Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(41)

Elsie gingerly set the tray on the end table nearest Ogden. Began filling his cup.

Then she saw it, and froze.

There, under an unopened letter on the edge of the settee, was the next novel reader. The continuation of The Curse of the Ruby.

She squealed and clanked the teapot against the teacup, spilling a few drops.

Both men glanced at her.

She cleared her throat. “The usual?”

Ogden raised an eyebrow. “When did you start asking?”

Elsie hurriedly dropped a half spoonful of sugar into the cup, followed by far too much cream. Ogden was plenty fit, however, so it didn’t seem to be doing him any harm. She set the prepared cup aside and grabbed the empty one, eyes darting to the novel reader. She could make out most of the words on its cover: Unveil the truth . . . in a time where darkness . . . and he must make his choice.

Oh my.

“Elsie.”

She quickly filled the second cup. “My apologies. The tea is ready. Unless you stopped liking it plain, Mr. Nash?”

He shook his head, his too-long blond hair dusting his eyelashes. “Never could dislike anything you made, Miss Camden. My thanks.” It was a wonder he made Emmeline uncomfortable, charming as he was.

She served Ogden first, then Nash.

“Oh, take it, Elsie.” Ogden tried to sound exasperated but did a poor job of it. “The letter is yours, too.”

“Is it? I mean, oh! The post. Why, thank you, Mr. Ogden.” She snatched the novel reader and the letter atop it with both hands. Beneath it she spied a folded newspaper, the word poacher catching her attention.

Continued from page 2 . . . insists that the escaped poachers will be caught and brought to justice. “It isn’t merely about a pheasant,” Bamber said. “It’s about common decency and respect.”

Elsie’s lips parted. Escaped poachers! It must have been from the carriage! She’d been successful, and now the boys would go free—

“Elsie?” Ogden asked.

Lifting her head, she asked, “Will that be all?”

Ogden waved her off with a limp hand, and Elsie gladly left the men to their business.

The window of her room was closed, making the room noticeably stuffy, but she didn’t bother opening it. She had a tendency to vocalize her reactions to stories, and passersby on the street had no need to hear that.

Elsie leapt onto the bed on her stomach, her corset biting her hip as she adjusted to a more comfortable position. Let us see if the baron figures out—

Oh, letter.

She paused, taking note of the rough paper, sealed with a dot of uncolored candle wax pressed flat with a thumb. The magazine slipped from her fingers as she snatched up the paper. Turned it over. Read her name, written in flowing handwriting. She knew that handwriting—it belonged to the postmaster who served Juniper Down. Where she’d last seen her family.

This letter was from Agatha Hall.

Jerking upright, Elsie snapped the wax and opened the short letter. Her hope instantly cracked—it would be another missive telling her no Camdens had passed through, and no one had heard word of them. But the familiar mantra wasn’t in these words.

Elsie,

I know you’re hopeful. I know you’re dedicated. But the Camdens aren’t coming back. It’s time to give up, lass. Nothing will change, and you’re costing us postage we can’t afford. I was happy to help you then. Now it’s time to leave things be and move on with your life.

Sincerely,

Henry Hall

Agatha’s husband.

Elsie stared at the letter, not quite comprehending its meaning. She read it again, slowly. Nothing will change. Those words stood out starkly against the cheap paper. Nothing will change. Nothing will change.

The Camdens aren’t coming back.

They wanted her to stop writing. Stop asking. Stop wasting their shillings. She crumpled the letter in her hand. Strode to the unlit fireplace and tossed it in. So what? Had she really expected anything else after all these years? She had friends, here in the stonemasonry shop, and she had the Cowls. Their work mattered. The part she played made a difference.

It was enough, wasn’t it?

Elsie found herself staring out the window for an inordinate amount of time. She struggled to come back to herself, but her thoughts were . . . not there. She was a blank canvas. But that was all right. Better than the dripping paint she’d been the night before.

She needed to busy herself, that was all. It wasn’t as if she lacked for things to do! She had to catch up on her missed work.

So she strode downstairs to the studio, leaving the novel reader forgotten on her bed.



It was only an hour’s ride to Seven Oaks in Kent, but that morning it felt like Elsie rode clear to Liverpool. She’d left at the crack of dawn, right after Ogden had departed for the squire’s home. He’d sounded hopeful about finishing the project soon, which meant Elsie had to sort out just how to balance this mess.

She had made the trip early because she needed a trinket to present to Emmeline tomorrow, for her eighteenth birthday. This was the only time she had to find one. Fortunately, Emmeline was easy to please. Unfortunately, much of Elsie’s funds were being squandered on cab fare.

The driver let her off at the market street, and she thanked him silently with a wave, having already paid his fee. She rubbed her lower back as she walked. The town was awake but only just; not yet crowded, no voices hawking wares. But there were people out and about, setting up and settling in. A few men nodded to her as she passed, and she returned the gesture twice before pinning her hat a little lower. With her luck, the Cowls would send her on another mission to Kent, and someone on the street would recognize her.