The Heartreader's Secret

by Kate McinTyre

  “I… I’m sorry….”

  She waved him off. “Oh, don’t. Bunch of blather. You going to that Festival tonight?”

  Of course, she would be there. And realize that Olivia was a Miller if she didn’t know already. More pieces for her to put together. Gods help them if her intentions for the good doctor were at odds with theirs.

  “Yes,” he said, choosing honesty and omission.

  “Might see you there, then,” Margaret said. “If I don’t get what I came here for by then.” She sighed. “And really, Maerwald’s perky tits know I won’t.”

  As Chris struggled to formulate a reply, Olivia appeared at his side. “Oh,” she chirped. “Good afternoon, Miss McKenna.”

  Margaret grunted at the alias.

  “Miss Margaret was just telling me,” Chris said, deciding that he would leave it to Olivia how to proceed, “that she’s attending the Harvest Festival this evening.”

  Olivia studied the former Maiden with renewed interest. “Taking time out from your mission?” she asked mildly.

  “More like choosing to keep myself entertained while my mission drags its heels on me,” Margaret replied with another roll of her eyes.

  “Mn. Quite. Well, perhaps we’ll see you there.” After touching the brim of her bowler hat in the girl’s direction, she looped her arm with Chris’s and swept him out the door.

  After the dim light, close press, and dizzying whirl of the post office, the outdoors was bright, cold, and almost eerily quiet. Chris shivered and pulled his coat closer as Olivia steered him down the footway in the direction Mabelle had taken the carriage. “What, exactly, were you—”

  Olivia stepped forward, untangling her arm with his. “Why, Mister Norwood!” she cried, sailing forward. “Now, just what are you doing in town?”

  Arthur Norwood and his eyebrows looked down at them from the back of an open hackney. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

  “Didn’t you say something about not wanting to leave your uncle alone today?”

  “Of course, I just—” Norwood blinked. He gaped his mouth a few more times, and then, clearing his throat, slid down from the hack and busied himself handing a wad of notes over to the driver.

  Chris looked at Olivia in askance.

  She raised an eyebrow in return.

  Finally, Norwood turned to them with a tremulous smile fixed on his face. “S-sorry about that, I—you just startled me! I didn’t expect to see anyone from Miller…” He shook his head. “I have to be the one to pick up my uncle’s m-mail, you see. Can’t be seen in town, and all. Even the mail is under a false name! I’m just… here… d-doing that. That’s all.”

  “But of course,” Olivia said, sliding to one side and indicating the post office doors to him.

  As Norwood scurried forward, reaching up to hold his hat down, Olivia watched him go. She shook her head, turning to Chris as the doors shut behind him. “I can’t decide if that fellow is suffering from a nervous disorder in addition to the stutter, or if he’s actually the most suspicious person I’ve met in years.” She sighed. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

  She started off down the road, and Chris hurried after her. When he fell into stride beside her, she looked up at him with a grim smile and produced a small slip of paper. Chris recognized the stamp on the bottom as the seal of the Queen’s Postal Service. “The timeline of this whole affair. It’s terribly inconsistent, isn’t it? Well. I had Jim James—”

  Chris wrinkled his nose. “What a name.”

  “I know, isn’t it? Old friend of my father’s. Dear old man, really. Now, pay attention. I had Mister James pull the postage slip for the letter. You know, the one that Em sent Maris that started this whole bout of madness off to begin with. Now, according to Maris, the letter was postmarked for last Healfday. The day after we saw Emilia at their home in Darrington, and the day Roger Greene died. But the postmark only says the date the letter left this post office, and, as you might recall, Mabelle said that she heard Em had left Miller the night before. Since the post mark is vague, I’ve been having a hell of a time trying to pinpoint the exact time Em left! But this”—she waved the post slip in his face—“this is processed as soon as a letter is registered with the post. As in, the moment it leaves the hand of the writer and comes into a postmaster’s care.”

  Chris nodded slowly. “So we know exactly what time Em sent the letter.”

