Dear Future Husband

29. The Mysterious Alonzo Price

Papa would not do such a thing to me, would he? He would not dare! I certainly hope not, when he has made so many promises to the contrary. No, perhaps he is simply in town visiting some old friends who live there as well. Yet typically we go into Town together and he takes me to have tea in the most delightful parlours there as well as to the zoo to see animals and to the museum to gaze upon the paintings of the Masters. He so rarely goes by himself.

Hopefully, he shall return soon and can read my letters to him, as he did not leave an address for his mail to be forwarded to. Another unusual occurrence.

I pray that your family would be intact and whole and entirely loving. I am sure your parents miss you when you are apart from them, just as you miss your mother and father when they depart on business. I pray that you are excelling in your studies and being educated in the finest of schools or with the most elite tutors. I am sure you shall come to do great things.

I remain,

Sincerely yours,

Rosalie Winthrop

She signed her name with more of a flourish than usual, her quill-tip digging into the paper with slightly too much force. It almost tore and she breathed a sigh of relief when it did not. Stacking the sheets, covered in tiny script, neatly and then tucking them into her chest, she went to lock the compartment with a key that she always kept on her person.

But then, to her shock and horror, the key was missing from her pocket. She dropped onto all fours despite all her ladylike breeding and scrambled through her luggage, panic coursing through her veins. Where was it? She pawed through neat stacks of clothing, dishevelling petticoats and overturning hatboxes in her search.

Rosalie found nothing but a scrap of paper marked with the name Mary Stewart. A frown furrowed her brows before memory struck her. Exactly a year ago now she had found the note and meant to return it to the maid. Yet here it lay, yellowed, in the bottom of her suitcase. Curiosity overtook her and she supposed that the intended message would likely have reached Mary by now, anyway.

She unfolded the note with trembling fingers.

Mary–

You know what must be done. Why have you not done it?

–E.

Then, written in tiny, hesitant script vertically across and covering the original text, so that she had to turn the paper to understand it:

E–

The girl knows nothing. Will you not leave my family be?

–M

The paper dropped from her hands and the anxiety that bubbled within her increased to a churn. Was Mary being blackmailed? By whom? Why? Who was this mysterious E? What if he had a relation to the letter that she had found from her mother, the letter from this Edgar Wakefield?

She promised herself that when she returned home, she would ask her father about him. Better yet, she would write a letter to him immediately.

The key! Her stomach growled but there was no time for dinner. She jumped up from the floor and dusted off the skirt of her gown, dashing out of the room. Rosalie would need to retrace her steps. Shoving the room door open, she hunted desperately for it. Wandering through hallways, back to the dining hall, to her classrooms, she found nothing.

Her heart heavy, her head hanging low as her candle burned to a wax nub, she nearly ran into Beatrice Mullins, their house mother. "Apologies, Mrs. Mullins, I know I am meant to be at supper with the rest of the girls by now. It is only that I have lost something of great importance to me."

"I shall have to take away some of your house points, but please, Rosalie, tell me what sentimental object has you so upset," Mrs. Mullins said in a motherly tone, her brown eyes warm. "I am sure it will turn up soon."

A sob broke free from her throat. "It is a key that I use to unlock the compartment of my trunk where I keep my most treasured possessions. I fear that it may wind up in the wrong hands, Mrs. Mullins."

"Oh dear, well that certainly would not be a pleasant scenario," Mrs. Mullins said, steering Rosalie by the arm toward the dining hall. "Why don't I discreetly ask around to see if anyone has seen it, and if that doesn't turn up any results, I shall make an announcement, yes?"

Rosalie nodded frantically, her tears drying. In her excitement, she flung her arms around her house mother. "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Mullins!"

Mrs. Mullins patted her on the shoulder. "Now, Rosalie, off to supper with you. I am sure your friends are eagerly awaiting your presence."

"Of course." She took off at a brisk pace toward the dining hall, saying a prayer. "Heavenly Father, please let the key be found and not wind up in the hands of someone who wishes to do me harm. In Jesus's name I pray, Amen."

She entered the dining hall, her feet clattering as she went to sit at her usual place. However, her jaw dropped when she saw someone sitting in her seat.

Surely, it couldn't be...

Tatiana Woodhouse, perched on her chair, wearing Rosalie's key around her neck?