Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,9

dined with them. It wasn’t a visitor that had her pulling out the china, then. Curious.

The post office sat just past the row of terraced housing, its location indicated by the tidy storefront attached to Mr. Green’s home, one of the larger buildings in town. He certainly did well for himself, delivering post and telegrams day in and day out.

Elsie stepped in just as a fellow stepped out. She nodded to him when he held the door. One of Mr. Green’s employees, Martha Morgan, manned the front desk today, and she smiled as Elsie approached, and one of the post dogs—animals trained by spiritual aspectors to deliver letters and packages—wagged its tail behind the desk. The thumping almost hid the light buzz of the spells at work beneath its fur.

“Just a penny stamp.” Elsie set her letter on the desk before her. She smoothed her lace-gloved fingers over the paper. It had been six months since she’d last sent a letter to Juniper Down, and five months since she’d received a response from Agatha Hall. She always wrote to Agatha rather than her husband. Agatha was more kindhearted and quicker to reply. Elsie’s letter was brief, containing many of the same words as her previous missives.

Dear Mrs. Hall,

I hope all is well with the children and your health. I am, of course, inquiring again to learn if anyone has come looking for me, or if anyone bearing the name Camden has passed through? I do greatly appreciate your report. You have my utmost thanks.

Sincerely,

Elsie Camden

Elsie had lost count of the number of letters she had sent west to Juniper Down. She had written more frequently in her younger years, after Ogden hired her and taught her how to read and write. Another reason to be grateful to him. Had she remained in the squire’s employ, she might never have learned to decipher the Cowls’ missives. They’d started to send them a few months before her thirteenth birthday.

Martha handed her the penny stamp, and Elsie carefully placed it on her letter. Memories flooded into her as she looked at Agatha Hall’s name spelled out in her own hand across the envelope. The Halls had offered Elsie’s family shelter that cold winter night. Elsie couldn’t remember where they’d been going, let alone where they’d started, and neither could the Halls. Come morning, her parents and siblings—the Halls confirmed she’d had three siblings, two brothers and a sister—had vanished without a trace. Much like the baron from the Wright sisters’ story. The whole town had banded together to search for them, to no avail.

Of course, the Halls didn’t know Elsie. And they had little money and five children of their own, so after all hope was lost, they’d sent six-year-old Elsie to the workhouse. And she’d stayed there until she was eleven, when it burned down.

That night, her rescuer had hastened her to a simple one-room cabin miles away, hooded the whole time, and left her there with food and blankets and the instruction to stay put and not feel guilty for her part in the fire, but Elsie had stewed about it, especially as the days passed with no word. Four days, to be precise. But she’d been bolstered by hope, good food, and the giddy feeling that someone actually wanted her. Finally, she’d woken up on the fifth day to find a map, a train ticket, and an address pinned to the inside of the front door. She’d followed the directions without complaint, and found herself on Squire Hughes’s doorstep.

Although no one there was expecting her, it turned out they were in need of a new scullery maid, something the Cowls must have known. She’d hated the work almost as much as she hated the squire, so a year later, when Cuthbert Ogden announced he was hiring help, she’d run to him straightaway and begged him to take her on, even promising to work for only food and board.

Fortunately, Ogden had still given her a wage.

Elsie had never told any of them, even Ogden, about the cabin or the fire. She hadn’t wanted to give them a reason to cast her aside.

“Miss?”

Elsie blinked, wrenched back to the moment, and smiled. “Yes, if you would post it.”

She offered the letter, and Martha added it to a small stack. “Nothing for Mr. Ogden today,” she added.

“Just as well. Thank you.”

Perhaps Agatha Hall would finally have news of the family Elsie hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Perhaps desire, guilt, or curiosity had finally driven