She could ask him if he’d ever attended a ball in Vienna. Or whether he was a diplomat.
Or... a spy.
How did one ask another person if he or she was involved in espionage, without sounding mad? How did one slip it into conversation in the sitting room? Perhaps a natural segue could be found between the stealth of ghosts and the stealth of spies?
But if Mr. Hawkes told her the full truth about himself—if this was indeed his truth—what sort of truths would she owe to him?
She simply didn’t know what to do now. Her pride recoiled from asking Mrs. Hardy or Mrs. Durand if they knew where she could sell a piece of jewelry. She didn’t want them to worry whether she’d be able to afford to stay here. There seemed something so craven and desperate about begging for their help. She wondered if pride would eventually be one of the things she’d need to jettison.
Mrs. Hardy had loaned her the first volume of Mr. Miles Redmond’s series of books on the South Seas, and she stretched out on her little bed with it.
She woke up when she dropped the book on her face. She hadn’t realized she’d dozed. Immediately after there was a tap at the door.
“Mrs. Gallagher, a message has arrived for you.”
Dot seemed delighted to be imparting the news. She’d even brought it up on a little tray. “It’s from a Mr. Erasmus Monroe.”
Aurelie snatched her reaching hand back and stared at it as if it might bite her.
“Are you certain it’s from Mr. Erasmus Monroe?” she asked Dot.
Dot nodded vigorously.
“Did you happen to speak to who brought it, Dot?”
“A boy, who scampered right off.”
Well, then.
How on earth would Mr. Erasmus Monroe, if this was indeed a message from the real Mr. Erasmus Monroe, know she was here? Unless...
Her brow furrowed as she entertained a possibility, which was threatening to evolve into an ill-advised hope.
Aurelie gingerly reached for the message and broke the seal. Her hands were trembling again.
Dear Mrs. Gallagher,
I’m terribly sorry to have missed you when you called at my previous residence. Your message has found its way to me at my place of business, and I understand the current tenant of my property was a perfect ass when you called upon him (forgive my use of the word, but I feel he deserves it!). I would be delighted to apologize to you in person and talk with you of our dear Edouard. If you would like to call upon me at seven o’clock in the evening at my very respectable place of business, a printing shop called Turnbull & Sons, near Hyde Park (near a bookseller, which I think you’ll agree is a clever location for a printer), I should be delighted to make your acquaintance. I am an investor there, you see, and work there to learn about the business. Perhaps your brother has told you about it? I will welcome you as one welcomes a princess and I should be honored to offer any advice. My direction is below.
Yours Sincerely,
Mr. Erasmus Monroe
She stared at those sprightly words, so full of character, and stubbornly kept her heart on a short leash. It wanted to leap, but she didn’t dare allow it. But how seductive it sounded: “our dear Edouard.” “Our.” Three people who were connected to and belonged to each other. The use of it implied she was not alonein the world. She belonged to someone and they belonged to her.
Itcouldbe a ruse. It wasprobablya ruse, she told herself. But... to what end? It was just that the letter writer soundedjustlike someone her brother might indeed esteem, and surely if they were to meet in a public place, and in such a busy location, during the social hours when decent people were still out and about making calls and driving about in open carriages, she could remove herself quickly if she felt unsafe. Surely whoever had sent this note couldn’t kidnap her in front of a crowd.
She wanted it so desperately to be true. She wanted this perhaps too-familiar-but-lively voice to be a link to her brother and then a bridge to her new life. She wanted to watch someone else’s face light up as they spoke of someone she loved.
And though it might be—probablywas—foolish... she already knew she was going to go.
Could she afford to take the chance to keep missing him, if it was Mr. Erasmus Monroe? She could endure another disappointment. And she knew she could extricate herself quickly if they were meeting in public with people milling about.
Dot was still waiting as patiently as a potted plant.
“It seems I have an engagement this evening, Dot,” she began hesitantly, “so I’ll take a light meal in my room instead of joining everyone for dinner. I’ll be home before curfew, of course.”
“Oh, anengagement!” Dot was pleased for her. “How lovely! Very good, Mrs. Gallagher. I’ll make certain everyone knows.”