Page 56 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
Sister Margaret looked up. “Yes?”
The same novice who’d greeted me peeked in. “Excuse me, Sister. There’s a gentleman at the door. He says he’s come to collect Miss Elsie’s belongings.”
Sister Margaret’s mouth flattened into a thin line before she turned to me. “Stay here.”
With swift efficiency, she crossed the room, her nun’s habit swishing lightly as she followed the novice out into the corridor.
I crossed to the half-curtained door that led into the corridor and listened.
“Yes?” came Sister Margaret’s voice.
“I’ve come for the girl’s things,” said a man. His voice was low, edged with threat. “Elsie Leonard. I’m her brother.”
Carefully, I eased the curtain aside just enough to glimpse the visitor.
He stood just inside the vestibule, tall and broad-shouldered, water beading on the shoulders of his charcoal coat. As he removed his hat—black felt, slightly worn at the brim—I noticed a small, out-of-place flourish: a bright red feather tucked into the band. It quivered slightly as he moved.
His face was pale, angular, with a faint scar along one cheek and eyes that flicked restlessly over the entryway. His hair, a dark coppery brown, curled damply at the edges. There was something watchful about him, something tense. A man who told too many lies.
He caught Sister Margaret’s gaze with a veneer of solemnity, but I saw the way his jaw clenched and his fingers flexed—nervous, not grieving. A signet ring flashed on his right pinky as he tucked his glove into his coat pocket.
I didn’t know his name. Not yet. But I knew I wouldn’t forget that face—or the feather in his hat.
After a long pause, Sister Margaret replied, “She had no brother listed.”
“She kept it private. Family shame.”
“I will need proof of kinship. We do not hand over property without documentation.”
“My mother asked me to collect them.”
“Then your mother may write to the abbess.”
Silence. Then a sharp exhale. The door creaked shut again.
Moments later, Sister Margaret returned, her face pale.
“He’s gone,” she said.
“He’ll be back,” I said tightly. “Or someone else will.”
“I believe you’re right.”
I clutched the box for a moment longer, then turned and pressed it into Sister Margaret’s hands. “Please keep this safe. Not with the others. Hide it somewhere no one would think to look.”
Her brows lifted slightly, but she nodded without hesitation. “I’ll see to it myself.”
“Thank you,” I said, already moving for the door. “I have to follow him.”
Sister Margaret blinked. “Alone?”
“There’s no time to fetch anyone else. Please have a message delivered to my sister at Rosehaven House. Tell her I won’t return in time for our at-home. Ask her to send for Lady Edmunds to chaperone. She’ll understand.”
She gave a solemn nod.
“Thank you,” I whispered, already at the door. “Pray I don’t lose him.”
Outside, the man with the red feather in his hat was already half a street ahead, disappearing around the corner of the iron railings. I rushed down the steps and flung open my umbrella to blend with the modest crowd.
