The Mysterious Heir Read Online Free

ear. “That is what I like about you. Your single-mindedness.”
    But she did not hear what he whispered then or later, and he did not see that through most of his ministrations that morning, she kept her eyes closed so that he would not see her rapid calculating as she weighed her options.
    *
    The second letter to be delivered lay outside yet another door. This letter could not be delivered till late afternoon, as the address was a locale on the unfashionable outskirts of Town. This one did not lie upon rich carpeting, but rather upon a cold, somewhat grimy floor. And a floor, moreover, that was three stories up and in a public hallway. So that by the time the recipient saw it lying there, a glowing white rectangle in the dim hall, it already bore a heel print.
    But the gentleman scooped it up and peered at the crest, and made sure of the name it was addressed to, for he did not at first believe that it was for him at all. But it read clearly “Richard Courtney.” Then he carried it into his room and closed the door tightly, as if against intruders, before he settled himself in a somewhat threadbare chair near the window to read it before the last light left the afternoon sky.
    He, too, read it through several times before he rose and paced the room. It was a small room, badly furnished with what looked like castoffs from someone’s attic. An iron bed, a few dispirited chairs, and a table that looked as though it might swoon if it held a large meal, comprised the decor. A small bundle of wood lay ready to be lit in the grate, but it would not be lit until the temperature truly tumbled, for the price of fuel was prohibitive for the occupant. The gentleman who paced the floor looked no more able to hold a substantial repast than his mean table did. He was tall, but bone thin. His shoulders were wide, but wide with the raw look of adolescence, though he appeared to be a man in his second decade of life.
    His was not a handsome visage—it was too stark for that; each feature seemed too large for the background it was placed upon: the nose too long, the chin too long, only the long brown eyes seemed to complement the thick brown hair. But as he paced, the long mournful face began to take on light and life, lending animation to the whole.
    Finally the gentleman stopped in his tracks, then went swiftly to a large book that stood almost alone in the one bookshelf in the room. He scanned the back pages of the old Bible, tracing names that had been written so long ago that the black ink was growing rusty with age. Then, and only then, did he allow a wide grin to form upon his wide mouth. He rose and inspected himself in the mirror above the fireplace. His clothes were clean and his brown jacket and biscuit pantaloons fit well and seemed newer and more rich than any other objects in the room. He scanned his shining boots for dust, and finding none, he smiled again and went hurriedly toward the door, still clutching the letter.
    He looked at the letter once more before putting it carefully into his pocket. For it was the letter that he would bring to his ladylove. And it was the letter he knew that would mean more to her than candy, than flowers—more, perhaps, he thought, halting only for a moment in sorrow, than himself.
    *
    The third letter had a long and weary journey and finally arrived limp after more than a week’s travails. It bore upon its formerly pristine surface the fingerprint of a coachman in Leicester, a small warp from a rainstorm over Nottingham, and the scars from a drubbing it had received when it fell from the pouch near Mansfield. But now it lay safe and snug next to the beating breast of a tall, stout gentleman as he stood outside a shop window in Tuxford.
    The gentleman was engaged in tapping a coin upon the window to attract the attention of those within. But after a few moments, when, from what he could see looking into the shop from behind a quantity of bonnets and feathers that impeded his view, no one