Castle Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 9)

by Melissa Bowersock

  Lacey met Oswald’s eyes again. “So if he’d taken either cyanide or Belladonna, what would the symptoms be? Sickness that just got worse and worse?”

  Oswald did a quick search.

  “All right, Belladonna symptoms would be tachycardia, headache, confusion and delirium. Cyanide symptoms are confusion, sleepiness, headache and shortness of breath. Rather similar, actually.”

  “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m thinking back then, it would be unusual to conduct an autopsy to find the cause of death. I doubt they’d even know what to look for.”

  “Aye, you’re very probably right,” Oswald said. “I suspect they might attribute it to a general fever or pox or some such.”

  Lacey looked to Sam. “It sounds like this is about as far as we go on this particular thread. We know enough about what he did, and that he kept it a secret, but not why.”

  The sound of footsteps interrupted them. Peter and Mavis entered the library unannounced, both grinning broadly at Lacey. Mavis even came around the table and gave her a quick hug.

  “Well, cousin,” Peter said. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Harley told us,” Mavis said. “Isn’t it lovely? We’re so pleased.”

  “Me, too,” Lacey said with a laugh. “I never dreamed…”

  “It’s not terribly surprising,” Peter said. “I believe it’s primarily a matter of going back far enough to find the connection. I would suspect all of us Fitzpatricks are related in one way or another.”

  “You’re probably right,” Lacey said. “But it’s nice knowing for sure.”

  “Precisely,” Peter said.

  “So how are you doing with our chamberlain?” Mavis asked. “Making progress?”

  “Some,” Lacey said. “But it’s slow. We still don’t know what he did that caused him such guilt.”

  She turned to Oswald. “If a staff member did something bad—committed a crime, for example—would there be any record of that and the aftermath? Would that be written down anywhere?”

  Oswald shrugged. “He’d most likely be sacked, of course. And for a crime, he’d be turned over to the authorities.”

  “No,” Sam said. “He died here. Still in his formal attire. No, there was no firing, no arrest. He was his own judge and jury.”

  No one had anything to add to that. Lacey glanced around from face to face, but no other theories seemed to be forthcoming. Finally she looked to Sam.

  “Do you think it would help to do another walk?” she asked quietly.

  Sam hesitated. “I don’t know. Let me think about that.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “For now, though, I guess we’ve done as much research as we can with what we know.”

  Lacey canted her head. She was patently surprised at his response. They’d never come up against a brick wall like this before, and she had the distinct impression Sam was holding something back. When he met her eyes, she noticed the way his mouth made a thin, straight line, as if he were holding his jaw tight.

  “Okay, then,” she said as normally as possible. “I guess we can all go about our day until we think of other avenues to research.”

  “Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Let us ponder it and see what we should do next. We can let you all know as soon as we come up with anything.”

  “A-all right,” Mavis said. She smiled, but not confidently. “Perhaps something will suggest itself.”

  “Perhaps,” Sam said.

  Lacey couldn’t get back up to their suite fast enough. She laid her laptop and pack on the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the couch.

  “What was that?” she asked archly.

  Sam didn’t sit, but went to the K-cup coffee maker and held up a pod to her. “Irish Cream?”

  “Yeah, sure. Then come and talk to me.”

  Sam set the first cup to fill from the machine, the warm aroma of Irish cream coffee wafting through the room.

  “I wasn’t going to suggest any more about the relationship between Cornelius and Rosalyn with Peter there, not after his last outburst. But I know that’s what’s behind this.” He brought Lacey her coffee and made another for himself.

  “So you don’t think Cornelius committed a crime or did anything overt against Andrew.”

  “No.” He brought his own cup and sat next to Lacey on the couch. “This is totally about Rosalyn.”

  Lacey sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “Okay. I know your conviction comes from the feelings and impressions you get, but let me go at this logically for a minute. Let’s start at the beginning. Cornelius falls in love with Rosalyn, a match that can never be. Would that be enough to count as a betrayal to Andrew? Enough to cause his massive guilt?”

