ma’am,” she whispered, her cheeks turning bright red. “I didn’t mean to look at your letter.”
“My letter?” She cleared her throat.
Wringing her hands, Belle whispered, “I am sorry I said a word. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
It was a sweet apology. However, it most certainly wasn’t a retraction. “You, um . . . you have been aware that I’ve been receiving letters like this? Threatening letters?”
Belle swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Shock, mixed in with a bit of paranoia, set in. For a split second, Miranda considered the possibility that someone on her staff might very well be behind them. It would be so easy for them to make sure she received them on a regular basis.
But then, as she remembered how hard they all worked, how much they put up with her, with their mistress’s mood swings and self-doubts and, yes, self-loathing, Miranda knew no one who acted like they did could be so duplicitous.
“Belle, when did you first discover them?”
Her maid’s eyes darted around the room. Settling on anything but herself. “Well, ma’am, I don’t rightly know. I couldn’t say for sure.”
“Please, do try to remember. It is important to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Looking truly miserable, Belle swallowed hard.
Miranda knew she needed to get control of her patience. “I promise, I won’t get mad,” she said as gently as she could. “I simply want to know. And it must be said that I feel I deserve an answer.”
“Yes, Mrs. Markham. Yes, you do.” But instead of blurting out the information Miranda had asked for, her maid was chewing on her bottom lip.
With a sigh, Miranda got to her feet. “Belle, I am doing my best not to lose my temper, but I have a feeling that I’m about to lose that battle. Answer my question, if you please.”
At last, Belle visibly steeled her spine and took a fortifying breath. “To be real honest, I don’t recall that single moment when I discovered you were getting those awful letters. It was more like I simply became aware that you were receiving them.”
“Simply aware? That makes no sense.”
“Well, um, it kind of does. Because, you see, we all know about them.”
Miranda didn’t know if she was more shocked, embarrassed, or bemused. She never would have thought that something she had tried so hard to keep hidden would be common knowledge . . . and that her servants were attempting to keep their own secrets too.
However, she could almost hear her well-bred mother’s voice in her ear, reminding her that servants know everything that happens in a house and a good mistress made sure that nothing untoward happened. “We? All?”
Belle shifted uncomfortably, looked down at the soiled towel in her hand, and deposited it on the tea-filled plate. “Well, me, Winnie, Cook, and Emerson know about the letters.”
“All of you do.” She raised her brows. “And not a single one of you decided to speak to me about it?”
“As a matter of fact, a couple of times one of us made that very suggestion, but then the others knocked that idea down. You see, we all kinda figured it would be best if you thought these letters were your secret.”
“Because?”
“Because we all saw how upset they made you,” Belle said. Looking decidedly more uncomfortable, she added, “We thought if you believed no one knew, then you might not worry about them so much.”
All this time she’d been living in fear of Belle or Winifred discovering the letters, fearing that once they saw she was being targeted by a stranger they would finally decide to quit. Every time a letter arrived she would break out into a cold sweat, force herself to read it again and again, and then become so desolate and afraid she’d hide in her room until she could act in a calm and genteel manner.
But it seemed all that hiding had been for nothing. She never expected they would look through the things she threw away.
“I see.” Once again Miranda felt as if she’d stepped into a
“My letter?” She cleared her throat.
Wringing her hands, Belle whispered, “I am sorry I said a word. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
It was a sweet apology. However, it most certainly wasn’t a retraction. “You, um . . . you have been aware that I’ve been receiving letters like this? Threatening letters?”
Belle swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Shock, mixed in with a bit of paranoia, set in. For a split second, Miranda considered the possibility that someone on her staff might very well be behind them. It would be so easy for them to make sure she received them on a regular basis.
But then, as she remembered how hard they all worked, how much they put up with her, with their mistress’s mood swings and self-doubts and, yes, self-loathing, Miranda knew no one who acted like they did could be so duplicitous.
“Belle, when did you first discover them?”
Her maid’s eyes darted around the room. Settling on anything but herself. “Well, ma’am, I don’t rightly know. I couldn’t say for sure.”
“Please, do try to remember. It is important to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Looking truly miserable, Belle swallowed hard.
Miranda knew she needed to get control of her patience. “I promise, I won’t get mad,” she said as gently as she could. “I simply want to know. And it must be said that I feel I deserve an answer.”
“Yes, Mrs. Markham. Yes, you do.” But instead of blurting out the information Miranda had asked for, her maid was chewing on her bottom lip.
With a sigh, Miranda got to her feet. “Belle, I am doing my best not to lose my temper, but I have a feeling that I’m about to lose that battle. Answer my question, if you please.”
At last, Belle visibly steeled her spine and took a fortifying breath. “To be real honest, I don’t recall that single moment when I discovered you were getting those awful letters. It was more like I simply became aware that you were receiving them.”
“Simply aware? That makes no sense.”
“Well, um, it kind of does. Because, you see, we all know about them.”
Miranda didn’t know if she was more shocked, embarrassed, or bemused. She never would have thought that something she had tried so hard to keep hidden would be common knowledge . . . and that her servants were attempting to keep their own secrets too.
However, she could almost hear her well-bred mother’s voice in her ear, reminding her that servants know everything that happens in a house and a good mistress made sure that nothing untoward happened. “We? All?”
Belle shifted uncomfortably, looked down at the soiled towel in her hand, and deposited it on the tea-filled plate. “Well, me, Winnie, Cook, and Emerson know about the letters.”
“All of you do.” She raised her brows. “And not a single one of you decided to speak to me about it?”
“As a matter of fact, a couple of times one of us made that very suggestion, but then the others knocked that idea down. You see, we all kinda figured it would be best if you thought these letters were your secret.”
“Because?”
“Because we all saw how upset they made you,” Belle said. Looking decidedly more uncomfortable, she added, “We thought if you believed no one knew, then you might not worry about them so much.”
All this time she’d been living in fear of Belle or Winifred discovering the letters, fearing that once they saw she was being targeted by a stranger they would finally decide to quit. Every time a letter arrived she would break out into a cold sweat, force herself to read it again and again, and then become so desolate and afraid she’d hide in her room until she could act in a calm and genteel manner.
But it seemed all that hiding had been for nothing. She never expected they would look through the things she threw away.
“I see.” Once again Miranda felt as if she’d stepped into a
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