9308-3953

who might –“
“Read it,” Geraldine said.
The order, so plainly stated and thus so unlike its speaker, seemed to stun them all.
Leanna tore at the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper, as thin and yellowed as its sheath,
and, with a small intake of breath, began to read.
My darling. I have no right to call you that or to ask you now for help. I have no right to ask
you for anything at all, as we both well know. But I find myself in a spot of trouble and you’re the
only person I can think to turn to in my hour of need.
It’s Rose, as if you haven’t already guessed. They say I’ve gone and killed her.
“That’s it?” Gwynette said. “It isn’t signed?”
Leanna shook her head. She had gone a little pale.
“How extraordinarily odd,” Hannah said, leaning forward, a frown settling across her
heavy features. “Gone and killed her, he says? The letter must have been delivered here by mistake.”
“I don’t see how,” Leanna said. “We’re the only Rosemoral in all of England.”
“Is there a date?” Geraldine asked. Her voice was so devoid of inflection that it
sounded barely human and Emma looked at her with alarm. Experience had taught her that Geraldine
shrieked and railed over mice caught in traps, oversalted soups, and typhoons swarming countries so
far-flung that most of the citizens of London couldn’t have found them on a map. If Geraldine was
calm, then the situation must be very bad indeed.
Leanna turned over the envelope. “August 9,” she said slowly. “Posted a full week
ago. Do you know the meaning of this, Aunt Gerry? Who might have sent me such a strange letter?”
“No one, darling,” Geraldine said. “That letter is meant for me.”