Cerys wrote back in four days.
Not by email — Grayson had provided the estate address and Cerys had apparently taken this to mean the physical address, because the letter arrived in the Tuesday post in an envelope that smelled faintly of herbs and had been sealed with what appeared to be actual wax.
Mrs. Baker brought it to the kitchen where Grayson was doing what he had taken to doing in the mornings — standing at the counter with his tea, looking at the courtyard through the window, which Mailah had privately categorized as his version of the cliff path. Something to look at while thinking about something else.
He turned the envelope over once. Looked at the wax seal. Looked at Mrs. Baker, who left with the discretion of someone who had delivered the thing and considered her role complete.
He opened it at the counter.
Mailah, who was on the second stool with her own tea and had been watching this process, waited.
