said, then lowered my head to spread out the page. It was too soon to hear from
him about coming for Christmas. Ah, but maybe he wished to make peace with me
and my marriage to Lawrence. There were two pages. I smoothed out the first.
November 25, 1817 Brussels, Belgium
My dearest Andy:
I will be with you as soon as I can leave Brussels. I ask you to read the
enclosed letter from your father. He sent it to me because he feared you wouldn’t
read it if he posted it directly to you himself. Actually, I also believe he is
afraid that it would be intercepted and not reach you at all. Although he doesn’t
state his reasons, I know he is nearly frantic to get to you.
Read it, Andy, for me, if not for any other reason. I will see you by Christmas.
Please take care?
My love, Peter
I looked up, aware of voices, but the owners’ faces were a blur. My father. No,
not him, not that horrible man. I suppose I had assumed he was dead. He should
have been dead for a very long time now. He didn’t deserve to live, yet here he
was writing to me, and my mother had been dead for more than ten years.
My fingers shook as I slowly smoothed out the single page. I didn’t recognize
his handwriting. It was large and dark and bold, sloping slightly.
November 22, 1817 Antwerp, Belgium
My dearest daughter:
I pray you are reading this letter. I won’t waste time telling you of my sorrow
at our separation for so many years. Perhaps soon, you will agree to give me a
chance, and I may come to know the woman you have become.
I read of your marriage to the Earl of Devbridge. This cannot be, Andrea. You
are in danger, extreme danger. I know this is difficult for you to believe, but
you must do as I say. Leave Devbridge now, or as soon as you can without
detection. Return to London, to your grandfather’s house. I will be with you as
soon as possible and explain everything. Peter is waiting for me to finish, so I
will close by saying that I have always loved you.
Your father, Edward Kent Jameson
I rose from the breakfast table, smiled at Lord and Lady Waverleigh, and excused
myself. George barked, then fell in beside me. I walked to the ballroom at the
back of the manor. No one was there. Just the week before, a half dozen servants
had descended on the ballroom and scrubbed and polished everything to a rich
shine. The chandeliers were lovingly cleaned until the glass sparkled like
hundreds of twinkling jewels. The heavy brocade draperies covering the tall
windows had been taken down and beaten until all accumulated dust of at least
five years floated to the ground.
I opened the letter again and walked to the far windows, so clean it looked like
I could walk directly outside. I reread his letter.
He wanted me to leave Devbridge Manor immediately? But why? What was his reason?
Why didn’t he simply write his reason? Ah, because he was in such a hurry, he
didn’t have time. That was ridiculous. There was no reason. He simply wanted to
insinuate himself back with me. But why? Surely he had enough wealth, didn’t he?
Did he want me to give him money when all was said and done? Perhaps he had
feared that someone else would read the letter and would be alerted to?what?
So he had read of my marriage. Because of my marriage I was in extreme danger?
Bosh. Then, of course, I saw the old woman, John’s knife raised high, ready to
send it into my heart.
I looked up to see gardeners scything the grass on the east lawn. Two peacocks
preened, their tail feathers spread wide as they strolled lazily toward the
small rock garden. The scene before my eyes was so normal, so calm, so real.
But there was something and someone in this house that wasn’t normal or real.
There was someone evil.
But did that mean I was the target?