  Sam tapped his coffee cup with one fingernail. “I don’t think so.”

  “Me, either,” Lacey agreed. “After all, no one has any control over who they fall in love with. Look at Colleen and What’s-his-name McCandless. It’s the age-old human story of falling for the wrong person at the wrong time, in the wrong place. So that’s really no fault of Cornelius’. He couldn’t help it.”

  She sipped her coffee. “So, next scenario. He can’t suffer in silence. He takes it to the next level and declares his feelings, and makes love to her. The way I see it, that either means she loves him, too, and it’s consensual, or she doesn’t, and it’s rape.” She frowned into her Irish cream. “But if he chose Door Number Two, I doubt Rosalyn would submit quietly, and he’d still end up fired and arrested, that is unless Andrew killed him on the spot.”

  “It definitely wasn’t that,” Sam said. “There was no rape.”

  Lacey nodded. “I didn’t think so. But again, is the affair enough of a transgression to cause Cornelius so much guilt? Granted, it’s a betrayal of his office and Andrew’s trust, but is it enough, especially if Rosalyn is a willing partner?”

  Sam stared out over his coffee cup, his eyes focused on nothing. “I don’t think so.”

  “So the next development…” Lacey suddenly set her cup down on the coffee table and grabbed her laptop. She pulled it open and set it on her knees, fired it up and called up the genealogy program.

  “Rosalyn Fitzpatrick,” she muttered as she typed. “Born 1718 to Andrew and Cynthia. Married to Garrett O’Toole March, 1736.” She read another entry to herself, then lifted her eyes to Sam. “Gave birth to a son, Liam, in September.”

  “Six months later,” Sam said, his eyes glittering.

  “Yup. So unless Liam was a super preemie, she was pregnant at the wedding. Now the question is, who was Liam’s father?”

  Sam set his coffee cup aside and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not only that, but was the wedding planned? Was it already in the works when Rosalyn discovered she was pregnant? Was she having premarital sex with O’Toole as well as Cornelius?”

  Lacey blew out a breath. “And how the hell do we find answers to any of these questions?”

  Sam launched himself from the couch and began to pace the room.

  “If she’s pregnant by O’Toole, and he marries her and makes an honest woman of her, doesn’t that kind of wipe out Cornelius’ transgression? I mean, it doesn’t erase it, but it’s kind of a non-starter, right?”

  Lacey had to agree. “For all intents and purposes, yeah. But for Cornelius himself, probably not. Even if his sin is never discovered, if he’s as conscientious and loyal as you said, he’s still gonna do some guilt over it.”

  Sam stopped pacing and came back to Lacey. “Play the video of that walk again, would you? Let me see it again.”

  “Sure.” Lacey put aside her laptop and got out her phone. She cued up the video and held the phone so they could both watch it.

  They were quiet as Sam’s walk progressed on the small screen. He toured the first few rooms, then entered what was a bedroom.

  “Despair. Failure. Loss of control. Dishonor and… overwhelming grief. The loss of everything. Literally everything.”

  Lacey clicked the video off, but Sam stared sightlessly at the screen.
/>   “Overwhelming grief. The loss of everything. Everything he valued. Everything he loved.”

  Sam raised his eyes to Lacey. “He didn’t suicide because he’d betrayed Andrew. That was definitely a massive blow to his own sense of honor, but that wasn’t the worst of it. No, it was losing Rosalyn. He couldn’t face life without her. She was everything to him.”

  Lacey nodded, setting down her phone and collapsing back against the cushions. “So everything that Peter said was categorically impossible is exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  Sam nodded mutely.

