Chapter 4 - A Dinner with Two Liars
Nathaniel Whitmore arrived with three trunks, an American flag pin on his lapel, and the conviction that his daughter's marriage had made her easier to manage. He stepped out of the carriage as if he had purchased Blackmere House along with his railway ticket.
“Clara,” he said, opening his arms. “You look tired.”
She did not embrace him. “The bridge collapsed. People are frightened.”
“Bridges are repaired. Reputations take longer.” He studied her face. “I received an unpleasant letter from a provincial solicitor. Surely that was a mistake.”
“It was my instruction.”
Her father lowered his voice. “You have a husband for such things now.”
“Apparently I had a father for them before. That arrangement did not go well.”
Nathaniel's smile did not reach his eyes. Behind him, another carriage stopped. Edmund Ashford stepped down in a perfectly cut morning coat, carrying a silver-topped walking stick and an expression of delighted surprise that was much too polished to be real.
“Cousin! I heard about the bridge and came straight away.”
“You heard about it because you were responsible for repairing it,” Clara replied.
Edmund looked past her toward the front doors. “Is Sebastian at home?”
“He will be at dinner.”
“Excellent. We can settle matters as a family.”
Clara spent the afternoon with Mr. Bell and Miss Finch, reading the trust instrument while rain made gray stripes down the windows. Her mother, Catherine, had placed a substantial holding in Northmere Navigation in a separate trust for Clara. Until Clara's twenty-eighth birthday, the trustees administered the shares but could not dispose of the river rights without her informed written consent. After that birthday, she could replace the trustees and direct the voting rights herself. The company owned a western relief channel and an old gatehouse that controlled the flow around Bracken Hollow.
“Your father and the late duke served as the original trustees,” Miss Finch said. “When the duke died, a successor was required. The paperwork names Edmund.”
“He controls the trust and the estate contracts?”
“On paper, he does. That does not mean he has acted properly.”
Clara touched her mother's letter, folded in her pocket. She had spent years interpreting her father's control as grief badly expressed. He had been devastated when Catherine died; she remembered him sitting beside the bed with his face in his hands. That grief might have been real. It did not make him honest.
At dinner, Nathaniel seated himself beneath a portrait of Sebastian's grandfather and talked loudly about opportunity. Edmund produced drawings for a new freight crossing, a dam, and a proposed purchase by Whitmore Industrial Works. The project would reduce river traffic, he claimed, and bring jobs to the valley.
Clara examined the drawing. The boundary of Bracken Hollow had been replaced by a pale blue wash labeled RESERVOIR BUFFER.
“Where do the families go?” she asked.
Edmund lifted his glass. “They will receive suitable arrangements.”
“How many families?”
“I haven't memorized the numbers.”
“Forty-three,” Clara said. “There are forty-three occupied cottages, a school and a burial ground.”
Nathaniel set down his fork. “My dear, don't mistake a sentimental excursion for expertise.”
“I brought back a notice signed by Edmund. It says repairs to the existing bridge were complete. The bridge is now in the river.”
Sebastian's gaze went to his cousin. Edmund gave an easy laugh. “An administrative misunderstanding. The lower contractor had unforeseen difficulties.”
“He submitted a paid invoice,” Clara said. “Someone else suspended the payment. Both papers bear the same signature, down to an identical ink blot.”
“I'll investigate,” Edmund replied.
“No. Mr. Bell will.”
Her father's cheeks reddened. “You invited outsiders into a private family concern?”
“The village isn't a private family concern. Neither are my mother's shares.”
The butler paused with a dish of potatoes. Sebastian told him gently to set it down, then looked at Nathaniel. “Clara's counsel will receive the estate records she asks for.”
“And you'll allow your wife to make you look weak before the county?” Nathaniel asked.
“She isn't asking my permission.”
For a moment Clara saw something like respect flicker across her father's face. Then it vanished. He leaned back, laced his fingers over his waistcoat and spoke with an almost pleasant calm.
“I had hoped marriage would settle you, Clara. Your illness made you sensitive. Your prospects suffered. This business will revive every regrettable discussion.”
“Which illness?” she asked.
“You know perfectly well.”
“The one Dr. Prescott exaggerated? Or the condition you told everyone was permanent after he corrected himself?”
The room went quiet. Edmund's fingers tightened around his wineglass. Sebastian put his fork down, but said nothing. Clara had asked the question; it belonged to her.
Nathaniel's eyes slid toward the duke. “You showed her the letter.”
“I found it,” Clara answered. “He should have shown it to me.”
Her father's gaze returned to hers. He looked suddenly much older. “I was trying to secure your future.”
“By making me believe I could never have children?”
“By ensuring no man married you for a fortune he could squander.”
“Then why did you put Lord Vane's name on the certificate?”
Nathaniel had no answer that would fit inside the truth. He reached for his napkin and carefully folded it.
After dinner, Clara found Sebastian in the hall, standing beside a portrait of his uncle. “You defended me without speaking over me,” she said.
“I nearly spoke too soon.”
“You can practice.”
A reluctant smile passed between them. It did not erase the letter. She was glad he did not pretend otherwise.
Near midnight, she returned to the study and found the northern gate's maintenance log in the cabinet Sebastian had opened for Mr. Bell. Whole pages had been removed from the entries for the flood year. A recently pasted strip covered the name of the officer who had approved the closure. Someone had left a folded note between the surviving sheets.
The message contained six words, written in heavy black ink.
ASK YOUR HUSBAND WHO SIGNED IT.
May you like
Clara carried the note to the window. Below, Sebastian was speaking to a groom beside a lantern. He looked up, as though he could feel her watching. She raised the paper where he could see it.
His face told her he knew exactly what it meant.
