The Last Word by Samantha Hastings

Author:Samantha Hastings
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

Twelve

THE GASLIGHT FIXTURES MADE LONG shadows all over the room as Lucinda dipped the pen in the ink bottle and then began writing the thirtieth, nearly identical, letter:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Porter,

I believe you stayed at No. 15 Laura Place sometime between the months of January and March earlier this year. Mrs. B. Smith, deceased author of She Knew She Was Right, was also a guest of the boardinghouse at that time. Did you, by chance, meet her? Or do you have any pertinent information about her family or know the direction of her permanent residence? Or where she was buried?

I am trying to locate whoever is in possession of her final papers. Thank you for your time and assistance in this matter.

Yours sincerely,

L. Leavitt

London

Lucinda sprinkled a little sand on the paper to help dry the ink and then blew it off. She folded the letter, carefully poured a little sealing wax on the pointed edge, then pressed the Leavitt seal to close it. It took several minutes for the sealing wax to harden before she turned the letter over and wrote the direction for Mr. and Mrs. Porter residing in Kent, then placed it on top of her stack of letters to take to the penny post.

Lucinda picked up her pen and carefully put a checkmark next to the Porters’ names. There was only one pair of boarders left: Mrs. Burntwood and her personal companion. She picked up yet another piece of paper and began writing, “Dear Mrs. Burntwood…”

Once finished, Lucinda placed the very last letter on the top of the precariously tall stack with satisfaction, then picked up the bell and rang for the butler. Mr. Ruffles arrived in the sitting room in less than a minute.

Lucinda gathered up her letters and handed them to him. “Please see that these go out first thing in the morning, Ruffles.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda said, then added, “Has my father come home yet?”

“Yes, miss,” Mr. Ruffles replied. “He’s in his study.”

She nodded and waited for him to leave the room before chewing on her thumbnail. Was now the right time to talk to him?

“Lucinda, dear,” Mrs. Patton said in a singsong voice. “A lady never bites her fingernails.”

Lucinda took her thumbnail out of her mouth. “Thank you for the reminder, Mrs. Patton. I am going to speak to my father about an important matter.”

Mrs. Patton sighed and set down her embroidery. “Lucinda, your father is a very busy man, and it isn’t ladylike for one to put themselves forward.” She patted the seat next to her. “Why don’t you come help me with my embroidery, dear girl? You have such neat little stitches.”

Lucinda shook her head. “I am afraid the gas lamp does not give off enough light,” she said, feigning a yawn. “And I am so tired.”

“Go to bed, dear girl,” Mrs. Patton said. She pointed her needle at Lucinda as she said in the same singsong voice, “A lady needs her beauty rest.”

Lucinda pursed her lips and nodded as she stood.

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