HE above anonymous communication was written in block letters on a piece of plain cream-laid note-paper, but the envelope was addressed in what was obviously a disguised handwriting.
Now there is generally something both disturbing and alarming in the receipt of an anonymous letter. But the Duchess had once been rendered a great service through a missive of the kind. As a young married woman she had engaged a housekeeper who was a systematic thief. And then some member of her household—the Duchess never knew who the person was—had written and told her the truth. Thus it was that as she gazed down at the curious-looking missive, she did not feel quite the sensation of recoil and of suspicion which most people feel when reading an anonymous letter.
On the contrary, to her mind those terse sentences showed every sign of having been indited with a feeling of honest indignation and the desire to do good. There was one thing she did not like in the letter. This was the vulgarity, and touch of animosity, apparent in the last sentence. But she told herself that the writer might be a vulgar, while yet a truthful and a brave, woman.
What a horrible story! And how shameful that this Major Barcombe, whoever he might be, did not take the part of his own child against his cruel second wife.
Willeyford was a charming village, on the extreme edge of the Duke's large property, and the Duchess was on terms of old friendship with Mrs. Derbyshire, the rector's wife. But she had not yet met the Barcombes.
The letter had arrived at the Castle by the first post; and the whole of that day the Duchess was haunted by the thought of a poor little child shut up in a dark cupboard. At last she made up her mind to show the letter to the Duke. There were a good many people staying with them just then, and the first moment when she could speak to her husband with comfort, alone, was just before dressing for dinner.
The Duke read through the letter; then he exclaimed:
"It passes my understanding how a woman of your age can pay the slightest attention to an anonymous letter!"
"I don't see what my age has to do with it," she answered a little tartly. "We were both a great deal younger than we are now when we had reason to be very grateful to the writer of an anonymous letter."
"What do you mean?"
And then, before she could answer—"Hold on!" he cried. "You're right, Laura! I do remember all about it now. But this is a very different pair of shoes. It really doesn't concern us"
And then he felt just a little ashamed of himself, for under his usual cold manner he had a good heart, and he was a most conscientious man. So "It seems to me odd that the Society for the Protection of Children won't do anything. Would you like me to drop them a line?"
"No, I don't want you to do anything—yet," said the Duchess, feeling ruffled, "I'll get in touch with Mrs. Derbyshire and find out what she thinks of the Barcombes."
"That's not a bad idea."
Then the Duke thrust his hand under the Duchess's arm. "Be careful, my darling! Don't let your kind heart run away with you. There may be exceptions to prove the rule, but an anonymous letter is almost always the work of a despicable human being. If I were you I should not show that letter, even to Mrs. Derbyshire."
"Very well, I won't."
The Duke went on in a musing tone, "I've received quite a number of anonymous letters in my life."
"James! How exciting, and you've never showed me one!"
"I had a peculiarly unpleasing anonymous letter about your son-in-law, Gerald Armytage, not long before he married Letty," he chuckled.
The Duchess felt very piqued. "I think you ought to have shown me that letter, James."
He became grave. "I can laugh now. But I felt very much disturbed at the time. In fact, I showed it to Sharpe"
Mr. Sharpe was the Duke's solicitor, and always a very present help in time of trouble.
"But what could anyone say about Gerald?"
"I'll give you a lead! The letter was written by a girl who had wanted to marry Gerald. His mother thought the world of her," and again the Duke chuckled.
The Duchess clapped her hands. "That solemn prig! Was Gerald a flirt in his bachelor days?"
"I don't think the poor chap was to blame at all. But when he became engaged to Letty, his mother's young friend thought she'd put a spoke in his wheel!"