  She blew out a breath. “Well, if we’re going to clear Cornelius, we can only do it with the truth. We can’t sugarcoat it for Peter.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  She picked up her phone. “I’m calling in the cavalry,” she said, and dialed Harley.

  ~~~

  SEVENTEEN

  They went down to the dining room and claimed a table for lunch. Harley joined them moments later.

  “So you believe you know the entire story now?” he asked.

  “Yes. And Peter’s not going to like it.”

  Over beef tips and potatoes au gratin, Lacey and Sam told Harley what they had cobbled together. Between Sam’s impressions and their logical step through the possibilities, they were sure they were on the right track.

  “I see nothing that seems nonsensical or out of place in your theory,” he said after hearing them out.

  Lacey let out a relieved exhale. “So you don’t share Peter’s conviction that a master-servant relationship could never happen.”

  Harley’s mustache twitched slightly, and only partially covered a small smile.

  “The Ellsworths are fine people,” he started. “Well-meaning, honest and caring. But they are also… the last remnants of nobility. What they consider impossible is simply human nature at its weakest point. And nobility, regardless of what they think, are still and always will be human beings.”

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Lacey said. “I know as Americans, we have some trouble understanding the whole class issue, and we’re not trying to be obtuse about it—”

  Harley held up a hand to her. “I understand. And no, I do not believe you are being obtuse. I’m afraid the Ellsworths are, unfortunately. Much as I like and respect them, none of us can ever forget that they are my employers and I their employee.”

  Sam nodded in understanding. “Okay, then I think we’re all on the same page here. We’d like to ask your opinion about some points in the story that we’re not clear about.”

  “Anything,” Harley said.

  Sam leaned forward. “Since it appears that Rosalyn was pregnant when she got married, what are the chances that O’Toole was the father instead of Cornelius?”

  Harley sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I would say very small. If she was being courted by O’Toole, it would all be very regulated: family dinners, balls or dances, carriage rides. They would never be unchaperoned. It would be very difficult to arrange private time together.”

  “Whereas,” Sam said, “Rosalyn and Cornelius…”

  Harley smiled crookedly. “They lived in the same castle, twenty-four hours a day. Granted, they each would have their prescribed activities, but they would have the means for carving out some private time.”

  Sam and Lacey exchanged knowing smiles.

  “And what about the marriage?” she asked. “If Rosalyn had Liam in September, that means, by all rights, she probably got pregnant in December. She’d have suspicions in January, probably know for sure in February. The wedding was in March. Could they—would they—put a wedding together that fast?”

  Harley steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Rosalyn was eighteen. I would suspect that the plans to wed her to O’Toole were already in motion. Her parents would have struck the deal and she would have very little to say about it. I might guess that her mother, Cynthia, could have ascertained her condition, and could have convinced Andrew to speed up the plans. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last, that this was done.”

  “Would O’Toole accept that Liam was his?”

  Harley regarded Lacey with a smile. “I believe women are the experts in this particular milieu, and for the most part, men are happy to have it so. It would be my guess that Rosalyn, backed by her mother, could well convince O’Toole that the baby was his.”

  “So,” Sam said, picking up the thread, “Rosalyn would be packed off to her new home and Cornelius would be left to grieve his lost love in silence and invisibility.”

  “Exactly,” Harley agreed. “I would strongly suppose that neither Sir Andrew nor Cynthia would see any difference in Cornelius at all; they just wouldn’t look, nor notice if they did see. Life would go on as it always had, sans Rosalyn.”

  “And Cornelius’ death wouldn’t be cause for suspicion?” Lacey asked. “If he suddenly became ill? Headaches, confusion, dementia?”

  “There was no delusion,” Sam said. “He was clear to the end.”

  Lacey nodded. “Okay, but dizziness, headaches?”

  Harley shook his head. “I doubt they would suspect suicide. Again, the ruling class just wouldn’t ascribe those kinds of emotions to their staff. If Cornelius was as you say”—he motioned to Sam—“very stoic and supremely dependable, the lord and lady wouldn’t look beyond the obvious, a sudden, fatal ailment. It just wouldn’t occur to them.”

  They were all quiet for a moment, letting it all sink in. Finally Lacey turned to Sam.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “What do you feel?”

  “I feel,” he said, glancing from Lacey to Harley, “that we have our story. We can release Cornelius.”

