A vanity table sat before them. It was covered in ash, but seemed to have been preserved, protected here in the midst of the destruction around them. On top of it was the music box Hannah had found. She carefully brushed ash and rock off the top before picking it up, blowing additional dust off of it as she tried the clasp.
To Edmund’s surprise, it sprang open.
As one, they leaned forward overtop of it, and then shared a meaningful look at the discovery within.
“It’s the letters,” Hannah whispered, as though they had uncovered a secret for just the two of them. “The answering letters.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, not wanting her to raise her hopes. It was true, there was a packet of papers within, wrapped in a ribbon matching those they had found in the manor, but that they could be the matching correspondences…
“I’ll take this back with us,” she said, reaching for the box.
Edmund shook his head. “We should leave it.” But at his words, a piece of the ruins fell outside of the door, and he reconsidered. “Never mind,” he said, a chill running down his spine – and he thought he had become rather accustomed to spirits. “We’ll take it all.”
She nodded in agreement, lifting the box as he took her arm and led her out of the small room and down to the grass below them.
“What do you think the letters were doing there?” Hannah asked, and Edmund shook his head wordlessly, having no idea.
“I had always assumed…” he trailed off, not wanting to speak ill of the dead.
“What is it?” she implored him and he sighed before continuing.
“I had always assumed by the fact that she died there, that it was where Isabel and my great-uncle would meet one another. Maybe she arrived first one night, or he never came, and she ended up alone. I’m not sure if we shall ever know.”
“It’s so sad,” she said with melancholy, and he looked down at her and the wistfulness in her face as she gazed out toward Hollingswood, which loomed before them. “I just wish…”
“What?”
“I wish there could have been a way for them to be together,” she continued. “That there was a happy ending, and it all didn’t end so tragically.”
“That’s life for you,” he said dryly, and he could tell from her expression that she wished he didn’t think such a way, but this was who he was – and nothing was going to change it.
She turned the letters around between her hands, and he could tell how desperately she wanted to open them.
“Would you like to read them together?” he asked reluctantly. The truth was, he was unsure that he wanted to know the ending of the mystery of his great-uncle. For Hannah was right, it was tragic, and he had seen enough unhappiness in his time.
“I would like that very much,” she said, and he knew he could never go against her wishes.
He nodded, told her they would read them after dinner, and then disappeared inside and to his own rooms.
Chapter 8
“Hannah,” Edmund said as they sat down to eat, each of them accepting a glass of red wine from Mrs. Ackerman, “there is something we must discuss.”
“Very well,” she said with some trepidation at the seriousness in his tone. The truth was, she was finding it difficult to build up an appetite, for her stomach was swirling with anticipation over the letters. That, and Edmund himself. After their kisses and her realization about who he was, she wondered if there would now be more between them. Should she expect him to come to her tonight? What would she do if he did?
She would accept his touch with the same vigor she did his kisses, she knew. She had drowned within them as though she was a lead weight sinking into him.
Realizing he was staring at her expectantly, she finally returned his statement.
“Yes?”
“You cannot return to the ruins alone again.”
“Why?” she asked, narrowing her gaze at him, not appreciating his commanding tone.
“You could have been killed!” he said, his tone harsh as he stared at her, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight, which flickered against the scars of his face.
“But I wasn’t,” she argued, though that didn’t seem to be a solid enough response for him.
“Promise me,” he said, his voice gruff, and she fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest.