“No doubt he sees it as a slight, but father and son had a difficult relationship. They did not see eye to eye. Never did.”
Cassandra studied Mr. Longham, from his thinning white hair, to his bulbous nose, to the deep wrinkles etched around his muddy-brown eyes. Her heart trusted him, she realized, but her head urged caution. “And, if I may ask, what do you get out of this entire situation? It seems a great deal of work for you to track this all down and set it to rights. What benefit will you see if I, or even the Stricklin estate, for that matter, inherits?”
The corner of Mr. Longham’s wide mouth quirked in a smile. “I’m a man of my word, Miss Hale, but I’m also practical. If you read the will in its entirety, you’ll see that your father left me a rather small amount once the will has been served out. The more expeditiously this matter is resolved, the larger my payment. Naturally I’m eager to resolve this entire situation as soon as possible, but I also know this situation is not without its difficulties. Locating you was the most challenging part. Now, everything else should fall into place.”
Cassandra could not share his optimism. “What if Peter Clark contests it in the courts? It seems almost certain he will. How will I fight that? I’ve no money.”
“If you are worried about my fees, do not be. They will come out of your inheritance when all is said and done. That is, if he actually does contest it.”
His words took her aback. “If? He seemed so angry. Surely he will.”
“Bear in mind, my dear, any contesting will make this all public, you see. Such a scandal surrounding his name could very well bring about ruin or, at the very least, damaging gossip, especially in such a precarious business.”
It all seemed so impossible and foreign to her. “So what do I do?”
“You must be patient. This will all work itself out in the end. These things always do, in time. I will assist you. You forget that I was there the day you were born. I was a witness as the paperwork was signed. It’s my name you’ll see signed beneath your father’s. I personally watched as you were moved from the house. I was there when you were sent to Mrs. Denton’s school. You may have felt abandoned all these years, but you were not without people watching over you.”
A surprising lump tightened her throat. All this time she’d assumed she was alone, and now to find out that people were aware of her and even caring for her was overwhelming. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You need not say a word. I knew that, at the end of all, your father would regret a life separate from you. Now we must focus on moving this whole business forward.”
My father.
She stiffened, trying to forget the resentment in Peter’s expression. The thought that father and son did not get along unsettled her. “Was he a good father to Peter?”
Mr. Longham exhaled a long sigh. “I’m hardly the sort of person to give an account of another man’s life.”
Cassandra recognized hesitation in his voice, yet she persisted. “Was he funny? Serious? Harsh?”
Mr. Longham settled back against the seat, looking toward the carriage’s ceiling as if the answers to her questions were written there. “Robert Clark was a very determined man. He was extraordinarily strong-willed when it came to his businesses. Not so much in his personal life. He built his fortune and then lost it, only to fight to rebuild what had been lost. He was a man of contradictions. Strict when it came to money, lax when it came to other matters in life.
“He loved his wife and put her on a pedestal, and in his son he would accept nothing but perfection. He was opinionated and boisterous and commanded attention wherever he went, but he was tormented by the mistakes of his past.”
“And I was one of those mistakes.”
“For many years he thought so, but toward the end, I believe the regret of knowing you were a carriage ride away and he never met you tore at him.”
Seconds slipped into minutes, with naught but the sound of the crunching gravel and the pounding of horses’ hooves to break the silence. Cassandra watched as autumn’s grays and browns flashed by outside the window. Her life was changing, not only day by day, but hour by hour.
Before long, Briarton Park’s chimneys emerged above the tree line, and the sense of arriving home warmed her. When she’d first arrived at the estate, there was no way she ever could have imagined how much her life would change, but now it was playing out right before her.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She had no way of knowing how all of this would end up, but she had to trust that it would be all right in the end.
Chapter 27
“Did you hear?”
James lowered the letter he was reading and looked up as Milton entered Weyton Mill’s countinghouse, the scent of cold and rain accompanying him. “Hear what?”
“There was another attack on Greycombe Mill last night.”
James straightened, his concern piqued. “No, I’d not heard.”
Milton dropped a satchel onto one of the desks and removed his greatcoat. “Apparently they broke into the storage barns behin’ the mill. Broke all sorts o’ machinery, carding machines and his looms ’n’ the like, set fire to the carriage house with the wagons already full with cloth for delivery. Caused all sorts of damage. Didn’t injure anyone, but the mill will not operate. Likely for weeks.”
James leaned his elbows on his desk. “When did you hear this?”
“Just now. We just received another shipment of wool, and the man delivering it told me.”
He could not help but wonder if this was connected to the assault on Riddy. They’d still been unable to officially identify the men responsible. “Any idea who was behind it?”
“Not yet. He suggested we keep an extra eye out, but we’re way ahead of that.” Something outside the window caught Milton’s attention, and he angled his head. “Speakin’ of keepin’ an eye out, looks like we have comp’ny.”
James shifted his attention to Peter Clark’s large form ambling up the road.
His first thought was that Clark, too, had learned about the violence and was here to discuss it. They’d all benefit by banding together to fight against such actions, and until now Clark had resisted any talks. But then he recalled that today Miss Hale and Mr. Longham were to visit Peter Clark, and he grimaced.
The man stomped toward the countinghouse, his fist clenched at his side. His lips were set into a hard line, and he was staring hard across the courtyard. The wind whipped at the hair beneath his black top hat.
James cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’d best leave this conversation to me.”
James stood from his desk in anticipation of Clark’s arrival in the chamber, and once Milton exited the room, he opened the door himself.
Clark did not wait for an invitation before he pushed his way in. He stepped to the desk and turned, his fists akimbo and his stare direct. “What are you playing at, Warrington?”
James closed the door and stifled an inner groan. The pointed question left no doubt that this had to do with Miss Hale and Mr. Longham and nothing to do with the mills. He just was unsure what about their visit had to do with him. “Good day to you, too, Clark. To what do I owe this pleasure?”