The Visitor

by Lori Wick

  Lizzy smiled. “He certainly has changed.”

  “I can hardly wait to find out for myself.”

  Cassandra’s siblings suddenly found themselves in need of their own distractions. They went their separate ways, prayerful for Henry and Tate in London but trying not to dwell on the situation overly much.

  London

  Ellenborough had not been in on Saturday, which is why Henry’s coach could be seen taking him toward Ellenborough’s office on Monday morning. This was a more familiar part of London for the man from Collingbourne. For this reason and several others, his mind didn’t dwell on his surroundings but was once again on the service at Tate’s church the morning before. Henry had been very pleased by the whole experience.

  Pastor Annesley had the congregation studying in the book of 1 Peter. He’d not covered many verses, but what he’d shared had been insightful and helpful to Henry. Henry knew Tate loved his sister; he’d known it long before the younger man had voiced such thoughts. Had Henry any doubts about the man’s character, his love for Cassandra wouldn’t have meant a thing. Also now knowing the type of church he chose to worship and fellowship in gave him even more hope of his sister’s future happiness.

  “I never did ask you, Henry—how do you know Ellenborough?”

  Henry brought his attention to the inside of the carriage, to Tate, the coach’s other occupant.

  “I was in school with his younger brother.”

  “How old is this man?”

  “I’m not exactly certain. He’s at least ten years ahead of me, if not fifteen. He was long out of school by the time William and I went through.”

  “And do you still have contact with his brother?”

  “No, I’m afraid that’s a rather tragic story. William is dead. In fact, it was his brother’s mysterious death that sent Ellenborough into detective work.”

  “Did he ever solve the case?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  Tate fell silent then, working to take it in. Henry Steele was turning out to be vastly different than he had imagined. He wasn’t without his peculiarities, such as the way he would fall silent for long stretches of time, but Tate was coming to genuinely admire him.

  “Here we are,” Henry said when the coach pulled up. The two men stepped onto the street, and Henry led the way to the door of a dark, small-looking office. A man looked up from his position behind a desk the moment they stepped in, his brows rising in question.

  “Is Ellenborough in?”

  “He is. Do you have an appointment?”

  “I do not. I would like you to tell him that Henry Steele is here.”

  It was not said unkindly or with any force, but the man rose without question. He knocked softly on an interior door and slipped inside. Almost no time passed before the man was back and inviting Henry and Tate to enter.

  “Henry Steele.” Ellenborough met him in the middle of the room. “How many years has it been?”

  “Too many, Ellenborough. How are you?”

  “I am very well. In fact, I was thinking about you not six months ago. Do you know, I’ve never solved William’s murder.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that; truly I am.”

  “Well, come in,” the detective invited, even as Henry did the honors. The moment the two men met, Ellenborough took his seat behind a large, messy desk and sat back as if he had all the time in the world.

  “What can I do for you, Steele?”

  Henry gave an abbreviated version of Tate’s situation and then waited to hear that the man was too busy or didn’t take those types of cases. The secretary and the cluttered atmosphere of the entire office reminded Henry that this man was no longer just the older brother of an old friend.

  “Did you say Pierrepont?”

  “Yes.”

  “First name?”

  “Charles.”

  “And he was your business manager, Mr Tate?”

  “For many years.”

  “You seem surprised, Ellenborough,” Henry commented.

  “I am. I’ve only just heard from another man—Plunkett of Chelsea. Plunkett claims that his business consultant has disappeared with some assets. His name is also Charles Pierrepont.”

  Tate had all he could do not to put his hand to his head. Had all of this been staring him in the face and had he missed it? Had his vision been of so little use to him even before the accident? Could Pierrepont have been that good at deceiving all of them?

  “I take it you want me to find the man?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  Ellenborough pulled a sheet of paper toward him and began to write. He asked Tate for names—correctly spelled—addresses, a bit of personal history, and details that included dates of employment and Tate’s accident. But when he asked for the whole story from Tate, he sat back and listened without interruption.

  When Tate finished, Ellenborough was quiet, thoughtful. Tate took his cue from Henry and said nothing, but he felt his body tensing, moisture beading his upper lip.

  “I’ll look into it,” Ellenborough finally answered.

  “Thank you,” Tate said, feeling he could breathe again.

  The men didn’t stay any longer. Ellenborough told Henry to visit again soon, Tate thanked the man, and they made their exit.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Tate said once they were both back in the carriage.

  “Well, let us hope he can find some leads.”

  That Henry didn’t want to be given any credit was obvious. Tate let him have his silence, wondering if there was anything else he should be doing. Even without voicing it, Tate thought he knew the answer: Trust God first and then trust Mr Ellenborough to do his job. It was no coincidence that Henry knew him. God would use whomever He chose to accomplish His purposes.

  Newcomb Park

  I won’t tell You, Lord, that I must have this man, but I will confess that I think he’s wonderful. I know he had those moments when he was angry and upset, but I would want him to forgive me in such a situation. Can I offer any less?

