For some time, I kept a close eye on Victor. I folded letters and smashed them between the pages of journals and books. I didn’t address them to anyone, and I wrote with my left hand so that the script became rather illegible because Lucille had told me Victor was suspicious of everyone. I left them everywhere—slipped them onto tea trays, pushed them under doorways, and asked Jane to stuff them into dress pockets.
I received my answers in a similar manner. Jane laid her responses on my writing desk. Molly sent warm milk up to my bedroom without my asking for it. Williams left them with groomsmen in the stables and suggested it was a lovely day to go riding.
There was nothing Victor did that I didn’t know about. He was becoming increasingly erratic as we watched him. He was no longer rece
