by Jane Charles
“I can only guess what prompted that discussion,” Jordan offered dryly.
Now was not the time to discuss the merits of their own father and Matthew ignored his comment. “As you can see, Mr. Cooper did not write that note.”
Jordan let the papers lay on the desk and leaned back. “Which begs the question, who tried to kill Mr. Cooper?”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Thomas gasped from her place on the settee.
“Do you have any thoughts on the matter, Perkins?” Matthew asked and turned to the doorway, but the valet was no longer in the room.
Surely Perkins wasn’t responsible. He took a step in the direction of the door but Miss Cooper was ahead of him.
“Perkins?” she called. “Where are you? Where did you go?”
The man had disappeared but the front door was still closed and they would have heard it open and shut wouldn’t they. Miss Cooper turned down the hall and hastened to her father’s room. The door was cracked and she pushed it open. Matthew stopped behind her and looked in to the room. Her father lay on his bed, a coverlet pulled up to his chest. His eyes were closed and his pallor as white as the sheets he rested upon. A bandage was wrapped around his head and blood seeped through the pristine material, staining it a bright crimson. Perkins stood at the window in discussion with Dr. Norton. The men glanced up when Miss Cooper walked into the room.
“How is my father?”
Her voice shook but she held steady. Once again Matthew placed a hand at her waist to offer steady support and be there if she collapsed from the strain and shock of this situation.
“He remains unconscious.” The doctor began putting items into a bag.
“When will he wake up?” Miss Cooper demanded.
The doctor looked up, his face grim. “I am not sure.”
She went slack for a moment and Matthew tightened his grip but Miss Cooper quickly recovered, though Matthew did not relinquish his hold.
“I don’t understand.”
The doctor straightened and came forward. “He had a nasty fall. I am not sure he doesn’t have broken bones, but it is his head I am concerned with. He already suffered from previous injuries; this may be more than he can take.”
“What are you saying?” Miss Cooper leaned into Matt, as if seeking support or safety, he wasn’t sure.
“I doubt he will ever wake and it is only a matter of time before he …”
“No,” Miss Cooper shouted, cutting the doctor off. “I don’t want to hear it. You said that before and he lived. You could be wrong again.”
The man sadly shook his head and looked over her to Matt. “Send word if I am needed.” Dr. Norton brushed past those gathered in the room and down the hall. Miss Cooper pulled away from Matthew and sank down in a chair beside her father’s bed. She grasped his hand in hers. “You must wake up, Papa. You must.”
Matthew wanted to go to her, take Miss Cooper in his arms and shield her from her pain, but what comfort he could offer would not lessen her grief. Jordan grabbed his arm and motioned for Matthew to follow him in to the hall. He did so, with one last look at Miss Cooper. She wouldn’t know if they were in the room or not, and Perkins could come get him if he were needed, and the only reason he would be needed is if Mr. Cooper passed on. He hoped that didn’t come to be.
Jordan waited for him in the foyer. “Who do you think tried to kill Mr. Cooper?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“If I were one to make a wager, I would suspect your client.” Only Lord Stillwaite had anything to gain by the demise of his brother. The three suitors only had one-third of a chance of Miss Cooper choosing them so murder was hardly worth the risk if one ended up without the prize in the end.
Jordan stiffened. “Stillwaite wanted Cooper put away, and had a chance of that happening, and at the very least end up with guardianship and control of the estate. Why result to murder before a decision was made?”
Matthew didn’t have an answer.
“It would have to be someone strong enough to get Mr. Cooper up the stairs.”
He walked to the landing and glance up to the second floor.
“And younger than Stillwaite?” Jordan added.
Matthew had to agree. The man may be older and healthier than his younger brother, but he knew from experience from helping Mr. Cooper that the older man could not have accomplished this on his own, if he were responsible.”
