“But why, then, after Mrs. Clark died, do you suppose Mrs. Denton did not tell me the truth?”
Mrs. Hutton retrieved a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “Young Peter Clark would be my guess. She loved that boy as much as any aunt could love a nephew, never having had children of her own, and she never wanted to cast a shadow on her sister’s memory. And, of course, to keep scandal at bay.”
The words struck, numbly at first and then with increasing intensity.
Could that be true?
Did Mrs. Denton really sacrifice telling Cassandra the truth to protect a person as brutal as Peter Clark?
Mrs. Denton had loved her and cared for her.
But apparently she had loved her flesh and blood more.
“I can see this is affecting you,” Mrs. Hutton said after a space of silence. “I confess, it’s been a burdensome secret to bear. But I leave you with this. Do not judge your mother too harshly. Mr. Clark robbed her of so much. Her confidence. Her innocence. Like I told you in our first encounter, sometimes secrets are a gift. You seem to have done well for yourself. A young woman could do worse than a governess position in a house like Briarton Park. Maybe you’ll find yourself a husband. ’Tis no secret you’ve caught the vicar’s eye. Word’s all over the village, not that I pay mind to gossip, but everyone seems to be expecting a wedding by summer. I’ve experienced a great deal in my day, and my advice is to forget this business and focus on what comes next.”
* * *
Cassandra needed to return to Briarton Park before she was missed.
It would be dusk soon, and as much as she would prefer to walk in complete solitude to contend with her thoughts, the fastest way back to Briarton was through the village.
She passed through the small maze of cottages off the high street and trod the cobbled road. But as she reached the church, her steps slowed.
Mrs. Hutton had said bluntly that the vicar was taken with her. She even said the villagers expected a wedding by summer. The thought should have flooded her with optimism and given her hope for a future and a family.
So why didn’t it?
Since her arrival in Anston, Mr. North had been gracious and obliging. His visits to Briarton had been regular since Mr. Longham’s death. And he really was undoubtedly attractive. But she could not deny that the more time she spent in his company, the more acquainted she was becoming with his other qualities—insistent, possessive qualities that, to her, sullied his otherwise congenial nature.
She tried to force her mind to look past the misconduct. They were minor failings, and after all, who was without faults? But another thought—another person—pushed the idea of Mr. North to the back of her mind. Mr. Warrington. But it was impossible. Implausible. For look what had happened to her mother when she set her sights on someone in an unattainable position.
Yes, she should want to marry. She should want to marry Mr. North.
As she passed the vicarage, Mr. North emerged, donning his black coat as he did so. She’d half expected to see him, for his study overlooked the high street and he observed all comings and goings. He waved a hand and jogged toward her.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you in the village today.” His pace slowed, and he fell into step beside her. “But I’m glad, for I have news for you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. But first, how are you?” His brow creased. “Mrs. Pearson said you were not yourself after the visits. She worried you were ill. In fact, I called out to Briarton not an hour ago and was told you were not able to be found. I was concerned.”
The words should warm her, or at least make her feel supported, but something in her resisted it. “Do not worry on my account. I’m quite well, as you see. After our outing, I called on Mrs. Hutton.”
“Mrs. Hutton?” He jerked. “Why?”
She immediately wished she had not divulged the last bit. He was getting too close. His intentions might be innocent enough, but she was suffocating under the weight of them. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
His dipped his head and raised his hands submissively. “Fair enough. We’ll say no more on that subject, but there is a matter, a serious matter, I wanted to discuss with you. But perhaps you are not up for it.”
Her patience was growing thin. “If you’ve something to disclose, then please do.”
“They arrested a suspect for the Longham murder.”
She lurched to a stop and faced him, squinting as the late-afternoon sunlight slid over the church’s roof. “What?”
He nodded. “As we all know there have been several attacks on mills and mill owners, and they suspect that Mr. Longham simply got caught in the crosshairs of one of these attacks. It seems Mr. Warrington’s new carding machines have caused quite a commotion among the workers, and that is why they were on Briarton Park property. It’s not common knowledge, not yet at least, but I thought you’d want to know.”
She started walking again, and he followed suit.
“There’s more. The man who was arrested was employed by Peter Clark.”
Peter Clark. The very name seemed to be haunting her, following her in every situation. “What evidence do they have against this man?”
“I don’t know exactly, but apparently something was found in his house that tied him to Mr. Longham. Something about documents. I can only surmise it was the documents from Mr. Longham’s satchel that you had told me were missing, but that’s merely an assumption.”
The documents. Her documents.
A little flame of hope flared.
With the documents missing and her mother refusing to acknowledge her, there would be no way to help her prove her identity. Cassandra could hardly push forward without any evidence whatsoever. But now, just maybe, there was a chance the documents would come to light and offer the support she needed.
Chapter 34
The afternoon was growing late when James returned to Briarton Park from Weyton Mill. He needed to speak with Miss Hale. Rumors that Shepard had arrested a man on the suspicion of murder were rampant, and he wanted to make sure she knew.
But as he entered the parlor, music echoed, and he found Rachel at the pianoforte. He stopped short. “I thought you were spending the afternoon with Miss Hale.”
The music halted and she turned to him. “I did.”
“Back so soon?” He popped open his watch. “I thought she said you wouldn’t be back until evening.”
“I thought so, too, but after our first call, Miss Hale said she had a headache and wasn’t feeling well, so we returned.”
He snapped the pocket watch closed and tucked it away. “Is she all right?”
“Well, I thought so, but then she left in a hustle on an errand. She said she’d return for the girls’ supper. I—I’m afraid I upset her.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” Sensing she needed to talk, he dropped to the sofa next to the pianoforte, stretched one arm over the back of it, and crossed one leg over the other. “It is her free afternoon. Perhaps she really had errands.”
“You didn’t see her. She was not herself at all.” Rachel lowered her hands from the keys and shifted to face him. “Then Mr. North called, and when I went to tell her, she wasn’t in her room. I’m worried she is upset with me.”