Henry’s features took on a look of concern. “Audrey, what troubles you? Tell me. It’s not just your mother.”
Audrey looked about the office. It was dark except for the gas lamp on his desk. The rest of the office was filled with darkness and shadows. She thought of the shadow man her mother talked about and shuddered. “Did you ever meet Marguerite Shirley in the workhouse? She’s quite a character.”
“Marguerite Shirley?” Henry said aloud. “Was she the old bird who used to be on stage?”
“That’s her. She’s been at the workhouse for years. She was even given her own room due to her circumstances.”
“I remember her now.”
“I used to visit her from time to time.” Audrey’s heart ached at the memories. “We’d chat, and she’d tell me of her life in the music hall. She was so vivacious. She was a breath of spring in that old building.”
“She must be.”
“I brought her some peppermints. I wanted to do something nice for her after she lost her friend.”
“That’s kind of you.”
Audrey took a deep breath. “Henry, she’s dead. She died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You liked her very much.” He sounded sincere.
“I did.” She looked down at her hands and then across the desk at Henry’s hands. He had strong hands. Capable hands. She liked the look of them. Graceful. Manly. She looked up into his face. “I want to show you something. Can you make me a promise before I show it to you?”
He held her gaze. “Name your promise.”
“Can you keep an open mind? Don’t jump to any conclusions. Just read it and then tell me your thoughts. As if you had no connection to the workhouse. Can you do that for me?”
“You intrigue me. I will keep an open mind.”
She pulled out the diary. “I found this before she died it and read it. I didn’t know what to think of it, and I still don’t. I would like your thoughts.”
“Very well.”
She handed him the slim volume, and he pulled the gas lamp closer to him as he took his cup and saucer in hand and took a sip. She watched his hands as he flipped through the pages of the diary. He passed by the numbers and initials and said nothing.
Audrey watched him as he read the words, but no emotions crossed his face. She heard the ticking of the mantel clock and the gas lamp burning next to him, but no other sounds could be heard.
As the writings began, he seemed to take his time, and she watched and waited. Finally, after an eternity, he looked up. “Where did you find this diary?”
“In her room.”
He flipped through the rest of the diary, but it was blank. He closed the book and handed it back to her. “What do you think it means?”
“I would like to hear your thoughts,” Audrey returned.
Henry took another sip of his tea and met her eyes. “It could be the ravings of an old woman.”
“It could be,” she said, purposefully vague.
“What do you make of the initials and numbers in the beginning?” he asked. She was about to speak when he continued. “I know. You’d like to know my thoughts.”
“Yes.”
He thought about it for a moment. “Well, if I’m perfectly honest, I don’t know what to make of the beginning. Numbers and initials.”
“I had an idea about that part,” Audrey offered.
“Tell me.”