The Silent Woman: The USA TODAY BESTSELLER - a gripping historical fiction. Terry Thomas Lynn
the shop and breathed in the smell of the old books.
He loved writing almost as much as he loved reading and books in general. He travelled Germany under the guise of being a writer, a cover that allowed him to move around without question. On a whim, Thomas decided that he would write a compendium on historical churches, a travel guide of sorts, in order to lend credence to his cover story. Thomas actually started the process of writing, jotting down a few paragraphs about the churches and sights he visited. The enjoyment he took from the process surprised and delighted him.
When he submitted the book to a publisher, who snapped it up in exchange for a hefty fee, Thomas was surprised. He studied craft, read how-to-write books, and even took a correspondence course in writing professionally. His career flourished. His books were met with critical acclaim.
The shop’s purveyor looked up from behind a desk and nodded, while Thomas continued to browse along the rows of the old books with their cracked leather spines and unique mustiness. He picked up a fine first edition of Ivanhoe when the bell jangled and Sir Reginald came in. Thomas tucked the book back on the shelf as the old man turned the closed sign to face the street and locked the front door. The proprietor nodded at Reginald and headed up a rickety flight of stairs at the back of the shop. Neither Reginald nor Thomas spoke until a door at the top of the stairs shut and footsteps creaked above them.
‘Were my suspicions correct then?’ Sir Reginald asked.
‘It’s Marlena X,’ Thomas said. ‘She’s been watching the house for the past week.’
‘Someone in that house is working with her,’ Reginald said.
‘Agreed.’
‘But you’ve never seen her make contact with anyone?’
‘No, sir,’ Thomas said.
‘And Mrs Carlisle?’
Thomas turned to face Reginald. ‘Marlena made a run for the papers she was carrying, just as you expected.’
Reginald took a deep breath. ‘And?’
‘Mrs Carlisle managed to thwart her by sheer willpower. She clung to that purse as though it were a lifeline. Marlena hit her. Mrs Carlisle fell to the ground, nearly passed out, but clutched at that damn purse.’ Thomas looked at Reginald. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, putting an untrained woman such as Mrs Carlisle out in the field against the likes of Marlena X.’
‘I’m taking a risk, I know,’ Sir Reginald said, ‘but I’ll stand by it. Finish your report.’
‘I made contact with Mrs Carlisle, gave her my business card.’ Sir Reginald faced him, staring at him with that penetrating gaze that had brought many a man to his knees. ‘As far as she’s concerned, she’d been mugged. A crowd had gathered around her. I had to get close to confirm the documents were safe.’
‘Understood,’ Reginald said. ‘Watch her. See that she doesn’t come to harm.’
‘What about Marlena X?’
‘Leave her be for now. Let’s give her a nice long rope, shall we?’ He stared at Thomas. ‘Is this too personal for you? This is not time for vengeance. Gwen’s death was a tragedy, but you must not let it sway you. Not now. Too much is at stake.’
‘No, sir,’ Thomas lied. He knew full well what was at stake. But he had a score to settle with Marlena X, and he intended to do so, with or without Sir Reginald’s approval.
Sir Reginald unlocked the door, turned the sign back around to open, and without a backward glance, stepped out into the June afternoon.
One week had passed since Annie Havers had run away from her mother and lied her way into a service job in the posh Carlisle home. Timid Annie Havers had faced Isobel Carlisle and had told her that she was an orphan who needed a job. The minute she spoke the words, she expected the heavens to open and lightning to strike as punishment for her falsehood. At the very least, Annie expected Miss Carlisle to laugh in her face and send her back to Bermondsey.
But Miss Isobel Carlisle had not laughed in Annie’s face. Instead she stared down her long nose and asked a handful of questions relevant to housekeeping. Did Annie know how to dust? How would she go about cleaning a room? Could she cook a bit?
Annie answered all the questions truthfully. She knew how to keep house. She’d been helping her mum for as long as she could remember. She enjoyed it. She appreciated the satisfaction of a job well done. She didn’t tell Miss Isobel that the best part of domestic work was that it gave Annie time to paint pictures with her mind. She didn’t tell Miss Isobel that while she swung the broom back and forth, she imagined the brushwork necessary to capture the crashing waves of a seascape or that she could figure out which colours to mix to develop a shade of deep red as rich as blood. But this was the Carlisle house, and Miss Isobel Carlisle was looking for more than an uneducated girl. ‘Can you read?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Annie said. ‘I can do sums as well. I am – was – a good student, ma’am. I also draw. My dad was going to let me go to art school.’ Annie looked out the window. She could tell a partial form of the truth about this part of her life, for her father was indeed dead, and he had promised art school before the accident that had taken his life. ‘But he and my mum died. There was no place for me to go, and now I need a job.’
Miss Carlisle stared at Annie, judging her. Annie met her eyes and smiled. ‘I’m a good worker, ma’am.’
Miss Carlisle nodded her head and crossed her arms over her stout bosom. ‘I usually wouldn’t ask a girl with no experience about cooking, but our cook is taking care of her husband who has been ill. I’m looking for a temporary replacement, but have yet to find one. It’s usually just me, Marie, and Mrs Carlisle. We dine properly when my brother is home, which isn’t very often. He has a very important job that takes him out of town on a regular basis.’
Annie waited, not quite sure what to say.
‘Very well. You can start today. Marie will see you’re situated.’
The tall woman who sat next to Miss Carlisle during the interview stood up. She hadn’t spoken since she ushered Annie into the room, and Annie had all but forgotten she was even there. Now she noticed the crown of downy white frizz and the cadaverous frame. The woman’s clothes were rumpled, the hem of the skirt uneven. The white blouse she wore under the navy cardigan had a tiny stain on it. When Miss Marie smiled at Annie, a genuine smile that lighted her whole face, Annie liked her right away.
Unable to believe that she had gotten away with all the lies, Annie grabbed the valise she stole from her mother and hurried after the woman. She felt guilty about taking something so dear from her mum, but Annie couldn’t run away with her possessions in a paper bag. She vowed to repay her mother once she established herself. The bag now carried all of her worldly goods: a tattered copy of Through the Looking Glass, a picture of her grandparents, her good dress, her Sunday shoes, her nightgown and underclothes. She’d left her good winter coat at Harold Green’s house, but now at least she would have enough money to buy one before the summer weather turned.
The woman didn’t speak as Annie followed her to the back of the house and up a narrow staircase off the kitchen. Annie’s room was on the second floor, tucked into an out-of-the-way corner. The woman opened it, allowing Annie to step in first.
‘Welcome to the Carlisle house, Annie. I hope you’ll be happy here.’
The room was small and bright. A wooden bedstead was tucked in the corner, its crisp white linens frayed at the edges. On the opposite wall was a washstand, with a floral print pitcher and basin. Next to it lay a stack of flannels. The window was covered in muslin curtains embroidered in scarlet poppies and blue forget-me-nots.
For a moment Annie missed her real room, the room that she lived in before her father died and before her mum married Harold Green. That room was big, with