The Stolen Letter

by Paige Shelton

  “Henry,” Mary said as she stepped next to him and put her hand on his arm. “You’re behaving inappropriately.”

  “I’m…” Henry blinked at Mary and then looked at me, letting go of my arms. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Nichols. That was inappropriate. I was struck by your resemblance to…”

  “His wife,” Mary said conclusively. She cleared her throat.

  “You both look so much like the queen. Are you aware of that?” Henry asked.

  “That has come to my attention,” I said, finding his overbite and friendly smile very charming.

  “Henry, I told you I met Delaney and Rosie today, at that wonderful bookshop. I told you Delaney and I looked alike. We discussed it, as well as our resemblance to the queen.”

  “Love, you didn’t say the two of you looked so much alike it was uncanny. You used the word ‘resemblance.’”

  “All right,” Mary said as she hooked her arm through his. “We do look alike. Although,” she glanced around at the rest of us, “I’m afraid I’ve ruined poor Henry seeing the queen for what she truly might have looked like. To him, I am she. Perhaps, it’s because in his eyes I am his only queen.”

  Henry was struggling. Thoughts he wasn’t vocalizing were filling his eyes with something that, to me, looked like emotional pain. Was our resemblance really that bothersome to him or was something else going on?

  His wife’s words finally filtered through and he looked at Mary and smiled, but the odd sparkle of emotional disruption didn’t leave his eyes. “That is ever so true, my dear, ever so true.”

  Now, a speck of sadness lined his words and I inspected his face more closely. I was probably trying too hard to understand something I might be imagining, but I couldn’t ignore it.

  “Well then,” Henry said. “Because our house is a bit strange, we have our family room, dining room, and kitchen up on the next floor. Shall we go up?”

  “We shall!” Mary said.

  Mary gathered the whisky, flowers, as well as Henry’s pipe and followed the rest of us up. The second level was more about comfort than castle. And it was the place where the others waited.

  Four people were there, standing as if they’d been posed. That’s what it felt like, as if the scene had been choreographed. One woman, probably in her sixties or so, lounged on a big-pillowed sofa. With pleasantly round features and short, gray hair cut severely at her jawline, she held a cigarette holder that didn’t have a cigarette in it. Her long silk dress added to Henry’s and Mary’s flowing clothing, and I wondered if pajamas were the costume of the evening. But the other three changed my mind.

  A man and woman who appeared to be close to my and Tom’s ages sat next to each other on stools this side of a kitchen island. They turned with matching poses—their hands on their thighs—and smiled at us. They were both dressed casually in jeans and sweaters—almost matching, but not quite. The woman’s red sweater also had some sort of blue design woven through, but the man’s was just red. The man looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place how I knew him.

  Probably in their thirties, the man’s long face was topped off with a very short haircut. There was no sign of a beard over his pale skin, making his blue eyes extra-bright. The woman’s brown curls fell to her shoulders, but there wasn’t any frizz in sight. I wondered about her hair products and made a mental note to ask her later if the moment presented itself. Her smile and blue eyes were less electric than the man she sat next to, but they drew me in a little more.

  The fourth person, a woman, also probably in her sixties, stood closest to the landing. She inspected us, one hand on her hip, a scowl pulling her features into a deep frown. She wore jeans and a denim shirt, and might have decided not to like us. At least that’s what her scrutiny felt like. Her gray hair was drawn back in a tight bun and her glasses were so thick that her eyes seemed to almost disappear behind the lenses.

  “Let me introduce everyone,” Mary said. She nodded toward the woman on the couch. “This is Eloise Hansen, a friend from forever.” Eloise nodded and Mary turned to the woman who appeared not to like us. “And Gretchen Lovell. Gretchen and Eloise are a couple.” Mary looked at us as if to gauge our reaction. It didn’t seem necessary for any of us to mention that same-sex couples were or weren’t novelties in our lives, so Mary continued, “Dina,” she looked at the woman on the stool, “is my niece. Mikey is her husband, but there are days we like him so much more than we do Dina.” She smiled at the couple, who took the teasing with their own smiles and mini eye rolls.

  “It’s nice tae meet all of ye,” Rosie said.

