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“It was not him,” Millie said, her dark brows puckered in confusion. “I know it was not Mr. Kendrick, because I obtained a sample of his writing and it did not match.”

Wesley shook his head, glancing about the room at the gentlemen present. “Who was it, then?”

“I do not know.”

Helena crossed her arms over her chest. “Millie, I think you have some explaining to do.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mr. Kendrick’s play, as it turned out, was a long tragedy about a prince who returned home to find his father dead and his uncle in the king’s place. The lead of the play, of course, went to Mr. Kendrick. The main female part was granted to Lady Dalmeer.

Millie was offered the role of a silly, witless ninny who misunderstood what she overheard and proceeded to tell everyone, thus spreading a rumor.

She was doing her best not to think too deeply on her assigned part or why Mr. Kendrick found her good for the role.

Wesley had been assigned as a gravedigger, so there was that as well.

A small group of them huddled over one of the copied-out scripts in the early afternoon.

Wesley listened as Millie read her line, then looked up at her. “Perhaps he is bitter you did not choose him.”

Millie rolled her eyes. “If that is the case, I should be grateful I was not offered a better role. Now I can observe the play for most of the night instead of act in it.”

Helena leaned back, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Consider this: if you had chosen Mr. Kendrick for a suitor, we would probably be forced to create plays at every family gathering.”

“You are opposed to that idea?” Wesley asked evenly.

Charles barked a laugh. “Gads, man. We know you better than that.”

Millie’s neck heated, but she did not give anyone the satisfaction of responding. Ever since Mr. Stroud had denied his part in the letters, she had struggled to think of anything else. The play was all good and fun, but Millie’s main focus was on learning who had been sneaking into her room. If not Mr. Stroud or Mr. Kendrick—and it certainly was not Wesley—then who?

“Do you think Mr. Kendrick realized he has rewritten Hamlet?” Helena asked.

“It is not quite Hamlet,” Wesley argued. “It is set at Christmas.”

Nell sighed heavily, leaning forward on the table. “I will never be able to memorize my lines by this evening. We ought to focus on our costumes instead.”

“Yes,” Millie agreed, narrowing her eyes at Wesley. “What does a gravedigger wear?”

“A kerchief about your mouth, perhaps?” Nell suggested.

“All black so you might blend with the night,” Millie said.

Wesley glanced between them. “I do not have a black waistcoat or cravat, and I left all my gravedigging kerchiefs at home.”

“The darkest colors you have, then,” Nell said. “Would anyone like to guess what sort of gown Lady Dalmeer will be wearing?”

Helena nodded. “One of her best, undoubtedly.”

“They are all her best,” Millie said.

They proceeded to run through their various parts, in preparation for that evening, until Helena needed to lie down and the group broke apart to work on their individual costumes. Millie intended to ring for Betty and ask her advice on how to dress the younger sister of the main lady.

When she reached her room, however, she stopped in the doorway, her heart thudding in her ears at what sat on the mantel.

There was another letter.

An eerie sense washed over her body as she crossed the room and took it from the mantel, turning it over to see the blue wax on the back. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the paper and read.