There were dents in the wall and a few of the wood bannisters were broken. Blood smeared on the lower part of the wall the closer to the landing, as well as the lower steps, with a small pool on the floor after the first step. “Was the damage caused from the fall or did Mr. Cooper fight while being hauled up the stairs?”
“Possibly both,” Jordan answered. He and Matthew slowly walked up the stairs, examining the dents and splintering caused to Mr. Cooper or his assailant. He placed his hand on the railing, it moved easily. “I will need to have someone come in and fix this before anyone is injured or it gives way.
Jordan nodded and went down on his haunches, looking toward the foyer. Matthew followed his line of vision. There were sixteen steps on the stairs. It was impossible for Mr. Cooper to navigate himself, even with the help of the bannister. Someone brought him up here and then pushed him down. But who?
Matthew stood and slowly walked back down the steps, once again examining the broken brackets, chips in the wall and blood on the steps, trying to determine when and how the damage had been done. When he reached the bottom he looked back up at Jordan. “I think Mr. Cooper fought with his murderer going up the stairs, which is how the spindles were broken.”
Jordan nodded in agreement.
“The damage to the walls was from when Mr. Cooper was pushed.
“I agree.” Jordan sauntered down the steps and stopped three steps from the bottom.
“That is where his head hit the wall last, and then hit each step before he came to a stop here.” Matthew pointed to each area smeared with blood and finally at the pool drying by his feet.
Mrs. Thomas came around the corner, her pelisse in place, hat on her head and gripping her reticule.
“Would you be so kind as to clean this before Miss Cooper sees the blood?”
The woman took a step back, eyes wide with shock. “I will do no such thing. I am leaving this house.”
Matthew moved forward. “I understand you are upset but Miss Cooper could be overset when she sees her father’s blood and her day has already been trying enough.”
Mrs. Thomas continued to back toward the door. “A murderer came to this house and I am lucky to have survived it. There is no saying he won’t be back so I am going home and plan on never returning.”
With that she spun on her heel and practically ran out the door.
Matthew moved to go after her.
“Let her go. There is nothing you can say that will make her remain.”
He stopped at the entry and watched Mrs. Thomas hustle down the road. With a sigh he closed the door. Mrs. Thomas was right about one thing, the murderer could return. If he learned that Mr. Cooper did not die, would he come back to finish the task in fear of being identified and simply to take care of what he finished? If he did, what would stop him from harming Miss Cooper as well? They didn’t even know the reason someone tried to kill Mr. Cooper and until they did, she was not safe.
“I’ll clean this up. You should be with Miss Cooper.”
Jordan clean? How much did he not know of his brother? Or, perhaps Jordan was simply used to cleaning up after his own messes and didn’t mind doing so for someone else. Matthew stopped himself before asking. He should not assume the worst of his brother and vowed that when the more pressing issues were behind them he was going to sit down with his brother and have a long talk. There were so many questions and Matthew wasn’t exactly sure if he was prepared for the answers just yet.
“Thank you,” Matthew finally uttered.
“When I am finished I will go see Brachton. He should know of this.”
Matthew turned to face his brother and thrust his fingers through his hair. “You are right.” His eyes met Jordan’s. “Hopefully Mrs. Montgomery and her daughter have taken their leave before you arrive.”
Jordan winced and looked away, saying nothing. Why couldn’t his brother meet his eyes? “What happened between the two of you?”
“Now is not the time to worry about a past misunderstanding.”
Misunderstanding? Miss Montgomery’s reaction to Jordan was much more than a mere misunderstanding. Matthew continued to watch his brother, hoping for more of an explanation. Finally Jordan looked at him. “Let it go, Matt. At least for now.”
The pain was evident by the darkening of his brother’s normally light blue eyes. Yes, there was more to the situation than a mere misunderstanding but he would not press right now. Jordan didn’t wish to talk about the events and Miss Cooper needed him. With that, Matthew turned on his heel and returned to the bedchamber where he paused in the doorway.
