Maybe she’d been wrong and the letter wasn’t from Joseph. She broke open the envelope, slid out a piece of paper, and unfolded it to discover a gold band tucked inside. Sarah’s ring.

She’d forgotten about the ring, had wanted to forget about it every bit as much as she wanted to forget about Sarah. Yet Joseph had kept it.

Why?

She scanned his letter. The long, sloping script flowed together to fill half a page. What did it say? She’d never cared much that she couldn’t read, but at that moment she desperately wished she could read every word he’d penned to her.

Was this another good-bye? Had he come across the ring during his packing? Had he merely wanted to make sure she had it before he left? Or did the letter say more?

She searched the writing for the few words she’d learned to recognize. A moment later, she released a frustrated breath at the futility of her effort. She could no more read the letter than if it were a foreign language.

Part of her wanted to rush back inside and ask Mrs. Moresby for help. But another part resisted wasting another second of time. What if he hadn’t left last night?

Mercy hurried to the fence and scanned the people loitering nearby and along the waterfront. No sign of Joseph anywhere.

“Was Lord Colville just here?” she called to a boy, who was leaning against the front of the legislative building.

“No, miss,” the boy replied. He had hooked his fingers through his suspenders and was chewing on a long piece of grass.

She held up the envelope with her name printed on it. “Did you see who brought this letter to the constable?”

“Yep.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

Her heart began its pounding again. “Did you speak with Lord Colville this morning?”

“Yep.”

Was Joseph still in Victoria then? Had he decided not to leave after all? The questions tumbled over one another in a dizzying swell. “What did he say? Where is he now?”

The boy pushed away from the brick building and twisted the stem of grass with his tongue, his face impassive, his eyes hard. “Lord Colville paid me to deliver the letter. That’s all, miss.”

Mercy had seen that look often enough to recognize the meaning. The boy wanted more money from her before he’d say more. She fisted her hands on her hips and gave him the stern glare she’d perfected with the unruly street urchins she’d encountered in London. “You know right well I don’t have anything to give you. So you just go on and tell me all you know, d’ye hear me?”

“What’s in it for me?” the boy persisted.

“Did Lord Colville leave on the Tynemouth?”