Page 36 of The Missing Maid
‘Can’t you just tell me?’ Harry asked, but Esme was ushering her across the doorstep.
‘My parents don’t know the truth – it would kill them.’ Her green eyes blurred. ‘Please help my sister, Miss Moss. Time is running out.’
With that, she closed the door, leaving an astonished Harry staring at the plain black paint. She stood there for a moment, Mildred’s letter in her hand, then she turned and walked away. What were the numbers Esme had mentioned? Seven, ten, six, nine, seven. Harry repeated them over and over as she hurried to where she’d left the MG but it was only when she was safely behind the wheel that she unfurled the thin paper and began to scan the words. After several minutes had passed, she took out her notebook and began to scribble furiously.
Dear Mama and Papa, and dearest Esme,
Firstly, please believe that I am quite well and I want for nothing but I am tired. The weather continues wet but also is being sunny at times. I have often watched the floating clouds in the sky; they make me feel less like I have nohope, although the truth is found in my eyes. The clouds float outside, free everywhere. Sometimes the food is better but the porridge takes so very very much longer, but I still try to eat it so that I am not hungry but I am. When you three last visited me you were here and I try to hold on to the memory but it gets harder as more days go by.
You three will doubtless think that I am confused and sometimes I fear you are right although not always completely right for as you, Esme – my heart and my conscience – well know that is not life. But as long as I have you inside me they shall never be able to mean more to me than our dear hearts mean to us all, for nothing could ever kill what you three all mean to me but most especially, my dearest and most beloved sister Esme. I try my hardest to please you all, but there are moments I cannot help even though your endless trust in me is all I need to pray before God and I can only hope that He has it in his heart and He is merciful, as all of you three are merciful too, or it may be just too late.
Your daughter and sister,
Mildred
Harry stared at the deciphered message for another full minute. Then she started the engine of the MG, threw it into a three-point turn and drove towards Abinger Hall as though all the demons of hell pursued her.
13
Harry was somehow surprised and not surprised to find Oliver waiting for her on the steps of the hall when she drew up in the MG. Of course Seb would have blabbed about where she was going, she thought as she climbed out and crunched across the gravel. And of course Oliver would have known why. But she had the perfect defence in her notebook – the desperate message Mildred had encoded in her letter – and she intended to use it before he could attack.
‘I thought we decided you were going to stay out of this,’ Oliver growled the moment she was within earshot.
‘No, you decided that,’ Harry retorted. ‘In the meantime, I’ve been gathering some very interesting information about your client. Do you want to hear it or should I go straight to Scotland Yard?’
For a moment his scowl wavered and Harry supposed his anger at her was doing battle with his desire to do right by Mildred. In the end, he shrugged – a tight little gesture that told Harry his annoyance was only temporarily at bay. She held out Mildred’s letter. ‘Read this.’
To his credit, he didn’t argue. Once he had finished, he looked up, clearly puzzled. ‘Are you sure Mildred wrote this? It doesn’t really make any sense.’
‘That’s because you don’t have the cipher,’ she said, with some satisfaction. She held out her notebook and the message she had decrypted.
‘Esme, I am being watched,’ he read aloud. ‘They have eyes everywhere. The longer I am here, the more I fear for my life. They mean to kill me. Esme, please help me before it is too late.’ Oliver looked up at Harry, his gaze suddenly troubled. ‘When did this arrive?’
‘Last Wednesday. But that’s not all.’
Tersely, she told him about the Longstaffs’ visit from Mrs Jones. He considered the news thoughtfully. ‘There is a movement to improve conditions in prisons but they tend to write long reports and petition Parliament.’
‘Exactly,’ Harry said. ‘They don’t make house calls. I don’t think Mrs Jones was interested in prison reform at all. I think she wanted information.’
‘About Mildred?’
Harry folded her arms. ‘About you. Someone is unhappy that Mildred isn’t as helpless as she seems.’
Oliver eyed the letter again, his expression grim. ‘She’s telling us they have someone inside the prison. If that’s the case?—’
‘Then Mildred’s life really is in danger,’ Harry finished. She fixed him with a meaningful stare. ‘We have to do something, Oliver.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll take this to the police. Maybe they can?—’
‘We can’t leave this to the police any more,’ Harry exploded. ‘They’re too slow. By the time they work out what’s going on it could be too late.’
Oliver threw his hands up in the air. ‘So what do you suggest? We go and stake out the gang’s headquarters, bring the criminals in ourselves?’
Harry stared at him. ‘Well, why not? We know where Dora lives?—’
‘No, we don’t!’ he exclaimed. ‘The police checked the house in Tea Cutter Row and found nothing.’
‘Then they didn’t look properly,’ she snapped. ‘I went there too, remember? I know what I saw.’