  ~~~

  After some discussion about the best way to handle the Ellsworths, they all agreed honesty was the only option. Trying to somehow cloak the releasement in a false narrative would be far too difficult and prone to failure, so they knew they had to go with the truth. What the Ellsworths did with that truth was up to them.

  “Let me arrange a meeting,” Harley said. “When would you like to do the releasement?”

  “This evening would be fine,” Sam said. “Say about six?”

  “All right. Let me set it up. I’ll call you when I know the times.” He angled his head toward them. “This will give you two a bit more free time. I daresay your week in Ireland is drawing to a close.”

  “Yes,” Lacey said. “Our flight out is early Saturday morning. That only gives us one full day left here.” She peered at Sam. “What should we do with it?”

  Sam smiled. “Actually, I have an idea about that.” He looked at Harley. “I’ll talk with you about it later.”

  ~~~

  EIGHTEEN

  With Harley coordinating, the Ellsworths invited Sam and Lacey to tea in their residence at four p.m. This would give them time to discuss their findings and then do the release. The Ellsworths insisted they come back afterward for dinner, as well, although Lacey wondered if they’d be so eager for their company then.

  At four o’clock, Lacey rapped lightly on the residence door. At least, she thought, they’d learned their way around the castle enough not to need a guide.

  Aileen let them in and led them to the sitting room.

  “Thank you,” Lacey said as she and Sam took seats. Aileen smiled, her eyes darting from Lacey to Sam with bright anticipation. The servants are going to love this, Lacey thought.

  Harley and the Ellsworths joined them momentarily. Aileen, Harris and Mercy followed with the full silver tea service and a plate of tea cakes. Harris poured and the maids distributed the cups of aromatic tea.

  “Harley tells us you have teased out the story behind Cornelius,” Mavis said brightly.

  “Yes,” Sam said, taking the lead. “You may find the revelations somewhat discomfiting, but I am ninety-nine percent sure we have it right.”

  Mavis’ look of anticipation turned guarded. She sat back against the cushions of her chair and glanced at Peter.


  “I know you felt it improbable for a relationship to develop between Cornelius and Rosalyn,” Sam began. “But I am convinced that is exactly what happened. Cornelius was in love with her, and I believe she loved him in return. In December of 1735, she became pregnant.”

  Lacey watched the Ellsworths over the rim of her tea cup. She noted the hard, thin line of Peter’s mouth, the slight frown of Mavis’. To their credit, they sat quietly.

  “We don’t know exactly how the next part played out, but we do know that Rosalyn married Garrett O’Toole in March of 1736, and just six months later, her son Liam was born. By that time, however, Cornelius had already taken his own life. He felt profound guilt for his betrayal of Sir Andrew’s trust, but the primary driver behind his suicide was grief, not guilt. Grief for the loss of his love. He couldn’t go on without Rosalyn.”

  The silence was brittle. Sam sipped his tea. Both he and Lacey waited for a response.

  Finally Peter cleared his throat and set his cup and saucer on the table. “I find that highly unlikely,” he said. His voice, although soft, was firm.

  “I understand,” Sam said.

  Peter stared at him. “What happens if you are wrong?”

  Sam shrugged. “The releasement won’t work. If I can’t absolve him of his sin, Cornelius will stay bound here.”

  “Failure to clear his ghost could substantially impact your fee,” Peter said.

  Sam nodded.

  “Have you ever been wrong?”

  “No.”

  For the length of a few heartbeats, there was a silent standoff. Lacey held herself motionless, only her eyes darting from Peter to Mavis and back. Now she wondered if they would even let Sam try.

  Mavis ended the stare-down. She touched her husband’s arm with a light caress. “I suppose,” she said, “the proof will be in the pudding, as it were.”

  Peter frowned down at her, clearly not welcoming her resolution. With a heavy sigh, he looked back at Sam. “All right. We’ll find out one way or another, shan’t we?”