  Tom and I said the same, but I added, “Mikey, have we met?”

  “Not that I recall, and considering how much you look like Mary, I think I would remember,” Mikey said.

  He reminded me a little of my friend Joshua, who worked at the history museum, but Mikey didn’t wear glasses.

  “The rain?” I said, somehow remembering him in a bright yellow raincoat, but unable to place where the storm had been. I was sure I’d seen those striking blue eyes before. “It was raining when we met.”

  “I’m sorry. I truly don’t remember,” Mikey said.

  I decided it must be his resemblance to Joshua. Once the greetings were over, I took a better look around the cozy space.

  The floor up here was once again made of cold stone or concrete, but was covered with even more throw rugs. The couch and chairs, including the dining chairs were all cushioned and inviting. The large space held all three rooms, divided by the long kitchen island. The kitchen wasn’t modern, but adorned with old-fashioned appliances—not old-fashioned enough to be considered from the queen’s lifetime though. In fact, I realized that the kitchen appliances weren’t, in fact, old things, but new things made to look old. Retro.

  I immediately loved it—the atmosphere and time-warped sense of place—but no matter the décor, it was still cool up here.

  Both the temperature as well as the atmosphere. I tried to hide a shiver with a smile, but Rosie saw me. Furtively, she raised an eyebrow my direction. I nodded that I was okay. She nodded. She’d keyed in on the ambiance too. There was a distinct bump in the air, as if we’d either interrupted something we shouldn’t have known about or something that was about us.

  No one here really knew us, so I decided we must have interrupted a personal discussion. Maybe they didn’t like new people joining their dinner parties.

  Then I realized that Rosie was in her element. She wasn’t one to jump in on other adventures I’d had, but this one had her full attention and she was intrigued and curious and didn’t mind the icy atmosphere. I hoped it would be a fun evening for her.

  “Sorry to be so abrupt, but dinner is already ready, so please take a seat, everyone. We’ll eat and make merry and get to know each other over some of the best food you have ever consumed,” Henry said.

  With the ease of a comfortable host, Mary directed everyone where to sit. Rosie was on one end of the long table. Tom, Mary, and I sat on one side. Henry sat at the other end, in the chair closest to the kitchen. And the other two couples filled in the other side. The table was so long that we weren’t crowded, and Henry used a corner of it to set down dishes as he served. He was both the cook and the wait staff, as it were. Mary didn’t offer to assist him. None of us did, though I felt like we should. Rosie picked up on that too and then shook her head once. Maybe Henry just liked to do it this way. He was in his element too.

  “Soup to begin,” Henry said as he carried a large pot and ladle toward the table. He ladled, and we passed the bowls down and around.

  “Delaney, it is uncanny how much you look like my aunt,” Dina said as she picked up her soup spoon. “I mean, you two both have the same hair even, frizz and all.”

  “Dina,” Mary said.

  “I noticed the hair too,” I said hurriedly. I’d still wait to ask her about hers. Being offended by my frizz or the mention of it would make for a long life of offense. It wasn’t worth the time. “It’s even uncannier
that we ran into each other. Well, I ran into her.”

  “Must have been meant to be,” Mikey said.

  I realized they were all staring at me. I felt my cheeks heat, but it was more just a reaction than embarrassment. I shouldn’t have expected anything different. They’d get over it eventually. I smiled at each of them.

  “I saw the secretary downstairs,” I said to Dina. “It’s beautiful.”

  Dina smiled. “It is, isn’t it? I have an antique shop and I know my desks. The one downstairs was surely around back in the queen’s day.”

  “Really?” I said. “That’s…” I had much more I wanted to say to Dina, but Eloise jumped in.

  “Are you sure you’re not related?” she asked.

  “I haven’t done much genealogy, but I grew up in Kansas in America. I don’t know of any connection, but I’ve thought about it since meeting Mary today. Is there some crossover in our family trees? I don’t know,” I said.

  “Do you remember your past lives?” Gretchen asked. Her tone friendly, which was a contrast to the stink eye she’d been giving us.

  “I don’t remember any past lives,” I said.

  “Are you a believer?” Eloise asked, her tone also friendly.

