Chapter 12: The Letter

Bram's cottage smelled of paper and old smoke. He was seventy-one and he cried when he saw me, which I was not remotely prepared for. "Miss Thorne. Three years." "I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry. Sit." He unlocked a drawer. "She left instructions. Not for a date. To be given when you came for it yourself." He shook his head, smiling. "Your mother knew you extremely well." He handed me an envelope. My name in her handwriting, which is my handwriting, which I had never noticed and which nearly...