Mary Smith sniffed, signaling the end of the topic.
So it had not been a relationship of passion or love.
Eager to learn more, Cassandra straightened. “Have you ever met Peter Clark?”
“No, ain’t ever met him, but I saw him once. Looks somewhat akin to his father, he does. Does he know about you? About how you’re related?”
Cassandra nodded. “Mr. Longham and I met with him, but he doesn’t believe either of us. He thinks I am only trying to get the inheritance.”
“I’ve heard about the inheritance. Word travels fast, and of course, Mrs. Hutton knew of it an’ she also told me what had happened to Mr. Longham and his papers and such.”
“The challenge now is proving my identity. But if you and Mrs. Hutton could be persuaded to speak for me, that would be a start. Plus, this was found in the church.” Cassandra retrieved the slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to her mother.
“’Tis the baptism registry,” her mother exclaimed.
“You know it?”
“Yes. My name is there, see? Along with yours. Notice no father was listed, or any other details. Mr. Clark insisted you be baptized but refused to have his name registered. I wasn’t even allowed to witness it. He paid the vicar off to keep it all very quiet. They were chummy, of course.”
Cassandra tilted her head to the side as a thought struck her. “The vicar was his friend?”
“Yes, their families went way back. The vicar was always here for some reason or t’other.”
Cassandra searched her memory. Did Mrs. Kent not say the vicar back then was Mr. North’s uncle? And he had a wife?
Cassandra furrowed her brow in thought. “There’s no signature from the officiant who performed my baptism, but there are various signatures with the other names. Do you remember the officiant who conducted it?”
“I do.”
Cassandra recalled the name of the vicar Mrs. Kent had given her. “Did this vicar have a wife?”
“Yes, he did. A pretty wife. Name of Alice Stricklin, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Stricklin?” The name flew from Cassandra’s mouth as recognition flared. “Edward Stricklin?”
“Yes. I think so.”
Suddenly, Cassandra’s mind raced to map all of the pieces together.
Mr. North’s uncle.
Mr. North’s tie to the will.
Mr. North’s proximity to baptism records.
Mr. North’s ability to manipulate situations.
Perhaps James’s suspicion about his character was right all along.
“Stricklin, or his estate, was named in my father’s will,” Cassandra shared.
“Wouldn’t doubt it. ’Twas said that the vicar had loaned money to Robert Clark.”
“Mrs. Kent said that the living of the vicar had been passed down through the family,” expressed Cassandra, trying to piece the information together. “I wonder if Mr. North would have any tie to the Stricklin estate.”
“Don’t know ’bout all that. But I do have something for ye. My pride shouldn’t stand in the way of you claiming what’s rightfully yours, an’ when I heard the solicitor lost his papers, well, I thought this might help ye. Robert Clark owed you that much at least.” She opened her bag, pulled out a piece of paper, and unfolded it.
Cassandra’s hand flew to her mouth. Her breath caught in her throat. It was a copy of the custody agreement. The very same one Mr. Longham had possessed.
“I never told me husband, ye ken, and I’d made up me mind to forget ye. Even so, I could not bring myself to feed this t’ the fire. I kept it hidden under the floorboards. Perhaps it will help you.”
“And I have your permission to share this? With the magistrate? And the court?”
Mary Smith nodded.
“Why, this is wonderful!”
“I hope it will help ease things for ye.”
Cassandra embraced her mother. “This makes all the difference in the world, truly. Thank you for sharing this with me.”
* * *
As James returned home and crossed the great hall, Cassandra was on his mind.
Their kiss and the moments they shared the previous evening had complicated matters but also offered a fresh sense of hope. The very thought of her was a bright spot in the sea of darkness he’d found himself in, but he would be lying if he thought there was not a multitude of issues that would stand in their way.
He was on his way up to check on Mrs. Towler when the sound of muted feminine chatter echoed from the small parlor off the hall. Curious as to who it was, he made his way to the parlor door at the hall’s edge and pushed it open.
Inside sat Cassandra and a woman.
Cassandra jumped to her feet as he entered. Happiness lit her face, and she strode toward him. “Mr. Warrington, this is my mother, Mrs. Smith.”
The happiness on her face warmed him, and the other woman stood quickly at the introduction. He could see their similarities instantly. They were both petite women with narrow shoulders. The shape of their faces was nearly identical, and they both had large hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes. “Ah, Mrs. Smith. Welcome to Briarton Park.”
The woman glanced toward Cassandra nervously before she spoke. “Thank you, sir.”
Cassandra took her mother’s arm. “Mr. Warrington knows of our situation. He’s been very supportive of my search.”
Mrs. Smith lifted her chin. “Well, I am glad to hear that a kind man is at the helm of Briarton Park. I lived here, I did, many years ago.”
He could sense the emotion behind her words, and in effort to make her feel more comfortable, he said, “I imagine you could tell us a lot of stories about this house.”
Her brows rose. “Indeed.”
“Before he died, Mr. Longham said that secrets were hidden all over,” he added, attempting to lighten the conversation. “Are you acquainted with them?”
Mrs. Smith nodded, but she did not seem pleased to revisit the memories. Instead, her nostrils flared slightly, and her lips tightened. “Mr. Longham was right. ’Tis an old house, with nooks and crannies e’erywhere. There’s one in almost every room.” She walked over to the wall between the windows and lifted a panel. “See?”
James started, and then he stepped to the perfectly hidden space that opened to a recess in the wall. He opened and closed the panel himself. “That’s incredible.”
“Mr. Clark was suspicious of everyone. He had a great many lies and went to extreme extents to keep ’em. He even built secret rooms. Not even his wife knew.”
James exchanged a glance with Cassandra. “Mr. Longham told us about the hidden alcove in the wall in the study.”
“Nah, that’s naught but a storage area. I’m referrin’ to secret chambers, large enough to stand in.” Mrs. Smith tilted her head to the side. “Did Mr. Longham tell you ’bout the Tobacco Chamber?”
Heat was building beneath his cravat. He tugged at it in an attempt to release it. The sense that there was a secret in his own home, under his very nose, unnerved him. “No. He didn’t.”
She shook her head with an impatience that suggested the memory plagued her. “No one was supposed to know about it. It’s a passageway, really. It goes under the ground t’ the stables. When I was here, he told me ’bout it but made me swear to tell no one. I’ll show you, if ye like.”