Nothing had changed. Perkins stood at the ready while Mr. Cooper lay silent and unconscious in his bed and Miss Cooper held his hand, begging him to wake. It tore at his heart and Matthew sent a quick prayer asking that Mr. Cooper open his eyes or if that was not God’s will, that he take the pain and give Miss Cooper the strength for what was to come.
The afternoon lengthened into night but Grace barely noted the room darkening or Perkins lighting lamps. She was acutely aware of Vicar Trent settled in a chair at the corner of the room, watching her and watching her father, ready to offer assistance if needed. Several times he had pressed a cup of tea into her hand and later a bowl of soup. Where he had come by it she had no idea, nor the energy to ask. After a few bites it had been set aside. She had no appetite. Instead, she tried to get broth past her father’s lips with Perkins holding him upright. But she couldn’t get him to drink the fluid and the broth simply ran down his chin and onto his nightshirt. Nor were they able to get him to drink tea or water. If her father didn’t cooperate, he would starve, thus ensuring his death. She could not allow that. She would not allow it. But what was she to do.
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. She knew it was Vicar Trent, but didn’t take her eyes from her father’s face.
“You should rest.”
“I can’t leave him.”
“Perkins will get you if he awakes.”
His awakening wasn’t what scared her. It was what could happen while she slept. “I would rather stay here.”
Vicar Trent said nothing further and returned to his seat in the corner.
She waited and waited but her father didn’t move or flinch. It was almost as if he were gone. But she couldn’t think like that. He had to awaken. He must!
Perkins had moved from his place by the window and now sat in a chair as well, his head dropping in exhaustion. Occasionally he would jerk and looked around. “You should go to bed, Perkins.”
“I would rather remain with Mr. Cooper in case he needs me.”
Grace tried to smile at his dedication but didn’t have the energy to do so and went back to watching her father. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock and her eyes grew heavier with each click. She tried to keep her eyes open but it became impossible until she decided to lay her head on the bed and doze for but a few moments. If her father woke she would be here.
“No,” she screamed. Grace bolted up and looked around. The dawn light filtered into her bedchamber from the open window. Her heart raced and breathing was rapid as she looked around her dim room, trying to make sense of the nightmare. She could only remember snippets but enough to recall the vision of her father locked away, behind a cell, with screams of those carted away to Bedlam surrounding her. Sweat trickled down her neck and she swiped it away.
Her door burst open and Vicar Trent rushed inside, his hair disheveled, sticking out at various angles and his coat was missing and cravat askew. “What’s wrong?” Why was he here, looking as if he had been asleep?
“Father!” How could she have forgotten her father? Grace shoved the covers away and stood from the bed. She still wore her dress from the day before. “How did I get here?” Her last memories were of sitting with her father.
He blinked and shook his head as if to dislodge the remnants of sleep. “I heard you scream.”
“It was a nightmare. Nothing more.” Grace shoved her feet into the slippers beside her bed. “How is father?”
Vicar Trent sighed, his face gaunt. “No change.”
That was good. She needed him awake but at least he hadn’t passed. She couldn’t lose her father. She needed him and he hadn’t deserved everything that had happened to him in the last few years.
She pushed past Vicar Trent. “I need to return to him. I have no idea how I ended up in my bed.”
He followed her out the room. “I carried you up here last night.”
He carried her, to her bed? Even though the gesture was innocent, heat flooded her face at the impropriety. “Thank you, but I wish you would have let me stay by my father.”
“To topple to the floor in your exhaustion?”
Whatever did he mean?
“I barely caught you before you slid from her father’s bed. Perkins and I both agreed you needed to rest in your own bed for your own safety and to avoid any aches and pains from sleeping in such an odd position last night.”
Grace turned away and continued down the stairs, but slowed her steps. Two rungs beneath the banister were broken; there was a deep dent in the wall on the opposite side. A chill ran up her spine. How much of this damage was caused by her father when he fell? Dark stains marred the wood on the last three steps. She knew well enough that it was blood and someone had tried to clean it away, but the deep, almost blackish red would be forever stained into grain.
