Dearest Mother,

It. . .it happened this morning. I don't know what I could've done to stop it. I don't know what exactly happened nor how the results were possible. James had been kind enough to add the window bars and the extra lock to Angelica's room. It was done the day before Bryon and Alfie left.

But last night, two days after the boys left, Angelica was gone.

I went up to her room that fateful morning to fetch her for breakfast. I rapped twice on her door. After no response, a third. At this point, a knot of worry began to bubble in my throat. Normally Angelica would respond to my knocks. It would be how I knew that she was decent and awake. Most of me assumed she was just sleeping in. Perhaps she'd had a long night, maybe had a night terror or two.

When I opened the door, she was gone. The bars remained, the window beneath it shut tight. Her bed was made, the floor free of any debris. It was as if she had never entered the room last night.

This was my first theory. Had I been too tired to tuck her in? Had she fallen asleep somewhere else? Thinking back to the letter, I went straight to the cupboards. She wasn't there but I did feel something stare at me from across the kitchen, near the pantry.

Panic consumed me by this point. I looked everywhere, my frantic shouts for her waking up the others. By the time the sun had crossed the horizon, everyone, even Ruth and the Londoners, was looking for her. 

There weren't footprints, nor torn clothes, nor broken branches in the forest. None of her things, in her room or around the manor, were missing. It was as if she had simply ceased to exist. By high noon, I was tearing at my hair. 

Mere minutes before I would've slipped into insanity, she appeared. 

Angelica walked the dirt road, a skip in her step. Mud coated her clothing and her hair was filled with twigs. Fearing the letter, I immediately ran her a bath. She refused to speak. The others, and especially Anna, were too terrified to speak to her.  Even James remained aloof. I alone consoled the girl.

As she bathed, I examined her clothes closer. There was, and still is, blood. I'm not sure if it is hers. I'm not sure if I hope it is hers instead of someone else's. While alone in the bathroom, Angelica told me something repeatedly.

She claimed that her older brother had taken her flying last night. 

Flying.

Mother, you knew the Blackwell's before I came into their employment. Did they have a son? Or perhaps an older male cousin, neighbor? Even, dare I say it, a previous lover of Lady Blackwell? I will begin my investigation into this at once. This has far surpassed coincidence. 

I must uncover the truth and what exactly is going on. I cannot stand to see Angelica hurt, nor anyone else. Please, if you have any advice, I beg you to bestow it upon me.

Your desperate son,

Percy Kenneth Brookwood.