The ConnectionEarly the next morning, the front door-bell rang, and I heard a heavy tread go past. Blitz walked slowly, as if weary. I smiled to myself: they’d no doubt had as eventful a day as I did.
A few minutes later, Mary came in with my tray: a pot of morning tea, toast and jam, my tonic, and a letter, edged in red and marked with the Holy Symbol of the Hart Family. I opened it: an invitation from Mr. Charles Hart to luncheon.
So Mr. Sutherfield’s men were able to reach Mr. Hart after all.
Mary still stood there.
I handed the invitation over. “I’m to have luncheon with Mr. Hart on Market Center.”
“I’ll let my husband know,” was all she said, then hurried out.
Ariana fussed in the distance, and Mrs. Crawford moved into the hall, murmuring gentle words I couldn’t make out. Then s
