A Sense of Sin Read Online Free PDF Page A

Delacorte.

    The implication was chilling, more so because it was a lie. The blackmailer could not possibly know what they had done, because they had done nothing. Their work—the collecting, cataloguing, and drawing of plant specimens—had been undertaken with the utmost discretion, and with concern for the reputation of the school and their beloved headmistress, Miss Hadley, lest her establishment be labeled a haven for blue-stockings.
    But the letter was not referring to science. Its filthy implications were about Emily and the reason she had died. And how she had died. That she had drowned herself over a love affair with Celia.
    A wave of dark, bitter guilt and shame washed over Celia, pushing her momentarily under, leaving her chilled to the marrow.
    It was all so cruel. She had never suspected, never seen any indication Emily had felt such unrequited passion. Surely if Emily had felt so deeply as to kill herself, there would have been some sign, some word. But try as she had, for over a year, Celia could recall nothing. She had loved Emily as a sister and been deeply grieved and horrified by her death.
    But most important, Celia could not fathom how anyone else could have knowledge of such a thing. The suicide note found in Emily’s room was known only to Celia, Miss Hadley, and Emily’s father, the Earl of Cleeve. At the Earl’s direction, Miss Hadley had put it about that Emily had died of a putrid fever, had closed the school immediately, and sent the girls home for the rest of the term.
    Miss Hadley would never attempt to blackmail Celia with a threatening, anonymous note. The idea was preposterous. When she looked at the paper with a more analytical gaze, the writing, while clear and steady, lacked the elegant flair of Miss Hadley’s hand.
    The thought prompted Celia to cross to the low cupboard and extract a quill, paper, and ink. If she could identify all the unique characteristics of the letter and list them down, she might be able to discern the hand behind it. Of course, even if she could discover who was blackmailing her, it did not follow she could make them stop. And it certainly wasn’t going to get her the necessary funds. But at least it gave her a semblance of order and control. It was a start.
    Miss Hadley’s school was situated in Bath and the note mentioned Bath specifically. The blackmailer had to be someone from Bath, or at least someone who had been there at the same time Celia and Emily had attended school.
    Celia turned her attention to the pen strokes. Again, she doubted it was Miss Hadley’s, nor was it the cursive style Miss Hadley’s pupils were taught. It was what Celia could only characterize as a strong hand. Not elegant, but not heavy on the downstrokes like her father’s style, nor quite like that of his secretary, Mr. Hodgkins, whose pen strokes were always very precise. All told, the blackmail note didn’t seem feminine. For some reason, she had already conceived of her blackmailer as a man—as He .
    Celia moved the note closer to the lamp and noticed the quality of the paper as the light shone against it. She held it up before the lamp and, lo and behold, she recognized instantly the paper’s watermark. It was that of the Dartmouth stationers Asquith and Sanders. Her mother purchased papers from them on a routine basis. So did all of Dartmouth society.
    Illuminating facts, but hardly revelatory: a man who had been in Bath more than one year ago, or knew someone who was, who bought paper in Dartmouth’s most exclusive stationer for the purpose of blackmailing her. That left half the gouty population of Devon.
    Then there was the money. Three hundred pounds seemed like a monstrous amount of money. At least to her. And to whom else? Who else would think it a large amount of money—the kind of money a lord’s daughter would be able to put her hands on? Not one of the lordlings. They wagered such sums carelessly and routinely. She had heard them, at card parties and on the