another story. I definitely don’t want to encounter him in a dark hall. Yet he seems to stay outside. He had another mission last night, and when I think of him striding into the moors with that spade, I shiver, remembering the woman who’d fled the other night, the ghost I’d seen out there, running for her life. There are conclusions I might draw, theories I might devise, but right now, I’m avoiding that.
These are not characters to be crammed into a play of my own imagining. There is a mystery here, one I want to solve, but I need more information. When Freya comes for tea today, I’ll enlist her help.
After that, I’ll see William as we arranged. By five, Mrs. Shaw will be gone, and I’ll make sure Enigma is fed and tired and happy so I can enjoy my evening with William.
I rise from bed only to step on that loose board again. I tell myself I should check in case William has to cancel this evening. Really, I’m just indulging my inner schoolgirl, the equivalent of anxiously checking texts, hoping for some communication from a boy even when there’s no actual need to communicate.
I pry up the board, and at first glance, I see nothing. At a pang of disappointment, I chastise myself. We aren’t children. Not lovers, either. There’s no reason to leave me notes.
I start to lower the board when I spot a small black bag in the shadows. When lifted, it clinks. I frown, jiggling the pouch. More clinking.
I back onto the bed. The bag is black velvet, fastened with a delicate silver cord. I untie that and upend the bag onto the bed, and gold flashes out, winking in the morning sun.
Gold coins.
I sputter a laugh. And I almost crawl back into bed because, clearly, I’m lost in a fantasy where I pull up floorboards to discover pirate treasure. It isn’t seventeenth-century plunder, though. It’s coins, a dozen gold sovereigns from the mid-nineteenth century. They’re the “young head” Queen Victoria style with dates ranging from 1838 to 1850, worth a couple hundred pounds each, possibly more, in this mint condition.
As I set the bag down, it rustles. I reach in to find a note.
Bronwyn,
When you visited today, I tried to ascertain your financial situation. Despite my efforts to be crafty, you were, as always, cautious in your replies. I deduced, however, that you will struggle with the renovations to Thorne Manor.
I told you that I amassed a tidy fortune utilizing your information on the future. What I did not mention was how sorely I needed that windfall. On my father’s death, my mother entrusted her finances to her brother, and after her passing, I discovered how badly he’d mismanaged it.
We were in danger of needing to sell the manor house when I recalled your jokes about using your knowledge as inside information. I invested what we had left on what you showed me of the future. Several of those speculations paid off immensely, and they continue to do so. Your gift of prescience allowed me to become the gentleman of leisure I am today.
Consider this the first well-earned return. Yes, the first. I know better than to fill a bag of gold coins for you. You are already going to balk at accepting this one. We’ll speak more later. For now, I believe this is a reasonable amount that your conscience—and your pride—will accept.
I look forward to seeing you later today.
William
I stare down at the coins. Then I run my hand through them, hearing them clink, the cool metal sliding over my fingers.
As I reread the note, a few tears fall on those coins, but I wipe them away. I won’t accept them, of course. I’m not starving, and it isn’t as if the house is in ruins. I might not be able to fully restore it this summer, but I have enough to keep it livable. That may mean I’ll be bringing a kettle to my school office rather than buying daily cappuccinos at the campus cafe, but that’s a small price to pay for a summer house in the English countryside.
And just as I think that, my arm brushes the bag, and I hear another rustle. I reach in to find a smaller note, tucked in the corner.
By the time you read this, you will have already decided to give me back the coins. You certainly may, but I’ll only return them to their spot, and if you don’t fetch