Memoir of a Trapped Housewife

Chapter Seven {The Letter}

Chapter Seven

The Letter

A fortnight passed, and I still had not made sense of Sable's letter I found in the Blackstone Mansion. The letter was a cryptogram and the "words" enclosed were comprised of random letters and squiggles I failed to understand. Later, when I had the time, I tried to go back to the room and find something that would aide me in making sense of it--but alas, the mess had been cleaned away.

Despite it's general uselessness, the letter endorsed my guess that Sable had been swept into suspicious, or criminal matters. The very fact it was in the Blackstone Mansion was alarming. She never mentioned anything about being associated, or inside the estate. All she spoke of that implied the Blackstones were the blackmail and her employment at the Blackstone Transportation Company.

I'd begun to suspect that the truth in this was lacking as well. On some occasion soon, I'd have to visit this place and discover if Sable worked at the company at all.

Additionally, now that I knew my guesswork on Sable being connected with the Blackstone estate was correct, the people and the information enclosed within it became vital. I used breaks and times when the estate was so busy a spying employee would go unnoticed, to search for more clues.

As I wasn't used to spying, I really didn't know where to look. I decided to start in rooms with the most paper handled. After all, that is where I found my first clue--amongst the paper.

I also began to ask questions. They came off as relatively harmless, and most were quite willing to answer.

'Is the house usually this tame? The townspeople tell me all sorts of things that go on here, but I never see them.'

'Oh indeed!' some said, 'all sorts of things happen here.' And as they rambled on about the various instances lasciviousness at parties, thefts of jewelry and antiques, fights, gambling, and other accusations I listened intently.

Most spoke of the murder I'd witnessed. Rumors were tossed back and forth like baseballs. One audacious one even claimed that Mrs. Lance killed herself. Intuition that I'd come to trust, told me otherwise. I firmly believed it was an inside job, committed by someone that wanted Mrs. Lance's lips remained sealed forever. All for what?

The whole debacle pointed to blackmail--just like Sable's disappearance.

Was it too early to think they were connected, or was I getting ahead of myself?

Inspector Gates visited the Blackstone mansion several times to look into the murder. He perused the rooms and surrounding outdoors slowly, his meaty hands clasped behind his back. As of yet no one had been accused, but I felt it coming like the heat of a summer storm.

He questioned me over and over, as I was the only witness--even taking me down to the town station for a formal interrogation.

Why were you up in the middle of the night? Isn't it against the rules to wander about during those hours?

Can you tell me how Mrs. Lance looked again?

What did she say?

Can you think of any detail you haven't told me?

Was the bullet wound fresh?

My head spun. Inspector Gate's narrow eyes always felt like they were peering through me and to my very core. He was unreadable, and I wondered why he was increasingly interested in my involvement.

My employment at the Blackstone estate was growing sequentially complicated. After discovering 'how I terrorized poor, sweet Clyde' from the young lad himself, Mrs. Cecilia joined the cult of 'make your employee miserable'.