Well, this is a conundrum,” Charlotte said, peering at the Valentine’s card that lay on the polished mahogany table. It featured a daisy-rimmed love heart filled with forget-me-nots. Above it a pair of white doves hovered and a rosy-cheeked cupid proclaimed the message Be My Valentine!
The fire was bright, crackling merrily in the grate, but still afforded little warmth in the face of such a cold day. Frost flowered on the inside of the windows. Upstairs their brother Branwell lay gravely ill, their papa holding a constant vigil at his side. The card was a welcome distraction.
"At least we know this isn't a repeat of the William Weightman fiasco," Emily said, referring to the year when their father's late curate had walked ten miles to Bradford just to post them each a Valentine's day card. "As that gentleman is sadly deceased. Unless... it might be from beyond the grave?" she added hopefully.
"Poor William," Anne said quietly. "He only meant to be kind, even if misguided. In any case, whoever posted this has left us with not one but two mysteries to solve." "
How so, Anne?" Charlotte asked.
"It is addressed only to Miss Brontë, Anne said, handing Charlotte the envelope. "So not only must we determine who it is from, but we also who it is for."
"Well," Emily said, picking up the envelope. "Tediously, it must be from someone we know. Hand-posted, see?"
"Hmm." Charlotte took the envelope from Emily's hand, bringing it close to her face to peer at the clumsy block writing. "I don't recognise the hand, do you?"
"Well?" Anne asked her sisters. "Are any of you engaging in a secret dalliance?"
"Pfft!" Emily snorted with laughter.
"Not I! I make it my business to be as horrible as I can to everyone I meet. It will be Charlotte who is secretly in love. It always is."
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