Hopes and Brides: Regency and Mail Order Bride Historical Romance Collection

by Joyce Alec

  Handing Nora back the piece of paper, he walked around his father’s large desk and slumped in the chair, his whole body filled with a sense of failure.

  “Joseph,” Nora said slowly, her eyes darting from him back down to the page again. “On the note you showed me, the one where your father had written this note, it had a very specific date. From a few months ago, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded, not understanding where she was going with her questions.

  “If he already knew about the death of Mrs. Allan’s sister, then why write it twice?” she asked, handing him back the paper. “Writing it once on the order page and once here, written ten days before.”

  Shrugging, Joseph didn’t so much as glance at the paper again. “He just forgot. Twice. So he reminded himself again.”

  She shook her head, coming around the desk to stand beside him. “That doesn’t make sense. From what you’ve said, your father always knew what he was meant to be doing each and every day. He never fell short. He was always able to keep on top of everything. Does it really make sense that he would then have to write this down twice and even scribble it on top of another order?”

  Closing his eyes, Joseph let her words sink in before a stab of warning began to press at his mind.

  “No,” he said slowly. “No, it doesn’t make sense. My father wasn’t like that.”

  This is why you were caught by it in the first place, he reminded himself. You didn’t understand why your father, your meticulous, organized father, would scribble words like that over another order.

  “And he never spoke to you about Mrs. Allan and her loss?” Nora asked gently. “He never mentioned to you that the housekeeper might need a few days off, or said anything about her loss to you?”

  Joseph shook his head again, his niggling thoughts growing all the stronger. Whilst his father had never said much about himself to Joseph, surely he would have mentioned to him that Mrs. Allan had suffered a loss and not to expect too much of her? It would have been in his usual brusque fashion, but he would have said something to him—surely.

  “And you didn’t notice Mrs. Allan behaving any differently?” Nora said, as he turned his face to hers. “She didn’t appear tearful, or even any quieter? After all, your father wrote this some months ago, which would have meant that you might have noticed if she had been grieving.”

  Again, the answer was no.

  “Perhaps you’re right after all,” he said, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “But that still doesn’t get us anywhere.”

  She hesitated. “What do you know about Mrs. Allan?”

  Shaking his head, Joseph blew out a frustrated breath. “Very little. She was here for a while after our last housekeeper retired and took a little house in town. She was hardworking but very quiet. Kept herself to herself, if you know what I mean. Not that I or my father minded that, of course.” A pang of guilt shot through him, but he shrugged it off immediately. He didn’t need to tell Nora everything. It wasn’t as though it made any difference and, most likely, she wouldn’t understand.

  Nora nodded, her eyes alight with a sudden idea. “What about family? Did she ever have anyone coming to visit her?”

  “Never,” Joseph replied, his expression much more animated. “She didn’t have a single soul call on her here during all her years at work, and she never asked for any time off to go visit relatives or even friends.”

  She drew in a long breath, a small, satisfied smile sitting on her face. “And then she just disappeared?”

  He nodded, getting to his feet. “She did. Once I’d sent for the doctor, and he’d confirmed what I already knew…” He trailed off, his stomach sinking to his boots as he remembered with absolute clarity what had occurred. “Once the doctor had made his deliberations, once he’d arranged for my father’s body to be taken away, I went to look for Mrs. Allan, but I couldn’t find her. I guess, in my state of grief and shock, it took me a couple of days to realize she was gone.”

  Slowly, he sank back down into the chair whilst Nora perched on the desk, her face filled with a sudden, terrifying horror that he had only just begun to feel.

  “I always thought that it had just become too much for her,” he said slowly, his mind working through a million different thoughts at once. “I thought she just didn’t want to stay in a house where a man had died, as though it was some kind of black omen on the house. But, perhaps…”

  He trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it. Silence reigned for a moment or two, as he gazed up into Nora’s face, seeing the understanding light her eyes.

