Gather the Bones by Alison Stuart

seeking out the source of the whispering. “I’m not afraid,” she said aloud and held up the book. “Is this what you wanted me to find?”
    The whispering stopped and Helen sat heavily on the edge of her bed and opened the cover of the book.
    To my dearest Suzanna. I hope that this small trifle may be of some use to you. Yr loving husband Robt. was neatly inscribed on the front page in immaculate copperplate.
    Flicking through a couple of pages, she could see this was a journal written in a spidery, hasty scrawl. Apart from the first few entries, the remaining entries appeared to be written in ancient Greek.
    She changed into her nightdress and climbed into bed, opening the book to the first page.
    The first entry was dated December 26 1811:
    Robert has sent me this little book as a token Christmas present. He tells me in his letter how hard it is to find food and shelter for his men, let alone to spend time in searching out trifles for his family. It is Christmas when I miss him the most and I am reminded more painfully than ever I can recall that in our four years of marriage we have spent so little time together. How fervently I prayed in church yesterday that this war would end and he will come home to us.
    January 1, 1812: What a wonderful evening we enjoyed at Wellmore last night. I am quite exhausted. Adrian Scarvell, Robert’s dearest friend, was home on leave, recovering from a wound to his shoulder which he describes as an inconvenience. He says he saw Robert a few months ago and that he was fit and well and talked of me often. How tedious that must be for his audience!
    To my surprise, Lady Morrow was most complimentary about my new green gown and has suggested that we send for an artist from London to paint my likeness as a birthday present for Robert. It will complement the delightful portrait I have of him, looking so dashing in his scarlet jacket.
    Adrian had brought with him some friends, fellow officers of the 6th and they were the life of the party. They insisted on dancing every dance and would not rest until every lady had been obliged. I was conscious that it was not proper for me to dance when my husband was absent but Lady Morrow said she did not disapprove and that I was young and should be allowed to enjoy myself on such an occasion. Modesty aside as none will see these entries but myself, I was by far the most popular dance partner of the evening. Barbara Scarvell was not amused. She was wearing an unbecoming gown of yellow muslin which bared quite a sufficiency of her chest which was not a pretty sight, being somewhat pale and freckly.
    “Really, Suzanna!” Helen said aloud.
    One of Adrian’s friends was most attentive. He was different from others in ways I cannot find the words for. Although an officer, he is on the naval staff in London where he works on matters of great secrecy or so he told me. I have no reason to disbelieve him.
    Tired by the strain of the evening and the difficulty of deciphering the irregular handwriting, Helen set the book down beside the bed and switched off the light. As she began to drift off to sleep, she thought she sensed the rustle of fabric and a faint smell of Lily of the Valley as a woman’s voice whispered in her ear.
    “ Take it to him. He’ll know. ”
     

 
    Chapter 8
     
    Helen stood in her bedroom looking down at the little green book in her hand. She should show it to Paul but it meant braving the library and the gruesome tableau of the night before still burned fresh in her memory. The woman who haunted this room no longer scared her, and in the morning sun she dismissed her notion of changing rooms. She had a strong sense that a message had been sent to her and it was now her responsibility to resolve it. The answer lay in the diary and Paul Morrow with his background in classics was the person to decipher the code.
    Thrusting the book into her cardigan pocket, Helen went down to the kitchen and made tea, setting a tray for two. She carried