Love & Murder: An Eliza Winter Mystery

Diary

Eliza wasn't surprised when she heard the rap on the window shortly after the sun went down. She pushed the panel open, and Colin slid inside, smoothing down his ruffled dark hair once his feet were planted firmly on the floor.

"I didn't startle you this time?" Colin asked, his voice low as he looked at Eliza, who was wrapped in her red silk dressing gown, her thick strawberry-blonde hair falling in soft ringlets past her shoulders.

"Martin said you stopped by. I didn't think you'd waste time again," Eliza replied, making herself cozy on the edge of her bed. Colin pulled the vanity chair over again, spinning it around before dropping into it with a sigh.

"Oh, how I wish you had a decanter up here. I could use a strong drink after today," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"If a decanter went missing, someone would lose their job," Eliza answered. "I'm afraid I can't offer you a nightcap." She glanced at him—his tired eyes, sprawled-out legs, and slumped shoulders. Despite it all, he still looked handsome in his three-piece suit, his tie askew. Eliza couldn't imagine what his days must be like. Just visiting four houses had exhausted her.

"Any news?" Eliza asked, watching him settle into the chair.

He nodded and then said, "I do have something interesting to report."

Eliza raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Colin reached into his tweed sport coat and pulled out a small gold and purple diary. Eliza's breath caught as she extended her hand. "You found Penelope's diary?"

He handed it over, and she turned the small leather notebook in her hands, running her fingers over the soft cover. Colin's voice was quieter now as he said, "Anya brought it to me. Open it."

Eliza flipped it open, and her heart jumped into her throat. These were Penelope's most intimate thoughts and secrets, written in her neat, swirly script. Eliza felt a pang of sadness, knowing that Penelope had written these words, thinking no one would ever read them.

Eliza's eyes skimmed over the ink-blotted pages. As she flipped through them, she noticed her neat script turning more erratic, and the ink was pressed deeply into the page. Towards the end of the entries, Eliza noticed deep scratches scrawled across a name, as if Penelope had tried to erase the person entirely with her pen.

"Penelope scratched someone out of her life. Literally," Colin said flatly, and Eliza's brow furrowed. She could feel the fury in Penelope's words. She ran her eyes over the scratches, trying to make out the name beneath.

"Have you made out the name?" Eliza asked, glancing up at Colin, who had been watching her analyze the journal. He shook his head. "It seems she never wrote the full name. She calls him 'Sir' or 'My Darling.' Even in private, she was keeping secrets."

"Can I hold onto this?" Eliza asked, immediately noticing Colin's reluctance. "For just a day. I want to see if there's anything I can decode—something I might understand that you wouldn't."

Colin sighed but nodded. Eliza gave him a soft smile, then pushed herself off the bed to tuck the diary inside her vanity drawer. She wanted to read Penelope's entries in private, where she could dissect them without Colin's blue eyes distracting her.

"I too have something to share," Eliza said, lingering by her wooden vanity. She tried not to notice her flushed cheeks in the oval mirror, but she couldn't help glancing at her reflection.

"Do you?" Colin asked, and Eliza nodded proudly. She turned to face him, saying, "I had a thought. What if Penelope was dropped here before tea because my house was a convenient excuse? What if she was dropped off, but then wandered to a house nearby?"