  “Perhaps she was involved in your father’s death,” she finished for him, reaching over to take his hand. “You think this might not have been his time?”

  It was a suggestion that Joseph did not want to face, but he had to admit that maybe his father hadn’t died of a weak heart after all.

  “Oh, Joseph,” Nora whispered, her hand suddenly trembling in his. “But why? Why would she do that?”

  He shook his head, not quite able to take it in. “I don’t know.”

  “She was loyal to your father, surely, as his housekeeper,” Nora continued, her voice a little stronger. “I don’t understand why she would do something so terrible. Well, I guess we don’t know that it was her for sure.”

  “I have to accept that it’s a possibility,” Joseph replied, well aware that there were plenty of poisons available that could kill a man stone dead. In fact, he’d sometimes ordered some in, to help a farmer deal with an influx of rats. He felt himself shudder at the thought, pain sweeping through him.

  “It might have something to do with this sister then,” he heard Nora say, as he rested his head on his arm as it lay across the desk, feeling completely and utterly overwhelmed. “And the perfume? Miss A. Waterstone? Is that a part of it all or not?”

  Thumping one fist on the desk, Joseph raised his head, aware that he’d startled her but finding anger flooding him regardless.

  “I don’t know, Nora. I can’t answer your questions because I don’t know.”

  She stared at him, her cheeks paling as she tugged her hand from his.

  “I—I’m sorry, Joseph,” she stammered, taking a few steps back from him. “I didn’t mean to add to your trouble.”

  “I’ve only just realized that my father might have been murdered!” he exclaimed, unable to prevent his voice from rising. “I’m struggling with that, Nora, can’t you see that?”

  She nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. “Of course. I sure am sorry.” Turning, she hurried towards the door, and he saw her hand dashing at her eyes, hiding her tears from him. “I’d better get going, or else dinner will be late. I’m sorry.”

  The door shut tight behind her, and Joseph fell across the table in a slump, filled equally with anger, frustration, and exasperation with himself. He’d not meant to shout at her. He hadn’t meant to chase her away, but he’d felt so lost in that moment that her incessant questions had driven him to the brink.

  Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair again, unwilling to open them and look at the place where he’d found his father. The horror that ran through him opened him up wide, sending searing pain into the very depths of his being. His father, the man whose time on earth had been cut short, might have had his life stolen from him. Taken, by someone who, as Nora had said, was meant to be loyal. It was a possibility he didn’t want to believe. He didn’t want to even accept it, but the sudden disappearance of Mrs. Allan, as well as these two notes meant that he had no other choice but to accept it.

  “But why?” he whispered to himself, feeling tears threatening to fall as his agony continued to grow. “Why would she?”

  There was always the chance, still, that Mrs. Allan had simply left the house because she didn’t want to be in the same place as a dead man. There was still the chance that it had been a weak heart, but looking back on it now, Joseph felt that familiar doubt begin to creep in. He’d gone looking for Mrs. Allan soon after his father’s
body had been taken from the house, only to find her absent from the house. Somehow, he’d managed to make himself a cup of coffee, which he’d washed down with glass after glass of whiskey until the day had turned into night and then back into day again. He didn’t know how long it had been until he’d realized that Mrs. Allan was gone entirely, but it was certainly a few days.

  “Father,” he whispered aloud, as though here, in this room, some essence of his father might still be able to hear him. “Father, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t realize until now. I’ll do whatever it takes to get to the truth. I ain’t gonna let you down, I swear.”

  But there was no answer to his broken cries. No words of comfort, no smile that told him he was doing the right thing. Instead, there was just silence. Harsh, unrelenting silence that tore at his very spirit until he broke down completely.

  11

  It wasn’t until the following morning that Nora realized the tile she’d knocked with the broom was out of place again.

  In fact, it was, rather bizarrely, sitting quite a distance away from the rest of the fireplace, at a bit of haphazard angle. It was as if someone had picked it up and then forgotten to put it back where it belonged.

