by Jane Charles
Brachton frowned for a moment, as if in thought and then his eyebrows rose in alarm. “Do you care to use a back door?”
Jordan chuckled. “I am sure they are seated already. I will exit by the front door.”
Unfortunately, mother and daughter were still in the entry when the group left the library. Mrs. Montgomery frowned at Miss Cooper before she brightened upon seeing Jordan, himself and Brachton.
“What a pleasant surprise,” she gushed.
Miss Montgomery looked to Jordan and the pleasant smile fell from her lips and she moved so as to put him out of her line of vision. This young woman had just given him the cut direct yet it didn’t appear as if anyone noticed, except perhaps Jordan. His brother’s frown deepened and hands balled into fists at his side.
Instead of bringing attention to the tense situation, especially after having just been involved in one in Brachton’s library, Matthew did the honors of introducing the mother and daughter to Brachton.
The woman narrowed her eyes on Miss Cooper. “What brings you here?”
Miss Cooper bristled but politely replied. “I was in discussion with Lord Brachton regarding my uncle’s desire to become the guardian of my father and myself.”
“Thank goodness,” the woman announced. “I’ve long believed you need someone to watch over you and your father is better off in the care of someone else.”
Miss Cooper stiffened.
“Mother,” Miss Montgomery warned in a low tone. “You know very well Grace and her father get on very well together.”
Mrs. Montgomery shot her daughter an irritated look. “What do you know? You are a child yourself.”
Before the two could argue further, Matthew extended his hand. “Thank you for the audience.”
Brachton nodded to the three of them before following his guests into the parlor. That was one tea Matthew was happy to forego.
“I really wish you would allow me to give you a lift back home, Miss Cooper,” Jordan insisted once they were in the drive. If Miss Cooper accepted, Matthew was going along. There was no way in hell he was going to allow Jordan to be alone with Miss Cooper. It didn’t matter that Jordan hadn’t invited him.
“I thank you for your kind offer, but apparently my reputation is already in question and I don’t wish to add to the speculation.”
“Allow me to walk with you,” Matthew found himself saying.
“That is very kind, but I do not wish to trouble you either.”
“We shall both walk with you,” Jordan insisted.
Matthew glared at him above Miss Cooper’s head. What was his brother about? Did he have designs on her as well? Would he have to compete with Jordan and Brachton for her attention, along with Draker, Thorn and Richards? Did he wish to?
Yes, the voice resounded in his head.
“That won’t be necessary Jordan. I can see Miss Cooper home?”
“I don’t mind at all.” He gestured to Matt’s horse tied to a post. “Besides, you brought your horse. You can’t leave it here.”
“I will take her by the reins and she can walk behind us.”
Jordan crossed his arms over his chest. “That would look rather odd now wouldn’t it?”
“And what did you propose to do with your carriage if you walked with Miss Cooper?” Matthew countered and crossed his arms as well.
“I am perfectly capable of walking on my own. I do so every day, but I thank you for your concern.” Miss Cooper turned on her heel and called over her shoulder. “Good day, gentlemen.”
Matthew hastened to untie his horse and Jordan marched over to speak with his driver. A moment later, horse trailing Matt, and the carriage driving just as slowly behind Jordan, followed the trio down the drive. It took only a few moments before they caught up to Miss Cooper.
“It is a lovely day for a walk, don’t you agree?” Matthew offered.
Miss Cooper smiled up at him. “Yes I do.”
Before they stepped onto the main road, Draker rode by them on his steed at a breakneck pace that made one wonder if the hounds of hell were chasing him. As a precaution, Matthew looked in the direction of town, but there was no one in pursuit, not that he actually expected to see hounds of hell, but one did wonder why the man was in such a hurry.
“How very odd,” Miss Cooper noted.
“I agree.” Matthew offered his arm, which she took and they stepped onto the main road. They turned in the opposite direction Draker had travelled. Jordan placed himself at her other side.
“I really should walk more myself,” Jordan observed.
“We have some lovely trails through the woods.”
“I prefer lovely company to scenery.”
Was Jordan flirting with Miss Cooper? Of course he was. Flirting became second nature to his brother and half the time Matthew wondered if Jordan was even aware he was doing it.
“I am really not sure I should be speaking with you, Mr. Trent.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Matthew agreed. He wasn’t so sure that was true, but if it kept Jordan away from Miss Cooper all the better.
“Why is that?” Jordan asked.
“You work for my uncle. How do I know you aren’t trying to find a reason to have me even further discredited in his eyes, or find some type of evidence that I am unfit to take care of my father.”
Jordan stopped and placed a hand over his heart. “I can assure I would never do such a thing.”
She stuck her nose in the air and continued walking. “Yet, you do work for him, which is working against me.”
“I do have a profession. If I refused to work with certain men because they may be disagreeable, I would have very few clients.”
This brought a chuckle from Miss Cooper. “I suppose you are correct.”
Matthew glanced over his shoulder to note his horse and behind that the carriage. “We look ridiculous.”
“You can always ride ahead, brother,” Jordan offered.
“I was referring more to your carriage than my horse,” Matthew clarified.