  “Precisely. And according to this… it was at half past seven in the morning on Healfday.” Olivia’s lips twisted. “According to the police report on Roger Greene… that’s two hours after his time of death.”

  “Then… that means—”

  “It means that Em could very well have fled Miller because of Roger’s suicide. As for what that means… I’m still unsure. But there’s one more thing, and it complicates this even further.”

  Chris tilted his head questioningly, and Olivia fixed him with a smile that was little more than a grimace.

  “Em didn’t send the letter.”

  “I—what?”

  “She wrote it, of course. It’s in her handwriting and used a very in-depth code that Maris herself vouched for. But she didn’t send it. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, our Miss Banks has a very distinct look for this part of the world. But when I asked if there was anything special about the person who registered the letter, James told me that he didn’t remember clearly… but he was quite sure it was a Tarlish girl. Now, he’s a fine man, and three quarters of the way blind, for that matter! But he’s not the sort of fellow who wouldn’t have noticed if a brown woman appeared first thing in the morning to send a letter to Darrington.”

  Chris struggled to make sense of the knowledge. “That’s….”

  “Interesting, if nothing else.” Olivia sighed and looked straight ahead. “Another piece of the puzzle, one way or the other. The real question is whether our courier was friend… or foe.” She shook her head. “Either way… here we are at the veterinarian’s office, Chris. I don’t think I need to tell you to keep this from Miss Greene, now do I?”

  Mabelle Greene sat on a long wooden bench inside the carriage house, but she jumped up as soon as she saw Chris and Olivia enter. Her braided hair was a mess of flyaways, and her hands were tied up in knots of anxiety. “Miss Olivia!” she exclaimed. “Thank Maiden Maerwald you didn’t forget about us!”

  Olivia swept forward, laying a hand on Mabelle’s shoulder. “Now,” she said, her voice mildly recriminating, “didn’t I promise that I’d be present shortly?”

  Miss Greene smiled.

  Chris swallowed and had to look away. The emotions brimming in the young stablemaster’s eyes were deeply familiar, and the new context they’d discovered about Roger Greene’s death complicated his feelings. The day Fernand had died, Chris had wished so badly for there to be any explanation other than that he’d done it to himself. But Olivia’s story about her brother weighed heavily on his mind. The truth of Oliver Faraday’s death had twisted something in his mother forever. Having someone to blame… would that really have been worth someone he loved having been murdered?

  He had no idea what to hope for.

  “Mister Foster!” Miss Greene called. “They’re here!”

  A friendly-countenanced, full-bearded sort of fellow appeared from the side entrance. He held a hat before him respectfully, but still took time to raise a hand and run it down the long neck of one of the horses on his way toward them.

  “Dougal Foster, animal doctor,” he introduced himself, bowing slightly. “Thank you for your patronage, Miss Miller.”

  “That’s Faraday, thank you.” Olivia raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been burning to ask. You’re not a Summergrove native, are you? What’s your story?”

  Mister Foster smiled tightly, settling his hat back onto his head. “Darrington native, myself. It’s not much of a place for whisperers anymore. With the state of things down there, demand for dog massages is way down.”

  Olivia cracked a smile. “I can imagi
ne.”

  “But, on the other side of it, demand for knitters to take care of people is so high that animal doctors are few and far. Hard to justify fixing a spavined horse when humans are dying, especially since humans tend to pay better. We whisperers are the next best thing, and heavy in demand up here in rural places. We can help calm an animal and communicate enough for diagnosis.” He chuckled. “I daresay we’re one of the few groups who’ve found better work since all this started. Though finding customers who can pay is always a challenge….”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to pay.”

  Mister Foster’s smile definitely got a bit wider, at that. Chris found it rather unseemly.

  Olivia took a thoughtful pose, resting an elbow in one hand and tapping against her chin. “Have you been apprised of the situation, though? Using an animal as a witness to a potential crime is quite a bit more complicated than scanning for where it hurts.”

