsatisfied with the direction this conversation was moving. Furthermore, he did not like the way Marguerite seemed uninterested in discussing her own safety. Her attention was fastened on the doll, taken so thoroughly by it, he wondered if she was fully listening to the conversation taking place around her.
He peered closer at it and noted its outdated dress. Much like the sleeping gown she had gifted Peter, the doll’s red gown appeared as though it had fit with a previous generation. It was tight to the waist, flaring out in the style Samuel’s mother would have worn when he was young. The doll had a high forehead, her tangled hair drawn back into a curl Marguerite was twisting gently over her shoulder.
“What is the significance of the doll?” he asked.
She looked up. “It belonged to me as a girl. I have not seen it in twenty years.”
His stomach dropped. “This person left it with the note?”
Marguerite swallowed, lowering the doll in her hands. She looked each of them in the eyes, then closed her own. “I fear none of you know the entirety of the situation. Before, I was concerned, but I did not know for certain if I was being threatened. Now, I know.”
And yet, she appeared less worried.
“You’ve had other letters?” Ruth asked.
“Yes. Wait here.” She took the candle and left through the parlor door, the stairs creaking overhead as she climbed to her bedchamber above.
