I should like to thank you again, Mr. Adams, for putting me in the way of this position, which I think shall suit me very well, and for your kindness in fitting me out for the journey. I shall continue to write every six months as we agreed, and of course keep quiet about how I happened upon this place. I would of course respect your wishes in these regards without your continued generosity.
Yours most sincerely, Madeleine Bray
Graves ran a hand across his forehead. “What can this mean? Who are these people? Have you heard of them, Miss Chase? Do you recognize any of the names, Susan?”
The little girl shook her head and looked afraid. Graves was worried he had spoken with more heat than he had intended.
Miss Chase took hold of the little hand and patted it. Then she said slowly, “Was there not an earl who married a dancer a few years ago, then fell ill within a year?”
Graves frowned at the tabletop in front of him, trying to pull the threads together.
Miss Chase continued: “Perhaps Alexander had family at the house. He was an educated man. I remember once hearing of a gentleman who was brought up very well in a country house. He was the son of the steward, got a thorough education and was raised to take his father’s place. He fell out with the family as a young man though, wanted to go and make his own fortune rather than look after that of another man.”
Mr. Graves looked at his fingernails, then curled them into his palms.
“What became of him?” he asked.
“He became rich and bought an estate of his own. That is the way of the world these days, I think. Good men can make their own way, if they keep their courage.” She looked at him with a gentle smile and he felt his heart lift a little.
Susan turned another letter toward Graves, her smooth forehead drawn down into a rather fierce frown.
“This is a funny letter! From the same lady, I think. Will you read it, Mr. Graves? I am not sure I understand it.”
He took it from her and cleared his throat.
Thornleigh Hall, Sussex
Dear Mr. Adams,
All continues here much as in my last. Mr. Hugh Thornleigh and Lady Thornleigh are not very friendly, and it is a shame when a family cannot comfort each other in such times, do you not think, Mr. Adams? I have learned however that the eldest son, Alexander, Viscount Hardew, has been missing from this place some years-indeed, I had the opportunity to see a portrait of that gentleman in his youth while cleaning some miniatures with the housekeeper and heard the whole story. I would tell it to you now, sir, but I suspect you know it already! I do not wish to give you any disquiet, Mr. Adams. Your secret, I swear, will never be won from my lips, nor will I ever make allusion to it again.
Yours, Madeleine Bray
Graves stopped reading, and there was a heavy silence in the room. He looked cautiously at the little girl, trying to guess if she had understood.
Susan stared hard at the tabletop; she could feel nothing but the gentle weight of the ring around her neck. A lost son? An Alexander? Her father was Alexander and a gentleman, but could he be so grand? She had seen earls while walking out in the park. They had none of them looked like her papa, and they had none of them seemed comfortable to her. Her mouth was dry. She blinked and looked up into Graves’s dark blue eyes.
“Might my papa have been the son of this sick man?”
Graves wet his lips and looked down a little hopelessly at the paper in his hand.
“This Miss Bray seemed to think so! It all seems very strange, Susan. Did your father ever say anything to you, that might have suggested …”
Susan shook her head vehemently. “No. Only when he asked about carriages and dresses the other evening.”
“There must be something else here.” Graves reached into the box again. “Let us go through the pages one by one.”
They set to work on the box again, each apparent offcut of score turned over, every bundle shaken to check nothing hid within.
It was Miss Chase who found it-a trio of papers concealed within a bundle of music Graves had previously put aside as mere camouflage.
“Here! Oh here, Mr. Graves.”
She spread them out on the table. A marriage certificate and two others registering the births of Susan and Jonathan. The names on the marriage were Elizabeth Ariston-Grey and Alexander Thornleigh. The children were Susan and Jonathan Thornleigh.
They stared at the writing until Graves was sure he would be able to recall the penmanship on his deathbed. He looked at the little girl.
“It seems …” His voice cracked and he swallowed as the little girl stared up at him, her eyes wide. “It seems Alexander always wanted you to have the means to return to the Thornleigh family, if you wished it, Susan. There is no doubt. These are your true names.”
“So I am not Susan Adams at all?”
“You are your father’s daughter, and he was too honorable a man to deny you what he chose to deny himself.”
He looked up, feeling Miss Chase’s eyes on him. She smiled at him and nodded. Susan’s hand suddenly flew up and covered her mouth with a little cry.
“Oh! But we must not say, we must say nothing! I do not think they are good people!” Her eyes filled with tears.
Miss Chase took her hand and held it between her own. “What is it, Susan? Why are they not good people?”
Susan turned her head from one to the other a little wildly.
“The man, the yellow man, said it was a message from the Hall! That’s what he said: ‘a message from the Hall.’ That must be this Hall, mustn’t it? If we say anything, they may send another man to kill Jonathan and me.”
5
Mrs. Westerman’s thoughts, as they walked down the slope to Caveley, still ran on Wicksteed’s journal.
“There must be a way I can get sight of his papers. There is business enough between the estates to justify me visiting the housekeeper, or Wicksteed himself. If I could get into his office and find a way to make him leave me there alone a little while …”
Crowther sighed. “Mrs. Westerman, he may not keep his diary in his office, and if it contains anything that might be incriminating, it is probably locked away.”
She looked up at him angrily, then kicked an offending branch clear of the path in front of her with a soft leather boot.
“I shall try, however. I will not slink away from this. I may find nothing, but I know we will learn nothing if we do not make the attempt.” And when Crowther allowed himself a roll of his eyes: “Do you have any better plan, sir?”
He studied the earth in front of him. “No.”
“Well then.”
There was a clap of a door slamming in front of them and they looked up to see Rachel hurrying across the grass toward them. They glanced at each other, saw their own worries reflected, and lengthened their stride to join her.
“Mr. Crowther, oh Harry! Thank goodness! It is Mr. Cartwright!”
Harriet looked confused. “What do you mean, Rachel? We were there only half an hour ago.”
“Michaels has just ridden up this minute. Cartwright has been taken very ill and the doctor is attending a sickbed in Pulborough. He has come to ask your help, Crowther.”
She was very pale. Crowther did not think to question or protest but, spotting where Michaels waited, mounted at the corner of the house with his own horse beside him, set off swiftly toward him. He climbed into the saddle with a vigor he would have thought impossible days before.