  “I can’t make any promises,” Foster said. Chris couldn’t help but notice how Mabelle Greene stiffened and glanced away, steeling herself against the likely failure. “I can tell you right now, no Tarlish court is going to take my testimony. Or a horse’s.”

  Olivia snorted and then cackled. Foster blinked. Miss Greene closed her eyes tight. Olivia waved one long-fingered hand. “Ah, god, I know. Terribly inappropriate. Blame my especially vivid imagination.” She shook her head as if clearing the image of a horse sitting at a witness stand like the one William had taken at the Livingstone trial. “How about… five tenners for the effort?”

  “I…” Foster sighed and ran a hand over his prodigious beard. “I suppose that will suffice, Miss.”

  “And then, let’s say… five hundred if this actually shakes something out in the investigation and provides some real insight?”

  Foster looked as if he’d just swallowed an entire apple from the orchard. He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, aye, Miss,” he agreed excitedly.

  Miss Greene looked as if she might faint, but she shook herself to full attention and hurried to the horses. She laid her flank on one of the two in front. “Blackjack and Paddington, here, were both stabled when Dad…” She swallowed hard. “When it happened. They were two of his favourites, and they’re the ones who were most spooked for the days after we… after it….”

  “I understand.”

  Miss Greene nodded. She swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and then opened them again. She walked a few steps backwards to indicate the two horses in back. “This is Jackfrost. And in behind there, that’s Rainy Belle. They… their stalls are just outside of… of where Dad…” She shook herself and pushed on. “They’re smart beasts, all of them. Well, Rainy can be an airhead, but Paddy, he makes up for it! If any of them can tell you anything, it’s one of these four.”

  “They won’t be telling me much at all, Mabelle,” Foster reminded her. He looked a bit stricken to be dealing with the grieving daughter one on one. “Wildwhispering isn’t that straight-forward. It’s less of a conversation and more of a—”

  Miss Greene stepped back, looking as if she’d been slapped. “Wh—I know all of that!” she said, and her voice was as sharp as shattered glass. “How many times have I watched while you and Dad—I’ve only been taking care of animals since the day I was born, Dougal!”

  Red-faced, the animal doctor turned his attention to the horses.

  Foster walked to the front of the animals. He chose the one Mabelle had indicated as Blackjack and began murmuring gently to him. The beast pawed at the ground with one massive hoof but lowered his head so that Foster could place his hands on either side of his chestnut nose. The horse snorted loudly, as if in surprise. Foster’s features scrunched up. His lips began to silently move. Blackjack swayed on his feet a bit.

  Chris took a nervous step back. He knew how much a horse weighed. If that beast fell over—with the four-in-hand and the other three attached—all four of them could be well and truly crushed.

  But the horse steadied, and Foster’s features slowly grew more relaxed.

  Time passed in silence.

  Miss Greene fidgeted and twitched. She rolled from the heels to the balls of her feet, tugged at her long, messy braid, rubbed her upper arms like she was cold in spite of the pleasant temperature. Chris could see her almost speak up, almost interrupt whatever communion was going on between man and horse. She was desperate for answers. Gods, did he ever know that feeling.

  When Foster released the horse’s head and stepped back, Mabelle took a half-step forward, pressing a hand on his sleeve. “Well?” she asked.

  Foster smiled. “Let me see what Paddington, Jack, and Rainy have to say first.” His words were as gentle as possible, but Mabelle still looked stricken as she stepped away while the veterinarian moved to the second horse.

  Chris exchanged a glance with Olivia. She raised one eyebrow.

  Paddington snorted and sidled, but didn’t move away from Foster’s outstretched hands. Mabelle’s hands twisted in her braid. Slowly, the horse began to drop its head, its eyes flickering shut. Foster laid his forehead between the horse’s eyes, his beard tickling at its nose. Paddington shook out his blond mane but didn’t pull away.

  Foster slowly disentangled himself from the beast. He murmured to Paddington, stroking his mane and scratching his ears. By the time he stepped away, Mabelle had appeared so miserable Chris couldn’t bear to look in her direction, but somehow, she managed to be silent as he moved on to the next horse, and the next.

