Rosemary Thorne's Arc

Chapter 24 of 24

Rosemary picked up the letter. The dark wax was smooth and unstamped. No crest. No initial. Only a thumbprint pressed into the seal while it was still warm. She turned it over. Her name was written on the front in a hand she did not know. Damien came back inside with the empty apple hand. He saw her face and set the door latch quietly. "Don't open it," he said. "I have to." "Not now. The banns are Sunday. If that's from my father's house, it will say something to make me leave. That's what it's for." "Then we should know what it says." "We should know who sent it first." She put the letter down on the table between them. The three cats came in and settled in a tight cluster on the hearth rug, watching her the way they watched mice. She was grateful for their weight in the room. "The carter," she said. "He brought it up. He'll know who gave it to him." "Go. I'll stay here with it." "You'll stay here and not touch it." "I won't touch it." She took her satchel and went down the path. The carter was at his shed, greasing an axle. He straightened when he saw her. "The letter," she said. "Who gave it to you?" "A rider. Yesterday evening at the crossroads. Southern horse, blown hard. He paid me a shilling to bring it up and not ask." "What did he look like?" "Older. Grey at the temples. Plain coat, good boots. Not a servant. He said the name on the front and I said I knew the house." "Did he give a name?" "He said tell her it's from a friend of the father. Nothing else." She thanked him and walked back with the words tight in her chest. A friend of the father. Not the father. Not the steward she had already turned away. Someone else who had ridden four days without waiting for a reply. Damien was where she had left him. The letter had not moved. The cats had not moved either. "A friend of your father sent it," she said. "Rode ahead of the gnome." His jaw set. "Then it's warning or bribe. Either way it wants me on a horse before Sunday." "I'm opening it." "Rosemary." "If I wait, I'll wait through the banns wondering. That's worse." She broke the seal. The wax cracked clean. She read it once to herself, then again. She set the page flat so he could see. "Your father is already dead," she said. "Six days ago. Before our letter ever left. This man says the estate is yours if you ride south by month's end. If you don't, a cousin takes it and will send men to be sure of you." Damien sat down slowly. One of the cats climbed into his lap. "Sunday first," he said. "Sunday first," she said. "Then we decide about the men."