Page 9 of The Tartan Trap

Margaret swung her knees up onto the sofa, facing Rachel fully. She was suddenly, inexplicably excited to share her secret. “After our brother Richard lost the family fortune, I took in washing to help support my sisters.”

As quickly as she’d blurted the words, Margaret regretted saying them. What if Rachel turned from her with her lip curled in revulsion?

But her friend merely cocked her head in interest. “I have so many questions, but on the outset, I think that’s ingenious.”

“Thank you.” A flush of pride helped chase away the dread Margaret had felt ever since she’d lost her journal.

“Let’s return to the central point before I become distracted asking about laundering techniques. If Miss Daisy Knope found your journal and had the patience to read it—and to look up all the words she didn’t know in a dictionary—she would be reading the diary of a washerwoman?”

“I suppose so.”

“And how long, precisely, do you think one such as Daisy Knope would read the diary of a washerwoman?”

Margaret blinked. “Not long, I shouldn’t think.”

“And even if she did read it, you don’t think there’s any way for her to attribute the journal to you, correct?”

“I suppose if someone knew my family’s story and paid very close attention to my entries, they might be able to figure it out.” Margaret pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, what if someone does piece it together?”

“Then you claim it was a work of fiction you were writing.”

“Do you think that would work?”

“I don’t think you’ll have to employ such tactics at all. There’s a very slim chance that someone like Daisy would ever pick up your journal.”

“Why is that?”

“For the simple reason that you’re fairly certain you left it amongst other journals.”

“Meaning?”

“Journals are typically purchased by introspective people seeking self-improvement. Daisy is not an introspective person. She’d never be able to spend a quarter of an hour in honest reflection. Not in her current state.”

Margaret had gone back to chewing her lip.

Rachel continued, “Even if she or someone of her ilk did happen across it, I doubt very much that they’d have the fortitude to read your tightly written script, or that they’d care to do so, especially once they discovered it was the unlikely journal of a laundress.”

Margaret nodded, hope rising within her like a tide.

“And if, by some twist of happenstance, someone does read it closely enough to ascertain you as the author, you can claim it was nothing more than made-up drivel to pass the time.”

Margaret blinked. Heavens, was it really that easy? Was she truly in the clear?

“I think you may be right,” she finally said.

“I often think so.” After a few moments, Rachel added, “Though I confess I’m disappointed to hear that the most scandalous thing in your journal has to do with laundry.”

“What were you hoping for?” Margaret realized her hair had sprung from most of its fasteners and was frizzing wildly about her face. She removed the remaining intrepid pins, placed them in her mouth, and set to taming her hair into a semblance of order once more.

“There are many unanswered questions in my mind, but the one that has caught my primary interest as of late is babies,” Rachel said.

“Do you want children?” Margaret mumbled around her hairpins.

Rachel wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. This is more a scientific inquiry than a sentimental one.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“How do they come to be?” Rachel shook her head. “I confess I would ask Dahlia, but when I posed the question to Adelaide, she blushed and stuttered and then told me never to ask anyone that again.”