Chapter Twenty-TwoEliza
Feb'y 17th, the Tudor Inn.
Very clean. No bedbugs. Empty chamber pots. We stopped here on the way from Albany. I wished Alex were here with me, as I rocked John in the cradle Robert was kind enough to give me.
I was reluctant to hire Mrs. Bates, but desperate to know if those anonymous letters were authentic. Her services would be expensive, so I'd asked dear Papa for some assistance. I could cut back on household expenses and repay him. Alex need never discover my scheme. But I thought of a safer—rather, sneakier way: have Mrs. Bates follow Mrs. Reynolds, not Alex. If her and my husband's paths never crossed, I'd rest easy. But I wondered if Mrs. Bates could find out who wrote those letters to me. That was who I really wanted followed. This heartless instigator
