The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet, Katherine Cowley [books successful people read .TXT] 📗

took the pointy end of the triangle, now cut in two, and folded both pieces so they lay on the letter in opposite directions. “This is the back of the letter.” She placed a wooden board under the letter, then melted part of her wax stick, slowly spinning it over the candle flame. Lady Trafford’s wax had a stronger smell than Mary’s. “I use a more expensive wax, which does more damage to the paper than yours. This is the goal; you want to damage your own letter, because it makes it harder for someone to open without leaving evidence.”

“If someone really wanted to read a letter,” said Mary, “could they break the paper lock, open the letter, and then burn it after reading? There would be no evidence, except for a letter that never arrived.”

Lady Trafford smiled. “Very perceptive. Not receiving a letter or reply you know was sent is telling in itself. There is an article in the crime section of today’s Kentish Gazette describing how a man named Spur stole letters which contained bank notes. It is quite the torrid affair. But we cannot prevent that possibility, and this is something we can control.”

She dabbed the hot wax onto the two slit ends of the triangle, then took the end of the triangle sticking out of the front side of the letter, folded it over the side of the letter, and pressed it onto the back side, on top of the cut slits and the still hot wax. She used a tool with a pointed metal end to poke the portion of the triangle on top of the wax. This made indents, and in some places, little holes.

“The indents this creates will extend through many layers of the letter.” After blowing on the wax to make sure it was cool, she flipped the letter to the front side. Only about an inch of the triangle paper showed on the edge of this side. “As one final element of security, when I write the address, I make sure that some of the letters are on top of the triangle insert. If someone were to break open the letter and try to replace the triangle—which would be difficult, especially with the wax and the slit and the indents and needing to match the paper—they would also need to perfectly imitate your handwriting for this portion of the address.”

Mary finished the final steps for sealing her own letter and was quite pleased with the result. The triangle insert holding the letter together made it look refined and sophisticated.

Lady Trafford gave Mary three more quarter sheets and watched as Mary performed the letter sealing method three more times. Mary cringed each time at the waste of paper, but by the final one, she could do it without any help.

“Now break one of them open, as you would if you were receiving this letter.”

Mary pulled on it, but it did not open, so she used the pen knife to slit the folded edge of the triangle insert. She tugged, and after a minute she managed to open the letter.

“I want you to study all the damage that is left by this sealing method. Examine where you see slits and indents and wax remnants. Then try to open the other letters and reseal them without leaving evidence of having done so.”

Mary spent over an hour on the task before concluding that it was impossible. As she did so, she wondered about Lady Trafford’s methods. Learning how to seal letters in different ways could, admittedly, be useful. But what virtuous woman would instruct someone to practice opening letters without leaving any evidence?

*

That night, as Mary was falling asleep, it occurred to her that Lady Trafford might not have told the full truth. She had stated that she did not want to read anyone else’s letters. But someone could choose to do something, even if one did not want to do it.

Which meant Lady Trafford could have read other letters Mary had sent over the last six weeks. Or letters that Mary had received.

Mary tried to dismiss the thought and fall asleep, but she could not. Instead, she tried to recall every single letter she had written from Castle Durrington, to remember every little detail she had included. Was there any content she would regret Lady Trafford knowing? Not that she could change that now, but at least she could be aware of it and how it might impact her relationship with Lady Trafford. The woman had obviously wanted Mary to know that she might have been reading her letters, and Mary tried to fathom why. She spent hours in her bed, in the dark, her mind busy with remembering her letters and reflecting on Lady Trafford’s motives. Fortunately, Mary had reported to Monsieur Corneau only in person, and not sent her reports via post, or Lady Trafford would know what she had been asked to do.

There was a noise outside the house—the whinny of a horse.

Mary immediately went to her window and looked out at the lawn. In front of the house, lit by only a single lantern, was a carriage. Two people descended from it, holding a smaller lantern that they had dimmed by partially covering it with something. Mary could not tell whether the people were men or women, or any further distinguishing characteristics. They hurried to the front door and were immediately let inside the house.

Mary debated staying in her room, but curiosity overcame her. Curiosity could be a virtue, as long as it was properly regulated. She wrapped a shawl around herself for modesty’s sake and stepped quietly out of the room. All was silent, and even though this floor currently housed only her and Mrs. Boughton, she trod down the hallway as softly as she could. She descended the smaller, spiral staircase to the first floor and, as she did not know where the visitors had gone, exited to the domed balcony room. She leaned against the balcony railing,