  She swallowed the lump of fear that immediately came into her throat, telling herself that there hadn’t been anyone in her room. She’d had her rooms locked up tight, hadn’t she? There wasn’t any reason to think…

  And then it came slamming back into her mind.

  Yesterday, when Joseph had arrived back home early to search the study, she’d been so frantic in her attempts to finish sweeping the floor that she’d forgotten to put the key in the lock. She’d closed her door, yes, but hadn’t locked it.

  Putting her hand to her mouth, Nora stared, wide-eyed at the broken tile, her stomach swirling horribly as she realized what she’d done. When Joseph had shouted at her, when she’d practically run from the study and back into the kitchen, she’d hurried into her bedroom without thinking. She hadn’t needed to unlock the door because it was already open. In her upset, she’d not noticed. She’d not noticed either the unlocked door or the tile on the floor, since she’d not stepped into her small sitting room.

  Someone had been here.

  Her breathing was ragged, as she fixed her gaze on the tile, not quite sure what this all meant. Since she and Joseph had been in the study, that meant that someone—most likely Mr. Arbuckle—had come into her room whilst they were searching through Peter Shaw’s things, but she had no idea why they’d looked at the tiled fireplace. Yes, the dislodged tile had looked a little bit out of place, but why had they then removed it altogether?

  She gasped suddenly, her mind screaming, as she remembered the small hollow that she’d seen behind the tile only yesterday when she’d been trying to put it back. A hollow that she’d ignored completely, thinking that it was just a way of keeping costs down when it came to making the fireplace in the first place.

  Perhaps there had been something there.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, Nora dragged in a long breath, settling her shoulders in an attempt to find some kind of strength. Despite her clammy hands, she bent down on her hands and knees and looked at the hollow more carefully.

  On first appearance, it didn’t look like anything much, just a space which hadn’t been filled properly, but then she realized that the hollow was, in fact, longer than she’d realized. Pressing one finger into it, she found that it went quite far back into the fireplace itself. The perfect place to hide something small.

  But what?

  Standing up again and brushing down her skirts, Nora put the tile itself to one side, forcing the trepidation she felt away. She had to speak to Joseph, even though she couldn’t help but remember how angry he’d been with her yesterday. She had to hope that he was willing to listen to her. Aware that her face was burning with shame at the very memory of how callously and thoughtlessly she’d spoken, Nora turned away to walk back into her bedroom, knowing she had to start preparing breakfast.

  Her hand trembled as she unlocked her bedroom door, suddenly terrified that Mr. Arbuckle would be sitting there waiting for her. Her thoughts were all turning in his direction. She was quite sure that he had been the one searching her rooms, but she knew she couldn’t just sit in her rooms until Joseph came downstairs. She had responsibilities and, right now, when things were particularly difficult for Joseph, she wanted to make sure that she did what he expected her to do.

  There wasn’t a single sound from the kitchen, and as Nora pulled the door open, she let out a long breath of relief that juddered out of her, shaking her whole body for a moment. Clinging to the countertop, she took a pause to regain her composure, her eyes darting around the kitchen, as though Mr. Arbuckle would be hiding somewhere in the dull morning light.

  “Stop being ridiculous, Nora,” she said aloud, stepping further into the kitchen and walking over to the stove. “He’ll be down soon, and you can talk to him then.”

  “Who will be?”

  She shrieked as Mr. Arbuckle threw open the kitchen door and stepped inside, his face lit with a curiously dark grin. Doing the only thing she could think of, Nora grasped a knife from the countertop and held it towards him, her hand shaking visibly as he closed the door tightly.

  “None of that now,” Mr. Arbuckle said lightly, sitting down at the kitchen table. “And I’ll take some coffee, please. I could never start the day without having some of that sloshing around in my belly.”

