Page 52 of The Cursed Writer
‘Simply splendid, my dear, although there is always so much work to be done.’
Harry smiled, because she had never known her grandmother to be idle, even for a moment. ‘I hope you’ll find time for your family at Christmas,’ she said. ‘I know Mama has several parties planned.’
‘I’m sure she has,’ her grandmother said, her eyes twinkling. ‘But one of the benefits of being old is that one can safely leave partying to the young.’
‘I’m almost jealous,’ Harry said, and it wasn’t altogether a lie.
Her grandmother held out a letter. ‘This came on Wednesday. I thought you might like to read it.’
Curiously, Harry took the sheet of writing paper.
3, Salt Cottages
Arundel
Sussex
19th December 1932
Dear Baroness Abinger,
I am writing to express my sincerest thanks for the help given by you and the Abinger Foundation in finding my new home. I am now settling into the cottage recommended by the charity, and feel hopeful for the first time in many months that my future, and that of my child, may be a happy one.
I would appreciate it if you could also pass on my thanks to Miss Harry White, with whom I believe you are acquainted. She has been kindness personified and I am further indebted to her for the money deposited in my bank account this week. I would be most glad to see her again, if she ever finds herself in Arundel.
Yours sincerely,
Cecily White (Mrs)
Harry was not sure what pleased her the most – the knowledge that Cecily was safe and well and settling into her new life, or the signature at the end that showed she had taken Beth’s suggestion and decided to invent a husband to fend off unwanted questions. The whole matter had turned out mostsatisfactorily, Harry thought as she read the letter again, and she owed some of that to her grandmother. ‘This is excellent news. Thank you for your help in finding her a home.’
The baroness waved her thanks away. ‘It’s no more than the Foundation tries to do for every woman in need. The cottage is on a friend’s estate. She’ll be safe there.’
Harry smiled. ‘I appreciate it.’
Her grandmother smiled. ‘I know you do, dear. And I won’t ask how you came by the money to help this girl relocate.’ She peered over the top of her glasses. ‘I trust it was all above board.’
‘Of course, Grandmama,’ Harry said, relieved she would not have to lie.
‘Good,’ the older woman said, and waved her granddaughter away. ‘Now, run along and I’ll see you at dinner.’
Christmas came and went in a blur of too much food and drink, of presents and cocktails and small talk, and the occasional well-meaning bout of matchmaking by Harry’s mother, which her children bore with good grace. Harry spent a refreshing morning riding one of her aunt’s horses, took Tiggy and Winston for several long walks around the estate, and caught up with the family gossip. Even Rufus, her youngest brother, had been allowed permission to return from exile in Great-Uncle Douglas’s Scottish estate. Harry was glad to observe that his banishment appeared to have done him no harm, although he had learned some colourful new swear words.
She was surprised to be approached by the family butler, Chesterton, just after breakfast on New Year’s Eve. ‘It’s the telephone, Miss Harriet. Mr Fortescue is asking for you.’
Seb let out a low whistle as Harry got her feet and left the dining room, making her grateful more family members had not been present to observe his teasing. She hadn’t talked to Oliver since leaving London, when they had spoken briefly to wish each other affectionate season’s greetings. ‘Oliver?’ she said. ‘It’s Harry. How are you? Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘Never mind that,’ he said, in a tone Harry couldn’t quite decipher. ‘Have you seen theTimesthis morning?’
She frowned. ‘No, we haven’t had the papers yet. Why, what’s wrong? Is it the Morden case?’
There was a brief silence, during which she heard a rustling noise that she assumed came from Oliver rifling through the paper. ‘No, not that. Ah, here it is – Page 34. There’s a letter addressed to Sherlock Holmes.’
Whatever Harry had been expecting Oliver to say, it was not that. ‘Oh! What does it say?’
Oliver cleared his throat. ‘My dear Sherlock Holmes, you are invited to prove your status as the world’s greatest detective by solving an impossible crime. You have seven days. Yours sincerely, Professor James Moriarty.’
Harry laughed. ‘It must be a joke of some kind. It doesn’t say what the crime is, or when it will be committed.’