“What exactly did my uncle hire you to do,” Miss Cooper interrupted before their bickering became heated. “Was it to have my father committed?”
Jordan sobered. “No. I had no idea of the family situation when I arrived. Your uncle wanted me to arrange for purchase of your father’s property.”
Miss Cooper paused and looked at Jordan. “Why? He has an estate of his own.”
Jordan shrugged. “He believes your father is wasting good land that a profit from which could be made.”
She stomped forward and blew out a huff. “My father doesn’t wish to make it any more than it is.” Miss Cooper turned abruptly and pointed at him. “And, he will never sell.” With that, she pivoted and marched ahead. For having shorter legs she moved rather quickly and Matthew had to lengthen his stride to catch up to her. Jordan did likewise and they both returned to her side by the time they rounded the turn in the road the drive to her home came into view. The house sat atop the hill and could be viewed from either direction. In the front stood a small, dark carriage.
Miss Cooper gasped. “What is Dr. Norton doing here?” Before either man could answer, Miss Cooper took off at a run. Jordan sprinted after her and Matthew threw his reins to the driver and followed. He had never had to race after a woman before and by the time they reached the front of the house he was winded. Miss Cooper barely paused before she flung the front door open and rushed inside.
Matthew followed on her heels and was brought up short. Mrs. Thomas sat on a settee crying and the valet hovered at the end of the hall.
The man rushed forward and bowed to Miss Cooper. “I am so sorry. This is my fault. I should have never left him alone, but he was asleep and I thought a short walk would not do any harm.”
The man was rambling and Matthew tried to focus and make sense of his quick words.
“What happened?” Miss Cooper asked with a hint of panic in her voice. “Why is the doctor here?”
Mrs. Thomas st
ood. “Your father tried to kill himself.”
Grace staggered and the room grew dim. She fought to remain upright and concentrate on Mrs. Thomas’ words. Kill himself? Her father tried to kill himself? But why? How?
An arm came around her back and gently grasped her waist. Thank goodness, she needed the support before her legs gave way.
“You should take a seat, Miss Cooper,” Vicar Trent said, his voice low and soothing.
She allowed him to lead her to a chair across from Mrs. Thomas. As soon as she was seated, Mr. Trent placed a glass in her hand. She stared down into the dark liquid.
“Drink,” Mr. Trent instructed.
Vicar Trent settled on the arm of the chair, a hand on her shoulder. “Slow sips.”
Grace, unable to think or do anything but what was commanded of her brought the crystal to her lips and took a small drink, closing her eyes. The burn down her throat pushed the fog away from her brain. But did she want it away? Then she would have to think about what happened. Her father tried to kill himself. It didn’t make sense.
She took a few more drinks at the encouragement of Vicar Trent until the contents were gone. Mr. Trent took the glass from her and added more.
What was she drinking? She’d never had spirits before, other than wine at dinner and on special occasions. Was this a gentleman’s drink, what her father used to enjoy?
“Tell us what happened?” Vicar Trent encouraged Mrs. Thomas without moving from Grace’s side or taking his hand from her shoulder. The warmth was comforting and anchored her in place, though gently. Without it, she would have surely swooned already and she never fainted.
“Your father was napping like he often does in the afternoon.”
Grace nodded, concentrating on the housekeepers words.
“Perkins left to take his usual afternoon constitutional.”
Grace looked up at Matt. “Father’s valet takes his exercise when father sleeps.”
He nodded down at her and returned his attention to Mrs. Thomas. “Then what happened?”
“I had gone down to the cellar for a bottle of wine for dinner and when I came back up the door was locked.” Tears formed in her eyes and Mrs. Thomas looked down, away from them. Grace reached forward to grasp the woman’s hand in comfort, but dizziness assailed her and Vicar Trent tightened his hold and pulled her back against the chair. Tears were streaming down Mrs. Thomas’ face. “Had I known, I would have been more careful. If I may have been able to stop…” She was sobbing now, almost incoherent, but she hadn’t explained what her father had done.
Mr. Trent moved across the room and into the hall. “Perkins, could you please come in here.”
Her father’s valet must have returned to pacing outside her father’s door. They said he tried to kill himself, not that he was successful. She needed to hold onto the thought that he was still alive. This moment was so much like the one when her father had been gravely injured, waiting for the doctor, wondering what happened, and Grace shut out the image of her father’s broken body being carried through the house from her mind. She mustn’t think of that now.
The valet stepped into the room, his back stiff, chin high. The only sign that his composure had been shaken was from the paleness of his skin.
“What can you tell us, Perkins,” Vicar Trent prompted.
“When I returned from my walk, I found Mr. Cooper at the bottom of the stairs.”
Grace straightened and the fog cleared from her mind. She turned in her seat to focus on her father’s trusted servant. “He collapsed at the bottom of the stairs? How is that a suicide attempt? Father has fallen before.” Clearly everyone was overreacting. Soon Dr. Norton would come out and say her father would be fine and just needed rest.
Perkins did not look at Grace but his eyes bore into Vicar Trent’s.
“Why do you assume it is a suicide attempt?” Mr. Trent asked.
“He clearly fell from the top of the stairs and there was a note.”
