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his address if you'd like, and I'll call on him and have him come back tomorrow afternoon before I catch the train."
    He found, surprised, that he meant it. He was too tired to fight with her; he simply wanted to be left alone in his grief for the night, before he had to go back out and face the world. If the promise of running an errand in the morning would keep her from coming to berate him further, then he would give her the promise gladly.
    "Will you please open the door, sir?"
    He rolled his legs off the bed and pressed himself upright. The door came open easily. Mary Geis looked like the most beautiful mess he had ever seen. Her hair was in disarray, and her cheeks were flushed. He wondered if she hadn't been crying, but he thought it better not to ask.
    "What is it that you needed, Miss?"
    "I found something of yours, Mr. Poole, and I thought you should have it."
    "What on earth could you have of mine, Ma'am?"
    She looked up, hurt by his tone, and he immediately regretted it.
    "My father sent you a letter, before…" She trailed off and drew a shaky breath. He didn't ask her to clarify.
    "I received no such letter."
    "No, the postman failed to deliver it, so it was returned, a few days before his death."
    "I see," he said, thinking. What on earth could any of this mean?
    She held out an envelope; he could see that it had been sealed, and that the seal had been popped open.
    "Did you do this?"
    She nodded silently. Her eyes, he saw, were the most beautiful shade of green that he had ever seen. He found himself distracted by them, entranced. It was only with great difficulty that he managed to pull his gaze away from her and back to the letter in his hand.
    He pulled it out and scanned it over. The top was certainly addressed to a Mr. James Poole, Esq. The bottom was signed Thomas Lord Geis.
    Then, confused, he walked back to the bed and sat down to read it more closely.
    'You will wonder,' it began, 'why I thought it appropriate to hire a twenty-four year old steward for a noble house. You would be right to wonder that.'
    Lord Geis went on to answer the question he had posed for himself, and James's eyes widened. He had wanted, he went on to say, someone who had no connections in the legal world. Someone who couldn't be tainted. A stranger in every possible way, and that meant someone who was newly graduated.
    The details had been left out, in wide swaths. The letter referred to "a certain man or group of men," who were planning something "most foul." Lord Geis would inform him of more in person, but he feared that he was already putting himself, and more importantly, James in danger by sending the letter as it was.
    It was postmarked July 10, 1916. James folded the letter back up, and slipped it into the envelope.
    "I was gone, that week. I was out west…in Wales, for the week, seeing my father, and…" He let out an unsteady breath. "If only I'd gotten this letter sooner, I might have… You've read this letter?"
    Mary nodded. She hadn't spoken since she had handed him the envelope, but had waited in the doorway, silently.
    "Mr. Poole." Her voice was soft and shaky. She had been crying, that much was certain, but more than that he realized that she had only barely gotten ahold of herself. She spoke haltingly to maintain what little restraint kept her from falling back into tears. "Does that letter mean…what I think it means?"
    "I think your father knew he was going to die. I think you and I both know that whatever he was involved in, it was dangerous." James flipped open his pocket-watch and looked at the time. It was late; too late to start working for the night. "I think we need to get to work immediately, Miss Geis, on deciphering the puzzle of your father's finances. If he was killed he was killed for a reason, and that is by far the biggest question in the house."
    Mary didn't say anything, and at first he thought he would repeat himself. In the morning, they would need to work, and she would need to help him.