“We will see you presently,” Ophelia said to Penrose and Dalziel. She clasped the turtle to her chest. “Keep your fingers crossed that this show goes off without a hitch.”
Ophelia was handed down by a footman with yellow livery, a white curly wig, and a stubbly jaw dusted with face powder. Ophelia hooked her arm in Prue’s, with the idea that the faster she got Prue hidden in Miss Stonewall’s guest chamber, the better.
They were just climbing the steps when Ophelia spotted Malbert in the drive, arguing with a footman—or so it seemed—about a traveling trunk.
“We can’t risk Malbert seeing us,” Ophelia whispered.
There was something peculiar about Malbert’s trunk. It was the usual size, with brass girding and a domed lid. However, one side seemed to have . . . airholes. Ophelia could’ve sworn she saw a flash of motion inside.
Malbert glanced in Ophelia’s direction. Ophelia turned her head away and dragged Prue up the steps and inside.
“Do you reckon the little doughball recognized us?” Prue whispered.
“I hope not.”
What did Malbert need airholes in his trunk for? Ophelia didn’t like it. Not one bit.
*
An hour later, Prue found herself sprawled on a divan alone in Miss Stonewall’s guest chamber. Well, almost alone; the turtle paddled in a washbasin on the floor. Ophelia said she wished to set the little feller free in a country pond.
Prue had taken off the mouse-brown wig and fake spectacles, but she still wore the nun’s habit. She reckoned this chamber had never seen a nun’s habit before. Everything was blue velvet, gold paint, and plaster crustings of cherubs and seashells. The furniture was so fancy you could probably live in comfort for years just by pawning off the pieces, one by one.
Prue sighed. The clock on the mantel—gold flowers and enameled bluebirds—said it was headed towards five o’clock. Which meant she had to twiddle her thumbs in here for seven more hours. Seven!
Dalziel was supposed to keep her company, but he hadn’t shown up yet. Ophelia had gone off for her promenade with the Count de Griffe, and Professor Penrose was to chaperone. Prue would’ve paid a quarter to see that. Penrose was just about as in love with Ophelia as a feller could be before he dissolved into a puddle on the floor.
Which reminded her. Prue got up, dug through a writing desk, and found a sheet of paper, pen and ink, and an envelope. In the past few days, she had realized a couple things. For starters, she had realized that Hansel wasn’t exactly doing the right thing by her. He wouldn’t claim her, and he wouldn’t acknowledge her shaky position in life that didn’t allow for waiting around for gents to make up their minds. But he hadn’t set her loose, either.
Dalziel was right; she need someone to take care of her. So Prue was going to tell Hansel to cut dirt.
She dipped the pen into the bottle of ink and began writing.
Dear Hansel,
I have always wanted for a real family, and for so to find real people who wanted me, dearly. My ma is gone, maybe forever, and in late days I did spend some times with a cluster of nuns who were ever so good to me and took me under their wings. I wanted to tell you, Hansel, that everything between us or that I reckoned was between us, well, I am calling it off and you are free. I wont ever be a fine housewife like I fancied I might learn to be for you, I must face it now. But after all is done here tonight I will join a convent, see, and live amid ladys who want me, without making me wonder if it’s true or not.
Sincerely,
Prudence Bright
A couple tears plopped on the page, but they dried quickly. Prue folded the letter and slid it into an envelope. She’d figure a way to send it first thing in the morning.
Then she took Hansel’s letter to her from her bodice, the one she’d carried from Germany and all over Paris, and burned it.