  “I’m not a nonbeliever,” I said, having come up with that line after my recent run in with the Loch Ness legend. I’d become not a nonbeliever, but that was the best I could do.

  “I see,” Eloise said as she and Gretchen shared a “told you so” look.

  I dipped my spoon into the soup. I didn’t want to offend anyone and their beliefs, but I also didn’t want someone to bring out a Ouija Board or call on some old spirits for a séance.

  However, Rosie had other plans. “Och, how could ye not believe? Have ye never had a moment, a déjà vu that was so much more than a déjà vu?”

  “I have had déjà vus, but they’ve never felt like a past life sneaking in,” I said honestly. I didn’t want to offend Rosie either.

  “Tell us about your past lives,” Mary said to Rosie.

  Rosie swallowed a spoonful of soup. “Delicious,” she said as she patted her napkin on the corners of her mouth. “I dinnae have any clear recollections anymore, but when I was a wee-un, I would tell my dear mother, may she rest, about my time on the Titanic. I’m sure one of my past lives was lost during that awful tragedy.”

  “Really?” Henry stood and made his way back to the kitchen. He grabbed a loaf of sourdough. “Sorry, friends, I forgot the bread. Tell us more about the Titanic, Rosie.”

  I wanted to say the same, but I just looked at her, wondering if she was sharing a true story or something she’d made up to get Mary to talk more about the queen.

  Rosie nodded. “As a wee-un, I would talk about things that no bairn would ken. Mother and Da never talked about the Titanic, so they thought it was odd. But mother was intrigued by my ramblings, and she asked me tae sketch things I remembered.”

  The entire table was enthralled. Rosie managed another spoonful of soup, giving dramatic pause as we waited. After she took a piece of bread from the basket, she continued.

  “I sketched some dishes, and I sketched some cabin details. Back then, we lived oot in the country, my mother didnae have a way to research those details, but she kept the sketches and years later, she found pictures.” Rosie shrugged. “My sketches were spot-on.”

  “I believe you,” Gretchen said and pushed up her thick glasses.

  “The Titanic tragedy was in the early 1900s, aye?” Tom said.

  “Aye, and I drew the sketches when I was a child, and I ken what ye’re going tae say—that I could have seen pictures or something. Anything is possible, but Mother was certain there was no way.”

  Tom nodded. He probably wondered the same thing I did; was this real?

  “Aye,” Gretchen said before she looked at Tom. “Anything is possible.”

  “And it’s more than possible that Rosie was there, on that sinking ship,” Eloise said as she smiled at my coworker.

  Tom smiled and nodded too. “I would never doubt anything Rosie said. Never. I wonder though if there was a possibility that … well, that something happened in your life that gave you the opportunity to be … influenced.”

  “I used tae wonder about that,” Rosie said. “But it was all so long ago. I remember making the sketches, but I dinnae remember their inspiration. I haven’t thought aboot it for a long time. When Mary came in today, I wondered again. Some of it came back tae me. I can’t tell ye, Tom. I have no idea. All I ken is what it was—a strange thing that seemed verra real at the time.”

  Tom smiled at Rosie. “If it was real tae you, it was real. I have no doubt.”

  “Aye,” Rosie said.

  “Henry, this honey butter!” Dina said. “It’s to die for.”

  “Thank you,” Henry said, but I saw him eye a bowl of jam he’d put on the table too.

  I reached for the jam and spooned some on my bread as the others continued to talk about the Titanic. No one had tried the jam yet, but I could tell Henry wanted someone to.

  “Delicious,” I said after I took a bite.

  Henry smiled knowingly and leaned toward me. “Ta, lass. I made it myself just this afternoon.”

  And then he smiled sadly at me. The moment stretched too long, and I even thought I saw tears come to his eyes. I smiled at him, hopefully inviting him to tell me what might be bothering him, if that’s what I was picking up on. My cheeks reddened again, but I didn’t break the moment. However, Henry did. He pushed his chair back from the table. He stood, but before he turned to head back to the kitchen, he looked at Mikey.