  Thank You for Your plan. Help me to wait on it. I could rush ahead easily. I could pace and be vexed with You, but that’s foolish, and I’ve been foolish enough in the relationship with Tate to last a lifetime.

  For a moment Cassandra was quiet. She had written to Henry as Edward had suggested, but now she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She stayed in her room, the door shut, and tried to remember some of the verses from Sunday. She ended up opening her Bible but had more to pray about.

  When I think of the way You are able to work, I feel amazed. I know Tate did not enjoy his fall or the long days in darkness, but had You never brought him to this place, I might never have met him. Thank You. Thank You for seeing every need so clearly.

  Please be with Morland and Lizzy, Father, Cassandra suddenly remembered to pray. I want my sister’s happiness, and I don’t wish her to hold back on account of Tate and me. Help her to proceed in You, believing I will be fine.

  And in that moment Cassandra knew she would be. She wasn’t overjoyed at the thought of never seeing Tate again, but she knew that God would comfort her heart and give her all she needed.

  She cried then, tears of mourning and tears of letting go of her pride and wanting her own way, but also tears of thankfulness that no matter what the outcome, she didn’t have to go through it alone.

  The Manse

  “And you haven’t heard from Henry since Monday?”

  “No.”

  “That must be a bit hard.” Judith’s voice was filled with compassion.

  Cassandra smiled. “As you can see, Judith, it is really you who’s doing the rescuing today, not the other way around.”

  The pastor’s wife shook her head with a rueful smile. “We’ll see how weary you are after a day of reading to the children and going on outings. You may change your mind about that rescue.”

  Cassandra only laughed. She was looking forward to the experience, even when the two youngest childr
en joined them and John looked uncertain about his mother’s departure up the stairs.

  “Shall we read a book, John and Margaret, or would you rather play outside for a time?”

  “A book.”

  “Outside.”

  Cassandra surprised them both into smiling when she burst out laughing and suggested, “Why don’t we read outside?”

  They were all for this, and not many minutes later the three trooped out of doors, coverlet and book in hand.

  With little pomp or ceremony, Cassandra settled the counterpane under a large, shady tree, sat down, and opened the book. John sat beside her, ready to listen, but Margaret kept to her feet.

  “I thought we were going to play.”

  “You can, Margaret. When John and I have read awhile, we’ll probably join you. Or you can sit with us for a time, and we’ll all play later.”

  Cassandra could read the indecision in Margaret’s eyes but didn’t wait for an answer. She began to read to the little boy beside her and didn’t even look in Margaret’s direction when she joined them. Wanting to be compassionate, however, she kept the reading time short and soon suggested they play a game.

  “Can we play blind man’s bluff?” John wished to know.

  “That’s not as fun with only three people,” Margaret told him.

  The children began to discuss this, Margaret even suggesting another game, but Cassandra heard little of it. The words “blind man” were still stuck firmly in her mind. They conjured up images of a man no longer blind but still as dear, and many questions about where he was and whether his mind was as preoccupied with her as hers was with him.

  Newcomb Park

  Henry was so tired of speaking, he thought his head would burst with pain and pressure. Lizzy and Edward had been full of questions, seemingly dozens of them, and in all of this, he still hadn’t seen Cassandra. When they paused for breath, he ventured a question of his own.

  “Where is Cassie?”

  “She’s at the Hursts for the day, giving Judith some rest.”

  Henry stood. “I’m going to lie down before she comes home.”

  That he needed some time alone was clear. Brother and sister were quiet as he walked from the room and for several minutes after he left. Cassie would be home in a few hours. Did they tell her all that Henry had to say or leave that to the brother who was exhausted in his efforts toward communication?

  The Manse

  “How were they?” Judith asked Cassandra at the end of the day. The children were in the dining room with a small meal, and Judith was walking Cassandra to the door.

  “Very well. We had a marvelous time. Judith?”

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t know each other extremely well, but may I tell you something?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I think Margaret fears you’re going to die.”

  “Did she say as much?”

  “No, but she questioned me about my mother, and when I told her she was dead, she asked more questions and was very relieved that she hadn’t died in childbirth. I could see the rest all over her face. And as soon as she knew that, she didn’t want to know anything else about my mother. She changed the questioning to life at Newcomb.”

  Judith put a hand on the younger woman’s arm, her eyes closing for several seconds, her chest sighing deeply.

  “I can’t thank you enough for sharing with me. Frederick and I have been suspicious of something for a while now, but nothing specific has come to the fore. This will help us with the right words and verses, Cassie. Thank you. A thousand times, thank you.”

  Cassandra told her not to hesitate to ask again and went on her way. It had been a marvelous day, and she still got to go home. In that, there was always the possibility that there would be word from Henry or Tate.

  Newcomb Park

  “Your brother is in his study,” Jasper told Cassandra the moment she set foot in the front door.

  Cassandra’s heart leaped, but she only thanked him quietly and walked that way. Her knock was a little loud, but Henry didn’t comment.

