Ashton Hall by Lauren Belfer

Author:Lauren Belfer [Belfer, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2022-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

Nicky and I sat at the dining table with paper, quill pens, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice spread out before us. I’d arranged several cork-backed placemats on the table to protect it.

“I bet Isabella did this,” he said.

Keeping the discovery to himself, he’d told Janet that he was learning about the Tudors. She’d responded by explaining that Catholics during the Tudor era had used orange-juice ink to communicate with one another in secret. When it dries, orange-juice ink is invisible, and letters written with it appear to be blank pages. The words reappear when a candle flame, or other heat source, is put behind the paper. Janet had learned about this at school and practiced it at home. She’d given Nicky everything necessary for us to try, and he was eager to begin.

A worthy activity to fill our evening, after his successful sleepover.

“I’m going to write a thank-you note in orange-juice ink to Janet,” he said.

“That’s a good idea.”

“What are you going to write?”

“I’m going to write a letter to Christopher, to tell him about your friendship with Janet.”

This brought a smile.

“Maybe we should practice using the quills on scrap paper first,” I said.

“I’m going to start right in. We’ll learn by doing,” he said, quoting his after-school tutor. He dipped the quill in the juice, and I did the same. He began to write, speaking aloud: “Dear Janet, Thank you for inviting me…”

The quill scratched against the paper.

I wrote, Dear Christopher, I’m writing to you with orange-juice ink.

The paper resisted the movement of the quill. Getting the juice down smoothly, without globs, wasn’t easy.

“Too bad we don’t have a strainer,” I said. “It might make things easier. Fewer globs.”

“Those olden-days people probably didn’t have a strainer, either,” Nicky said. “So this makes us more like them.”

“That’s true.”

The angle and shape of the quill forced my hand to make unforeseen turns. No wonder the handwriting in the account ledgers had been difficult to decipher. The quill caused the letters to be shaped in specific ways, although actual ink would no doubt have been easier to use.

“I hope they write us back with orange-juice ink,” Nicky said. “Then we can light a candle or just a lighter to make the words come out.”

Again the memory assaulted me—the fire he’d started in his room with the lighter he’d found in Central Park. I struggled to keep my voice measured. He could hear me better that way, all his therapists agreed. “I hope they write back with orange-juice ink, too. But remember, you must never, ever, use a lighter or light candles on your own to read the letters. Always wait until a grown-up is with you.”

“Do you think I’m stupid or something? Like a fucking baby?”

I didn’t know whether to reprimand him for his swearing or praise him for understanding this critical rule, or both. I let it go, hoping I’d made the point.

“I wish Janet was here,” he said.

“That would be nice.”

“I miss her. We’re going to see each other lots of times before she leaves on her holiday.

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