Secret Letters by Leah Scheier Read Free Book Online

‘aristocratic’ fellows.”
    Now, this was information I could use. Thomas had been looking for this Farringdon after he’d discovered Adelaide’s letters. This noble valet had to have been his buyer.
    James Farringdon, I repeated to myself.
    J.F.
    I thanked the secretary and left the office smiling to myself. I had learned the identity and the address of my cousin’s blackmailer in twenty minutes. That was as much as anyone could do in London, and I could not help feeling just a little proud. It was now time to retrieve my purse from Cartwright’s study.
    When I arrived at Portman Square, the maid appeared surprised to see me. “Master and young master are not in just now, miss. Would you like to leave your card?”
    “Oh, I only need a minute. I accidentally left my purse here earlier. Is it all right if I go upstairs and fetch it? I can let myself out.”
    She motioned me upstairs with a little shrug. “Certainly, if you like.”
    I climbed the stairs and shut the door behind me. I was very sorry that Cartwright was not at home, for I had wanted to relate my findings to him personally. Now it seemed that I would have to tell him about my trip in writing and then go away without another word. I had hoped to see once more his startled smile, the flush of laughter on his face, even the flame of emerald mockery in his eyes. Somehow I did not want to leave the city without that memory. And yet, this was to be my final visit.
    My purse was sitting by the sofa where I had left it. I picked it up, walked over to the desk, and began to write my note. As I scribbled my message down, a sheet of paper slid from off a pile, and a folded slip of stationery on the table fluttered open. My fingers froze around my pen. I had not meant to look at the private letter, but the signature at the bottom had jumped off the page at me.
    It was impossible.
    I could not understand it.
    There upon the monogrammed paper, in precise and stately script, the following words were written:
     
     
May 8, 1891
    Mr. Porter,
    I would like to call on you this afternoon at three in order to consult you about a disturbing event which has recently occurred at my estate at Hartfield. I trust that I may rely upon your secrecy and discretion. Please confirm the appointment at the Carlton Club, if this time is agreeable to you.
    Charles Frederick Dowling, 4th Earl of Hartfield
     
    There was no earthly way that this note was a coincidence. I had just learned that my cousin’s blackmailer was serving at the earl’s country home, and now some “disturbing event” had upset this nobleman so much that he had traveled up to London to consult a detective. The two events were connected, they had to be connected. But what had happened at the estate? Was the earl also being blackmailed? And, more importantly, how would I find out?
    As if on cue, there was a distant rumble outside the door, the shuffling thud of feet upon the stair; and then I heard the muffled sound of Mr. Porter’s voice. “I want to assure Your Lordship that I have found Mr. Cartwright’s collaboration to be invaluable, especially in cases that require the most discretion.”
    His last words had barely registered before I had decided on the second bedroom as a hiding place, and hurried to it. His Lordship was not going to find me gawking at him when he entered, that was certain. I could at least spare Mr. Cartwright that uncomfortable explanation.
    As the men entered, I shut the bedroom door and crouched by the keyhole to peer into the study. Mr. Porter was standing aside to usher in their client, and I could see at once why his lips were set in such an awed and guarded smile. Anyone would have recognized their visitor; Charles Frederick Dowling, the 4th Earl of Hartfield, was a true celebrity, a man famous in the political world as a prominent Conservative and member of the Privy Council, and in society for his lavish parties and his yearly regatta ball. My cousin’s blackmailer had