  Nora remained exactly where she was, breathing hard and praying that Joseph had heard her scream and would come down the stairs almost at once.

  “He’s not even awake yet,” Mr. Arbuckle said, with one raised eyebrow. “I know you’re waiting for him, but he won’t be down for a few minutes yet. Gives us time to talk, I think.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” Nora replied, her words coming out with force. “You were in my rooms.”

  Mr. Arbuckle nodded, not looking in the least bit contrite. “I was. I had to search them, you see. I found what I was looking for at least. I mean, most of what I was looking for. The last bit’s up to you though.”

  She frowned, the knife slowly lowering in her hand as she saw Mr. Arbuckle clasp his hands together and lay them on the table, his sharp, dark eyes continuing to watch her with interest. He wasn’t an immediate threat to her, even though she had no intention of dropping her guard.

  “I need to find out if Joseph is guilty or not,” Mr. Arbuckle explained calmly, no smile on his face any longer. “Now, are you going to make me some coffee or not? We need to have this conversation quickly, before Joseph gets up, and from the look on your face, I’d say you need a good strong cup just as much as I do.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Coffee, Nora,” Mr. Arbuckle said impatiently, gesturing towards the stove. “Quickly please.”

  For some reason, her limbs began to move of their own accord, as though they had very little choice but to obey Mr. Arbuckle’s request regardless of how afraid she was. She couldn’t understand what he was talking about when it came to Joseph, not able to take in what Mr. Arbuckle meant in suggesting he might be guilty.

  “This all might come as a bit of a shock, I know,” Mr. Arbuckle said, as she placed a cup of coffee on the table for him, sinking down into the chair opposite. “But you appear to be a fairly strong woman. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be speaking to you about all this.”

  “What do you mean?” Nora asked, her voice rather breathless despite her determination to remain strong. “What does this have to do with Joseph?”

  Mr. Arbuckle let out a breath, his lips thin as he glanced away. “Peter Shaw was not my relative, Nora.”

  Her breath hitched, her heart racing frantically.

  “But we were good friends—at one time,” Mr. Arbuckle continued calmly. “I started up a small investigative service a few years ago in a town called Briar Ridge, which is a good few days travel away from here.” He sighed, his shoulders collapsing
around his ears. “When Peter wrote to me asking for my help, I agreed immediately. Of course, since I had a few good clients back in my hometown, I couldn’t just pack up and leave straight away, so I did what I could from Briar Ridge and wrote to him with what I’d found.”

  A dull pain began to grow between Nora’s brows, as she tried to understand what Mr. Arbuckle was talking about.

  “I got a short, very brief note back, and something in the pit of my stomach told me that my old friend was getting into something dangerous,” Mr. Arbuckle continued, his lips pulling tight. “Unfortunately, I was on my way here when I heard about his death. I couldn’t exactly just turn up at Joseph Shaw’s door and tell him who I was, not when I wasn’t sure what, if anything, he had to do with it. So, I had to head on back home and send a letter pretending to be a relative of his.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nora said slowly, resisting the urge to rub her head. “You ain’t thinking that Joseph had something to do with his father’s death, do you?”

  Mr. Arbuckle lifted one eyebrow. “You know yourself that Peter Shaw was, most likely murdered, don’t you?” he said quietly. “I’m guessing from all that searching you and Joseph were doing yesterday, that you found something to catch your interest.”

  Her eyes rounded. “You knew about that?”

  Mr. Arbuckle rolled his eyes. “Of course I did, Nora. Come on now, I thought you a little smarter than this. I saw Joseph heading home earlier than he usually did, and I reckoned that he was either planning on spending some time with you, or that he realized what I was doing and who I was and he needed to get rid of something.”

  Heat crept into her cheeks. “I’m just his housekeeper.”

  Again, Mr. Arbuckle let out a long, pained sigh. “That is hardly the point, Nora, and you know as well as I do that he certainly doesn’t treat you like just his housekeeper.”