Chapter Three
Boston, Massachusetts, July 1889
The night had fallen. In the darkness of her bedroom at Merlin’s Leap, Miranda Fairfax held up a single candle. The flickering light fell on the pale features of her younger sister, Annabel. “I don’t like leaving you behind, Scrappy.” Miranda used the childhood nickname reserved for moments of tenderness. “Cousin Gareth could set his sights on you next.”
“No.” Annabel spoke calmly, even though fear lurked in her amber eyes. “He might have gotten away with declaring Charlotte dead but to do the same with you would raise suspicion. One dead sister is feasible. Two dead sisters would trigger an alarm. I’ll be safe, even after you’ve gone.”
Miranda agreed, and yet the thought of leaving Annabel alone at Merlin’s Leap filled her with dread. The gray stone mansion by the ocean just north of Boston had been a happy home, until four years ago, when their parents died in a boating accident. Since then, the sisters had been at the mercy of their Cousin Gareth, who had come to live with them and was determined to get his hands on the Fairfax fortune.
Charlotte had been the heiress, and Cousin Gareth had attempted to force her into marriage. After Charlotte ran away two months ago, Cousin Gareth had claimed the body of some unknown woman as her. With Charlotte officially dead, Miranda stood to inherit, and now Gareth’s efforts to bring about a marriage were focused on her, forcing her to flee.
“Write to Charlotte and post the letter as soon as you can,” Miranda reminded Annabel. “She needs to understand what Gareth has done. When she turns twenty-five next May and gains access to Papa’s money, she’ll need to prove she is alive before she can claim her inheritance.”
“I’ll write and find some way to mail the letter.” Annabel’s voice quivered. “Just think...if we hadn’t agreed on a code word for Charlotte to get a message to us, we might believe she is dead, instead of hiding in the Arizona Territory, pretending to be some homesteader’s mail-order bride.”
Miranda lifted the candle higher. “We would have known she’s alive from the telegram you retrieved after Cousin Gareth tossed it in the fireplace. The way the constables described the dead woman found on the train made it clear it couldn’t be Charlotte.”
“But without Charlotte’s message we would have feared the worst,” Annabel suggested.
“I know.” Miranda’s tone was bleak. “We’ll keep the same code word. Once I’m safe, I’ll write to Merlin’s Leap as Emily Bickerstaff. Cousin Gareth will intercept the letter, but with any luck he’ll share the contents with you.”
“Make it a letter of condolence,” Annabel suggested. “Emily was Charlotte’s friend. One could assume she might have heard about Charlotte’s passing and would write to the surviving sisters, to express her sympathies.”
Miranda forced a smile. “Good idea.”
Despite being sensitive and prone to weeping, Annabel was the cleverest of them. The best way to calm her nerves was to get her focused on some practical dilemma. The middle sister at twenty-two, Miranda knew she was considered the brave