  By the time he was finished, Chris was shocked she hadn’t vibrated clear out of her skin.

  “Well?” she demanded. Her voice was shrill. “Did… what did they….?”

  Foster combed his fingers through his beard. Chris couldn’t help but notice that he was shaking. He gave Mabelle a smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s hard to get much of anything from them, girl,” he said gently. “When I ask them about that day, which is long enough ago that their memories are quite confused and scrambled, their emotional state becomes quite distressed. Especially poor Paddy.”

  “That’s not an answer!” Miss Greene insisted, fingers flexing at her sides as she held back from doing something she might regret. “Did they see anything?”

  “They saw your father tie the noose, May,” Foster said, as gently as he could.

  “They wouldn’t have recognized a noose!”

  “They didn’t. They thought it was a lead, that he was going to take them out to the fields. So they were paying especially close attention while he—”

  Miss Greene held up a hand and took a half-step back. “That’s enough.” She swallowed and shook her head. “Oh, Gods. That’s enough, I…” She turned all at once and ran, arms pumping and braid flying behind her, out into the street.

  Olivia sighed. “So much for that,” she murmured. “Well, thank you for trying, Mister Foster. Dead end though it might be, at least know we know that—”

  But when Foster turned to them, his eyes looked haunted. He looked over his shoulder as if terrified someone watched him. Mabelle Greene, Chris realized. Oh, Gods. Foster had learned something from the horses after all. Something he wanted to spare Mabelle from learning.

  He bit back a hysterical bark of laughter. Amazing. He was about to become part of one of the very cover-ups he’d so resented when it had been done to him. Worse, he honestly didn’t know if it was right or wrong to allow himself to be involved.

  Bloody hell.

  “All right,” Olivia said. “Out with it. What lie did you tell that poor girl to give her peace of mind?”

  Foster shook his head. “No lie,” he said, and then sighed. “Just… just an omission. Horses are well attuned to people. They recognize scents and voices, even though they aren’t much good with faces. These old boys knew Roger better than anyone. But… he wasn’t the only one in the stable that morning. Someone else was there. Someone who watched Roger string himself up and die.”

  Chris felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.
/>   Olivia looked as if she felt the same.

  “I… well. Assuming anything comes of this, Mister Foster, that’s… that’s most assuredly worth your bonus royals.”

  “That’s not all,” Foster said. He sighed. “Whoever the hell it was who watched Roger Greene kick himself dead… it wasn’t a stranger. The horses knew them. And if they did, so did Roger.”

  Chris felt as if he’d be sick. He pressed a hand over his mouth. Took deep breaths through his nose.

  Who the hell would watch a man they knew take his own life and do nothing?

  he drive back to Miller was silent and unhappy. Olivia stared into the distance. Mabelle kept her eyes on the road. Chris felt slowly crushed under the weight of the silence, and couldn’t stop trying and failing to come up with things to say. He kept his eyes open for any sight of Rachel or Rosie. He couldn’t help but think that one of them would know how to reach Miss Greene. But the roads were so full of conveyances on their way to Miller for the Festival, Chris didn’t think he’d have managed to pick his sister and her governess out of the crush if they’d been standing on their seats and waving.

  It was pure relief when they finally reached the estate and were able to jump down from the carriage.

  “Thank you for everything, Miss Faraday,” Mabelle murmured.

  Olivia opened her mouth as if she might say more, and then, clearly frustrated, closed it again. “You’re welcome, Mabelle,” she said. “I—I’m not done looking into this yet, rest assured, so if—”

  “What’s the point?” Mabelle shook her head. “Dad’s gone. One way or the other, he’s gone.” She flicked the reins, and the four witnesses trotted off.

  Olivia shook her head, looking quite miserable herself. “Bad business,” she said, shaking her head. “Bloody—awful, really. I hope I never have to investigate something this close to home—literally or otherwise—ever again.” She sighed. “I suppose you think I’m terribly tender-hearted to find myself bothered by poor Roger’s untimely passing.”