  In a few brief beats I witnessed a silent exchange between the two of them. Mikey was looking at his wife’s uncle with what seemed like irritation, or maybe anger. Henry stared at Mikey a long moment, but without a smile. In fact, I was surprised there were no heated words exchanged. Henry broke that stare too and hurried to the kitchen.

  I blinked at the quick exchange, even more curious about what might be causing the problem but knowing it was none of my business.

  I turned to Mary as a lull hit the Titanic conversation. “You said you have proof of your past life as Mary, Queen of Scots. I’d love to see it.”

  “Oh, no, Aunt Mary, you didn’t say it was proof, did you?” Dina said.

  “I did. And it is. At least I believe it is.”

  Henry came back to the table with the most un-Scottish pot roast, potatoes, and carrots I’d ever seen. It was just like a Kansas dinner.

  “Oh, I have no doubt that it is proof,” Henry said. “There’s no doubt in my mind that my wife was once Mary, Queen of Scots, though. I don’t need any extra proof.”

  “I’d love to see it,” I repeated.

  “Me too!” Rosie added. That was the whole reason she’d come tonight, the whole reason for the purple skirt probably.

  “And I will show it to you all after dinner,” Mary said.

  “Ah, that’s the dessert!” Rosie said with a smile.

  “No, no. Dessert will be even more to die for than the honey butter,” Henry said. “Mary will be the cherry on top, like she always is.” He lifted his wineglass toward his wife.

  The rest of us did the same as everyone chimed in with “To Mary.”

  “Your highness,” Henry said.

  And, in the most regal of ways, Mary Stewart gave us all a slightly tilted nod. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d lifted her hand and gave a royal wave too, but she didn’t.

  “Oh, boy,” Tom muttered so quietly that I was the only one who heard him. I hope.

  SIX

  Dessert was most definitely to die for. A strawberry and banana trifle, Henry had not only included a sponge cake in the delicious mix, but he’d also stirred in bits of a shortbread he’d baked himself. It was the most Scottish part of the meal, excluding the shots of whisky that were served with the trifle. Rosie’s whisky.

  Henry’s shortbread couldn’t compete with Rosie’s—I secretly made sure she knew t
hat—but the whipped cream he’d whipped himself was unlike anything I’d ever tasted.

  “What is that extra flavor in there?” I asked after I’d swooned.

  “I’ll never tell, but it’s something you wouldn’t expect,” Henry said. “Tell you what, think about it. If you don’t come up with it by our next meeting, I will happily share the recipe.”

  “Goodness,” Mary said. “You must be special, Delaney. Henry never tells anyone his secrets.”

  “I’m honored,” I said.

  “I think he’s having a hard time telling the two of you apart,” Gretchen shook her head. “Do you two realize that you have some of the same mannerisms too? Mary moves her hands more than Delaney, but you both have the same sort of tilt to your chins. I’ve been trying not to stare too much, but you’ll have to forgive me if I do. It’s bizarre.”

  Mary and I looked at each other. She was probably thinking the same thing I was. Did we want to become self-conscious that way?

  Mary came to the same conclusion I did. “Oh, don’t point out those things, or we’ll be avoiding them the rest of the evening. It will all become awkward.”

  “Henry, what do you do?” Tom asked.

  Henry took a long moment. He seemed to chew his dessert longer than necessary as he formulated an answer. “I’m mostly retired.”

  “Mostly?” Tom asked.

  “Yes, it’s too long a story to tell, and not very interesting,” he said. “I used to be in banking, but that’s all so boring.”

  “What do you do, Tom?” Dina asked.

  Tom explained he was the owner of the smallest pub in Scotland, the one located in Grassmarket. Every person there had been inside it at one time or another and seemed excited that they now knew the owner. I suspected Tom would be seeing them all again soon.

  Eloise was a doctor, and Gretchen an artist, a sculptor, specializing in African wildlife. We’d been invited to tour her studio and I was excited about the prospect.

  But the most interesting of the group, in my opinion, were Mikey and Dina. I finally learned that Dina’s antique shop was in Cowgate, her place full of old things that she restored and sold. She and I had more in common than I would point out until we got to know each other much better. Later I would realize that we never did talk about Mikey’s job, because Dina’s was so interesting.