Vicar Trent’s warm hand settled at the small of her back and he guided her forward. She couldn’t think about the bloodstains now. When she reached the landing, she continued to her father’s room. Please let him be sitting up in bed, alert and only slightly suffering from the effects of his fall. Such was not the case. He looked exactly as he had the night before. She strained to see if he were breathing. His chest barely rose with each breath. “Has he eaten anything?”
Perkins sadly shook his head.
“We have to get something in him.”
“I’ve tried Miss Cooper, but he doesn’t cooperate.”
She stopped at the side of his bed. Her father’s skin had taken on an ashen tone and he developed deep bruising beneath both eyes, as if he had been in a fight. It was to be expected since that is what had happened. There was a bit of dried blood beneath his nose. Why hadn’t she noticed last night? Grace picked up the cloth, dipped it in water and washed the blood away. As she leaned forward she noticed the same by his ear, and washed that away as well. She stopped, her eyes focused on the once white sheet beneath her father’s head. A dark crimson stain had spread beneath his ear. She quickly leaned over to the other side. More blood. What did that mean?
It wasn’t much, a few drops and they were dry, but a man should not bleed from his ears. She assumed the nose was from his injury and everyone knew noses bleed horribly when struck, but she had never seen an ear bleed.
Her face and body suddenly grew cold and her father’s deathly face swam before her. She must have swayed or stumbled because Vicar Trent was at her side instantly, a warm, soothing hand on her waist, another on her arm as he assisted her into the chair she sat in the night before.
“Why are his ears bleeding?”
Nobody answered her and she tore her gaze away from her father to Vicar Trent and then Perkins. He only shrugged. “We don’t know Miss Cooper.”
“When did it start?”
“Last night. Perkins was wiping it away when you weren’t looking,” Vicar Trent answered.
“I hope the doctor gets here soon. I am sure he has a reasonable explanation.”
“It has stopped,” Perkins assured her and Vicar Trent’s ha
nd gently squeezing her shoulder. Grace bit her bottom lip to keep from crying. It would do no good to become emotional now, even if all she really wanted to do was pull Vicar Wake close and be held by him so she could cry like a child.
His heart ached for Miss Cooper. Though Matthew didn’t have a vast amount of experience when it came to ill or injured people, he knew well enough that bleeding from the ears was not a good sign. But he wasn’t sure what it meant exactly, or how serious. The man looked close to death if his shallow breathing and grey pallor were any indication, but could one really be certain? Miss Cooper would be lost if her father died and Matthew was at a loss as how to comfort her.
He straightened once she was settled into the chair and stepped back. Her face was pale as well, hair mussed from rising directly from bed and coming here. He wished he could comfort her but didn’t know how. He thrust his fingers through his hair. He was a minister, a vicar in the community, her vicar, but he had no idea what to do. Shouldn’t a vicar automatically know the right words to say in a situation like this? The first crisis in this vocation and he was at a complete loss. Far from the perfect vicar his father always planned for him to be.
Disgusted with himself, Matthew turned on his heel and walked from the room. “I will get you a cup of tea.” If Miss Cooper responded, he did not hear her. He should not be thinking of his failings but of how to help her and Mr. Cooper. But how could he? He wasn’t a doctor. All he had was prayer.
Matthew paused in the center of the dimly lit kitchen and looked around. The silence in this house was deafening, as if death waited at the door for admittance. No. He could not allow Mr. Cooper to die. Grabbing a chair from the table he sank down into it before leaning forward and placing his head in his hands. He searched deep into his soul and tried to find the perfect words to petition to Lord to save Mr. Cooper’s life, but he was at a loss for words. As his frustration mounted Matthew blew out a breath and leaned back, looking up to the ceiling. “Please, Lord, save him.”