Perkins voice was barely audible and Grace leaned forward. “Did you say note?”
The man would still not look at her. “We found it in his pocket.”
“Had I any idea, I would have never…,” Mrs. Thomas began but didn’t finish.
Grace did her best to not focus on the woman. This was not right. Her father would not try to take his own life. “May I see it please?”
“I don’t think that is wise, Miss Cooper. It will only upset you.”
Anger surged for a moment. Why did people, men in particular, feel the need to protect her? “I will be fine. Please, give me the note.”
He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper but instead of handing it to Grace, he handed it to Mr. Trent, who read the contents, his face devoid of any emotion, he then handed it to Vicar Trent. It was her father and she was the one who should be reading his supposed last words, not them.
Vicar Trent scanned the contents, a frown marred his brow.
“May I have it please?” She should not have to beg for her father’s letter.
He held it before her and Grace grasped the parchment, took a deep breath and began to read.
My Dearest Grace,
It is the best for us both. I can no longer live in a body that does not function, nor can I continue to tie you to me and this house while you are so young. You deserve a life of happiness but you will not do so as long as I live. I don’t wish to be carted off to Bedlam and if I know my brother he will get his way. This will further ruin your life.
I am sorry to distress you so. I only do this because I love you so much and wish for you to have a full life, not one chained to an invalid.
Your loving father.
She stopped taking in the words once she reached the end and stared at the document as a whole before glancing up and looking around the room. “Who wrote this?”
“I beg your pardon?” Perkins questioned and for a moment Mrs. Thomas quit crying.
“I asked who wrote this.”
“Your father.”
Grace stood, energy surged through her body, all earlier weakness from the shock of hearing how her father attempted to kill himself long gone. “My father did not write this.” She thrust the parchment back at Vicar Trent. “Did he?”
Vicar Trent took the paper, glanced at it one more time. “Unless his handwriting has greatly improved over the last week, then no, he did not.”
“And,” she continued, “It is impossible for him to have flung himself down the stairs.”
Mrs. Thomas straightened and looked over at Perkins. Did they know something or were they just realizing what they were led to believe was an impossibility.
“I don’t understand.” Mr. Trent came across the room and stood before her.
Grace looked up. “My father couldn’t climb the stairs. Why do you think his chamber is on this level of the house?” She stood and pointed down the hall. Anger and betrayal assaulted her being. Who did this? Why would someone try to kill her father? He was a good man and would never harm a living soul.
Vicar Trent stood. His hand slid from her shoulder and down her back until it was anchored at her waist once again. He must fear she may still collapse and though there was no chance of her doing so, the warmth and support he offered gave her great comfort. She closed her eyes and absorbed the strength he offered.
“You are saying someone actually tried to kill your father?” Mr. Trent asked.
“Yes,” Grace whispered.
“And I agree.” Vicar Trent voiced in a tone that brooked no argument.
Matthew tried to concentrate on everything occurring, make sense of it all. Foremost in his mind was taking care of Miss Cooper. For a moment he feared her collapsing. At the news of her father her body had begun to shake and her skin turned a deathly white. Though she appeared to be recovered, he did not want to let go just yet in case of a relapse.
He couldn’t grasp that first Mr. Cooper had tried to kill himself and was finding equally hard to acce
pt someone might have tried to murder him. But, the letter was not written in his hand and Miss Cooper was correct in that the man could not have climbed the stairs. He learned this yesterday when he assisted the man to his room. Though on a good day Mr. Cooper could walk on his own, on a level ground, stairs would be forever impossible for the man, unless he had a miraculous recovery.
But who would try to kill him?
“May I see the letter again?”
Matthew handed it to Jordan who took it to the desk and laid it down before taking a seat. He then began looking in drawers.
“What are you doing?” Matthew reluctantly pulled away from Miss Cooper and walked toward his brother. He immediately felt her loss when he was no longer touching her. He glanced back to make sure she was all right to stand on her own. The color had returned to her cheeks and she appeared sturdy enough.
“I am looking for another sample of his handwriting.”
“Second drawer on the right,” Miss Cooper instructed, following Matthew to the desk. She grasped the ledger Jordan had pulled out of the drawer and flipped through pages, stopping somewhere in the middle of the book. On this page the handwriting changed from one person to another. She pointed to an upper line. “This is what my father wrote prior to his injury.” She skimmed her finger down the page stopping toward the bottom. “This is my handwriting.”
Jordan pulled the note toward the ledger and compared the two. “They do look identical.”
Matthew reached into his pocket and withdrew the two pieces of paper he now carried with him always. The first was the verse he had written long ago from Matthew 5:45. This he put back in his pocket. The second was the verse Mr. Cooper had written for him after their first visit. He laid it beside the letter. “This is what he wrote last week.” If one didn’t know better one would never believe the same man who wrote so neatly in the ledger was the same one who penned the near illegible verse.
“My father had long given up trying to write after he lost a good deal of use of his right hand. Only Vicar Trent prompted him to attempt it again.” She picked up the piece of paper. “There is not a righteous man on earth who does what is right and never sin. Ecclesiastes7:20.”