Read Secret Letters for Free Online Page B

fictitious friend, or requested a shopping or a library trip, but Adelaide would certainly have insisted on accompanying me. At my “tender” age, even a brief stroll across the street was considered improper, and a visit to an unmarried gentleman’s quarters (even to retrieve a missing handbag) was quite unthinkable. Disobeying my cousin was wrong, of course, but I would be returning to the country the following morning, and I would have the remainder of a dreary lifetime to atone for my behavior. So I waited until Adelaide went out to pay a call, and several minutes later I quietly scurried out the servants’ entrance.
    “Hunt’s registry office,” I told the cabbie, and moments later I was off on my own private investigation. It would likely end in nothing and I knew it, for the task was difficult enough without the added handicap of my gender. I had no freedom to explore my findings, and even if I discovered something, I would be forced to hand the details over to our male protectors. But I could begin, at least; I could begin what I could not finish. And I might see Peter Cartwright one last time and show him that angering adults was not my only talent. The servants agency was located in the heart of Marylebone with two adjoining offices functioning as the male and female branches of the organization. A solemn old gentleman presided over the men’s department, and three middle-aged ladies acted as the agent’s scribes. On the desk in front of them lay several oversized ledgers that contained the names and references of prospective servants and employers. I approached the lady in the center and stated my cousin’s name and town address.
    “I was wondering if you could help me,” I began sweetly. “You see, our footman, Thomas Dyer, recently left our service rather unexpectedly, and we never had a chance to settle our accounts. He is still owed his quarter’s wages, and I was hoping that you had his information in your records. He was referred to us through your agency while we were in London, and I thought perhaps he might have put his name back on your lists. It would have been less than a fortnight ago. I hoped you might remember him. He was a very tall gentleman, freckled skin, bright red hair.”
    The woman shrugged and began to leaf through her giant notebook. “Dyer,” she murmured. “We have a Drewer here, and a Dyner, but I do not see a Thomas Dyer. I’m very sorry.”
    And so ended my brilliant spree as a detective.
    I sighed, and began to walk away.
    “One moment, miss!” cried her assistant. “Did he speak with a little lisp?”
    I turned about to face her. “Why, yes, he did!”
    “Oh, I remember him! He was in here just over a week ago. But I never wrote his name down because he wasn’t looking for a place at all. Don’t you remember, Annie?” Her companion shook her head wearily and shut her book. “Well, it was a bit unusual, so maybe that’s why I remember. We don’t usually have people in here searching for old friends,” the girl continued. “But that’s what he was after. He was looking for another servant who had registered with us.”
    “Do you remember the servant’s name?”
    “Oh, I forget—it started with an ‘F.’ Just a moment, please—” She turned the pages to the spot and read the entry out. “There, you see, I marked it. James Farringdon. Took a place as a valet at Hartfield Hall, six months ago.”
    The other lady nodded. “Now him I remember very well. Handsome as the devil, and proud of it, too. He was a strange one, certainly.”
    “Why was that?”
    “James? Well, we simply could not work with him. He turned down several of our suggestions because they were not noble enough for him and then finally came in here to let us know that he had found the perfect place. And yet a week earlier, he had been offered a better spot, as first footman in a viscount’s home, and he had refused it. There’s no accounting for the whims of these