The year is 1879. When thirteen-year-old Ruth Merritt Holbrook emerges from her family's burning estate, bloody and charred, but entirely numb--She makes headlines. Reporters believe she is deranged. They accuse her of having set the fire. All the h...
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Miss Merritt Holbrook,
Let me tell you of the strangest of occurrences, one that took place nearly two Fridays ago. I was visiting the theater, as I often do on such evenings, and ran into a dear friend of mine. It was as I was speaking to him that I was approached by one of the stagehands that seemed to be in quite a tizzy over an encounter he'd had with one of the actresses. You see, this woman was accused of having brought two women in from outside of the theater—two women whom, upon hearing their description, seemed oddly familiar to me. It was the first woman's likeness, which peaked my interest—you see, she resembled you.
I admit the description was somewhat inconclusive—white fair-haired with pale blue eyes. But this stagehand recognized something else—markings on the woman's hand. Almost like burns. How interesting, I had said. Whereabouts is such a lady? I was directed to the lodgings of the very same actress who had first been spotted with the girl. And this is what is so intriguing: when I entered those very same lodgings, only moments after they were spotted there, I found only one woman—the actress.
She was a most indignant woman. I questioned her about the whereabouts of the other two and she denied having ever seen them. She was rather unfriendly about it. She needed disciplining. I digress.
Our friend, Mr. Desmott, arrived before I could teach her the respect she lacked. He was able to calm her. He had quite the story to tell me and I was all too happy to hear it. It is his opinion that the stagehand merely saw another one of the actresses, one who matched your own description. What a coincidence. I suppose we shall have a nice laugh this next Monday over tea? I shall come to you.
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