  “How are you, Henry?” Cassandra asked right away. “Was the trip very tiring?”

  “A bit, but I’m doing well,” he answered, reminded of her sweetness as she asked about him first.

  “Must you return right away, or are you home to stay?”

  “I’m home to stay.”

  “I’m glad. We missed you. How is Tate?” she asked at last, and her questions, without the anxiety that Lizzy and Edward showed, caused him to believe that their siblings had spoken to her.

  “He’s well. I’m sure you’ll hear from him again.”

  “Did you get my letter, Henry?”

  “No.” He looked surprised. “I must have missed it.”

  “It explained to you that I didn’t get a letter from Tate. Your letter arrived on its own.”

  “So you don’t know…” Henry said with wonder, his voice trailing off.

  Cassandra stood silently, her face looking young and vulnerable.

  “He still loves you, Cassie,” Henry took pleasure in telling her, “and deeply regrets the way he treated you.”

  Cassandra’s entire body sagged with relief.

  “All this time you waited,” Henry said softly, his voice filled with compassion.

  “Thank you for going, Henry,” she said quietly. “Thank you so much.”

  Henry took the next few minutes to explain the situation to his sister. He ended by saying, “Do not doubt that he cares for you, Cassie, but he must stay in London and sort things out.”

  “Of course. Thank you for telling me. Maybe he’ll write to me again.”

  “Or you could write him.”

  “I would wish to see his letter first, I think. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “Yes. I will search for it, Cassie. Maybe it’s in my correspondence or traveling bag.”

  “Well, I’ll be here all evening should you find it.”

  Henry smiled at her attempt not to pressure him. He was still smiling when she let herself out the door. Once on his own, he prayed for her and for the man in London whose heart must surely be in two places.

  Richmond

  “Are you certain we should leave her?” Lizzy asked Morland as he led her outside to the garden.

  “Yes. She might not even be asleep. It’s her way of having a time of quiet.”

  Lizzy smiled, not at all surprised that Penelope Long would use such a tactic.

  Lizzy had been invited to lunch with Morland and his aunt. She had been glad to accept. The meal was sumptuous and the conversation lively, but when they’d retired to the parlor for coffee, Aunt Penelope lasted only a matter of minutes. Morland had been talking when Lizzy noticed that the old woman’s head had fallen back and she appeared to be sound asleep. After Morland saw it, he signaled to Lizzy, and in minutes they were stepping out into the sun-filled yard and garden.

  Morland started a slow walk among the flowers and hedges. At first there was silence, but then Morland spoke his thoughts.

  “There’s something we haven’t talked about, Lizzy.”

  “Probably many things, but what is on your mind?”

  “Children.”

  “Our children?” Lizzy asked, using wording that caused hope to burgeon in Morland’s heart.

  “Yes. I’ve always pictured myself with many—like your family, not mine. What have you pictured?”

  “Many, I think, especially knowing what good friends they can be during all the growing-up years and even into adulthood.”

  “Do you know how many times I envied Edward?”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  For a few minutes they walked in silence. The day was warm, the sun beating on their heads, and the smells from the garden were glorious.

  “I also want a large garden,” Morland said, half teasing.

  “As do I.”

  Morland stopped. “You do?”

  “I love flowers, Morla
nd.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. I just don’t enjoy picking and arranging them. I’m happy to leave that to Cassie.”

  “You won’t always live with Cassie,” Morland pointed out.

  “And a house must be full of flowers?”

  “Yes.” Morland just held his smile.

  “Well, then,” Lizzy retorted, thinking fast and also fighting a smile, “I shall live close to Cassie, and she can come weekly and fill the house.”

  Morland shook his head lovingly and took her hand in his. He continued their walk thinking, If you’re going to be with me, Lizzy, I think I can agree to just about anything.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Please don’t miss the example of these people, the significance of the swift repentance of the men of Nineveh,” Pastor Hurst urged on Sunday. “Turn to the book of Matthew, chapter 12, where we’ll see in verse 39 that Jonah is mentioned. I think it’s easy for us to be hard on this man, but he is one of God’s prophets, and God used him in a mighty and powerful way.”

  The church building sounded with the rustle of turning pages. When things grew quiet, Frederick Hurst continued.

  “What I really want you to center on just now is verse 41. Follow along with me while I read part of this verse. ‘The men of Nineveh shall rise in judgment with this generation, and shall condemn it; because they repented at the preaching of Jonah.’

  “Jesus is telling His followers that they are not getting it. We’re so certain that if we could walk and talk with Jesus, it would be easier to believe, but these men had His presence, and it still wasn’t enough. The folks of Nineveh didn’t ask for a sign. They didn’t say, ‘Just show us something special and our hearts will turn.’ No, they knew the end was near and they’d better take this seriously.

  “In the book of Jonah, only a man is speaking. God’s prophet, yes, but still a man. In the book of Matthew, it’s God Himself, standing and talking to these dear men, but they still wanted a sign.