Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(8)

“Just a penny stamp.” Elsie set her letter on the desk before her. She smoothed her lace-gloved fingers over the paper. It had been six months since she’d last sent a letter to Juniper Down, and five months since she’d received a response from Agatha Hall. She always wrote to Agatha rather than her husband. Agatha was more kindhearted and quicker to reply. Elsie’s letter was brief, containing many of the same words as her previous missives.

Dear Mrs. Hall,

I hope all is well with the children and your health. I am, of course, inquiring again to learn if anyone has come looking for me, or if anyone bearing the name Camden has passed through? I do greatly appreciate your report. You have my utmost thanks.

Sincerely,

Elsie Camden

Elsie had lost count of the number of letters she had sent west to Juniper Down. She had written more frequently in her younger years, after Ogden hired her and taught her how to read and write. Another reason to be grateful to him. Had she remained in the squire’s employ, she might never have learned to decipher the Cowls’ missives. They’d started to send them a few months before her thirteenth birthday.

Martha handed her the penny stamp, and Elsie carefully placed it on her letter. Memories flooded into her as she looked at Agatha Hall’s name spelled out in her own hand across the envelope. The Halls had offered Elsie’s family shelter that cold winter night. Elsie couldn’t remember where they’d been going, let alone where they’d started, and neither could the Halls. Come morning, her parents and siblings—the Halls confirmed she’d had three siblings, two brothers and a sister—had vanished without a trace. Much like the baron from the Wright sisters’ story. The whole town had banded together to search for them, to no avail.

Of course, the Halls didn’t know Elsie. And they had little money and five children of their own, so after all hope was lost, they’d sent six-year-old Elsie to the workhouse. And she’d stayed there until she was eleven, when it burned down.

That night, her rescuer had hastened her to a simple one-room cabin miles away, hooded the whole time, and left her there with food and blankets and the instruction to stay put and not feel guilty for her part in the fire, but Elsie had stewed about it, especially as the days passed with no word. Four days, to be precise. But she’d been bolstered by hope, good food, and the giddy feeling that someone actually wanted her. Finally, she’d woken up on the fifth day to find a map, a train ticket, and an address pinned to the inside of the front door. She’d followed the directions without complaint, and found herself on Squire Hughes’s doorstep.

Although no one there was expecting her, it turned out they were in need of a new scullery maid, something the Cowls must have known. She’d hated the work almost as much as she hated the squire, so a year later, when Cuthbert Ogden announced he was hiring help, she’d run to him straightaway and begged him to take her on, even promising to work for only food and board.

Fortunately, Ogden had still given her a wage.

Elsie had never told any of them, even Ogden, about the cabin or the fire. She hadn’t wanted to give them a reason to cast her aside.

“Miss?”

Elsie blinked, wrenched back to the moment, and smiled. “Yes, if you would post it.”

She offered the letter, and Martha added it to a small stack. “Nothing for Mr. Ogden today,” she added.

“Just as well. Thank you.”

Perhaps Agatha Hall would finally have news of the family Elsie hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Perhaps desire, guilt, or curiosity had finally driven one of her relations to ask, Whatever happened to Elsie?

Shifting her basket to her other arm, Elsie excused herself silently and stepped back into the sunshine, taking a moment to soak it in until another postal customer forced her to move so he could access the door.

When Elsie got home, Emmeline was scrubbing the floor near the back door, lost somewhere in her thoughts, for she didn’t even look up and beg Elsie to remove her shoes. Elsie did it, anyway, precariously balancing her basket of produce while aiming for dry spots so as not to dampen her stockings.

“Is Ogden in?” she asked upon reaching the stairs.

Emmeline shook her head. “He went out right on your tail. Mr. Parker himself came by for him, wanted his eye on the new stonework for the wall, or something like that.”

Mr. Parker, who worked for the abominable Squire Hughes. Elsie sniffed in disdain. But the squire paid well, which meant Ogden could afford to keep both her and Emmeline on staff.

Elsie would need to man the studio, then. It was usually a boring task, as unlike the post office, a stonemason’s shop was not one people frequented. But her novel reader would keep her company. If she reread it with a scrutinizing eye, she might discover a clue she’d missed the first time.

Hurrying up the steps and down the hallway, Elsie ducked into her room and tossed her hat onto her bed. Her novel reader was tucked away on the small shelf in the corner. As she pulled it free, however, a gray note fell to the floor.

She recognized it instantly, even with the seal facedown.

Although she itched to open it, she crossed the room first to shut and lock the door. That done, she knelt to pick up the folded paper. Turned it over. The symbol of a bird’s footprint overlaying a crescent moon looked back up at her in vivid orange wax.

So soon? she wondered. The notes had been more frequent lately, and more intimate. Left on her bed, under her covers, now on her bookshelf. What if she hadn’t decided to reread the latest installment of The Curse of the Ruby today? Perhaps this mission wasn’t urgent. Perhaps they were watching her more closely than she’d thought.