The Letter in the Tin Case

Theodore Thistledown.

Six years older than Davion, the firstborn of the family was more often called by the name "the Rake of Thistledown" than by his own. After all, at eighteen he had caused a scandal at the military academy, been expelled, wandered the streets after leaving home, and eventually landed himself in prison.

"Don't you worry about your brother Theodore. He struts around in there like he's the man in charge. He lives so comfortably, at times he seems less like a prisoner and more like a gentleman on holiday."

"I wasn't worried about him."

Davion rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh deep enough to split the ground.

"Why would I worry about my brother? My only concern is that he might sully the family name even from inside a prison cell."

"With your husband gone and you being her only remaining son, I imagine Duchess Thistledown places quite a burden on your shoulders."

"It can't be helped now that things have turned out this way. One simply has to accept it."

Colonel Hamilton regarded Davion with eyes full of pity, then gave his shoulder a light pat.

Davion returned a salute by way of thanks and staggered out of the banquet hall. After only a few sips of wine, the alcohol was already beginning to creep through him.

The atmosphere had ripened quite enough on its own; he could safely leave the rest to Blake and Liam.

But then, for some reason, as he stepped out for air, the lingering afterimage of the woman he'd seen at the inn flickered suddenly across his vision.

That silhouette so much like Cecilia's...

Ah, should I have just played the madman and grabbed her after all?

The moment that belated regret came flooding in, another memory followed — the voice of the man who had called her "darling," brushing past his ear like the wind.

Davion's face twisted rapidly.

He had dismissed it at the time without thinking. Yet now he was certain he had heard that voice somewhere before.

A friend of my mother's? Or someone from the military academy?

A woman who brought Cecilia to mind, and a man with a familiar voice. The more Davion turned that strange encounter over in his mind, the deeper the crease between his brows grew.

Before he knew it, he had drifted past the lot lined with luxury motorcars and was walking across a vast field stretching toward the hills. The stream that had been frozen solid only days before had thawed, sending water down from the mountain in a gentle, murmuring flow.

When he had followed the water's course for some time, a small two-story cabin of rough timber came into view.

Only then did Davion startle and look back. Far in the distance, the lights of the manor glimmered like pinpricks studded into the black dark.

...When did I walk all the way out here?

The drunken haze evaporated, and his mind sharpened.

He ought to return to the manor at once. But his feet, as if rooted to the earth, refused to carry him away. His gaze kept drifting back toward the cabin.

That cabin was where Cecilia had lived with her grandmother before their marriage.

It held a great many memories, yet not once had he returned here since the wedding. Perhaps that was why the eaves hung thick with cobwebs.

The interior was surely worse. Knowing full well he shouldn't, Davion opened the door and stepped inside anyway.

A small parlor with a fireplace on the right, and a kitchen. Then upstairs, the room nearest the landing — Cecilia's bedroom. The years had piled dust deep upon every surface, but everything was exactly as it lived in his memory.

"......"

The moment he entered Cecilia's old bedroom, Davion leaned against the doorframe and stared into space for a long while.

It felt as though Cecilia might appear from somewhere at any moment and startle him. Beyond grief, beyond longing, something he had no name for churned in the very bottom of his chest.

As if his legs belonged to a stranger, he dragged his numb limbs step by step until he managed to sink onto the bed. Beside it stood a narrow writing desk with a set of drawers, and a shelf above.

Something glinting at the very top of the tall shelf caught his eye.

A tin case for storing tea leaves.

Cecilia used to stack the coins the field mice brought her in that tin case, one by one. As the old memory surfaced, a soft smile brushed across Davion's lips. But feeling that something was wrong, his face quickly clouded over again.

She demanded the burial money in such a large sum... there's no way she would have left this behind.

After a moment's hesitation, Davion rose and took hold of the tin case.

When he forced open the stiff lid, a lighter inside rattled against the metal to greet him.

This is...

Cecilia had been keeping this? He had never imagined he would find the oil lighter he'd lost so long ago in a manner like this.

Still dazed, Davion then discovered the paper lying beneath it.

A letter Cecilia had left behind.

Davion folded the letter just as it was and slipped it back into the tin case.

Tracing his thumb down the worn, weathered surface of the tin, he stared into the empty air, lost to everything around him.

"Cecilia..."

But the whisper never reached anything at all — it simply scattered, piece by piece, into the dark.

1-4. The Temptation of the Peanut

"My lord."

At the touch of a hand shaking his shoulder, Davion slowly woke from sleep.

"My lord."

He had been curled up asleep on Cecilia's bed, folded like a shrimp. When he lifted his heavy eyelids, Liam's face came into view, peering down at him with evident concern. Liam steadied him as he spoke.

"I very nearly filed a missing persons report."

"I'm sorry. I had a bit too much to drink last night."

He seemed to have dreamed of Cecilia, but he couldn't recall a single detail.

His head ached as though he were suffering a vicious hangover. The tin case he'd fallen asleep cradling had somehow rolled away across the bed. Davion stared at it blankly for a long moment, then at last sat up on the edge of the bed and buried his face in both hands.

"What a pitiful fool I am..."

The moment his mind cleared, the craving for a cigarette hit him. He checked the time as he drew a cigarette from the inner pocket of his coat.

It was barely seven in the morning. No wonder the birdsong had seemed so piercingly clear.

And now that he thought of it, he hadn't even seen off their departing guests. Between that and everything else last night, he had effectively dumped every duty connected to the charity event into Liam's lap, and guilt washed over him.

Liam lit the cigarette for him and spoke first.

"A postman came by early this morning and left a traveling trunk. He said it was lost property, and that someone at the manor would know its owner."

"Lost property?"

Davion stared at him, uncomprehending. Liam swallowed dryly and whispered at his ear.

"The traveling trunk that was placed in the madam's grave, my lord."

Even then, Davion didn't grasp what Liam meant, and frowned for a long while. Only after the nicotine hit his bloodstream did his brain begin to turn.

Davion shot to his feet in alarm, and Liam gave a nod and added:

"I've put it in your study."

Davion fled the cabin and sprinted to the manor in a single breath.