There’s nothing I can do until they’re done. Yet today I’m tasked with servant’s chores. I’m speculating, but I’m on the trail of the truth. Quinn didn’t see his brother die otherwise Will surely would’ve given him my locket. Will’s end must have been so wretched that Quinn had to pretend he fell in battle. What sort of raging monster had Will become in the end? What does Quinn intend to protect in his silences and lies? I yank so hard at my bootlaces that my feet feel the pinch as I hasten down the back stairs to the kitchen.įor of course Quinn is protecting his brother. His last days were not as I’d imagined, cut down in the heat of battle. In bold daylight I am better able to register that Will’s last letter is in fact a confession. I can almost feel the ache and fatigue in his words, so different from the determined cheerfulness of his other letters. The ink is blotted, the handwriting looks weak. It had been all I wanted to do after last night’s revelations the arrow marked in a wreath of irises that had led me to Will’s scrap of letter.īefore I dash to rescue my meal, I open my scrapbook again and rub my fingers against the stained paper. It will be impossible to get to Geist today. You better claim it before she gives it to Lotty.” “Missus Sullivan’s holding your breakfast. Does Quinn want me gone? With a new pair of boots for the journey out? He’ll set things right,” I say, though new doubts shake awake in my head.
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