“Not anywhere?”
“That’s right, sir.”
The tavern keeper scowled at Adam and waved him away. “Leave me be. I’ve no time for pranksters and larks.”
With that, he leaned back over his books and seemed to forget Adam’s very existence. Confused, Adam turned to his traveling companions. Their faces bore similar expressions of befuddlement. He herded them away from the bar toward the door.
“Strange,” said Hester.
“Indeed,” added Barlow.
Jane stared blankly, her face a mask of bafflement. “Why do you suppose he reacted so oddly?”
Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. Regardless, it seems we will find no enlightenment here.”
“That man treated you rather ill, though. Perhaps we should press him further, if for nothing other than justice.”
“Perhaps not. We should spend our efforts inquiring elsewhere.”
“But we seek only a pockmarked old man. He should be able to direct us to every pockmarked old man in Coniston. How can we leave the rest to chance if we cannot locate the old man?”
“I don’t know…” The abrupt shuffling of a chair caught Adam’s attention. The elderly man had risen from the corner and was approaching. So wide were his eyes that the whites beamed in the gloom. Something in his purposeful stride kept Adam’s attention affixed. As he neared, the stranger lifted the outstretched palms of his trembling hands toward the group.
“The letters?”
Adam’s head jerked backward. “Pardon me, sir? What did you say?”
The man smiled broadly, showing yellowed teeth, and grabbed Adam’s hand in both of his. “The letters! You speak of the letters! Have you brought them?”
Without thinking, Adam slowly removed the parchment from his coat and presented it to the old man. He took it gently and unfolded it with great care, as if unwrapping a gift of the Magi. His eyes grew wider still as they swept over the words. He glanced up sharply. “What are your names?”
Although the demand for an introduction proved unsettling, Adam obliged. “Mr. Barlow. Mrs. Byrd. Miss Hancock. And I am Mr. Ashford.”
The letter crumpled in the man’s hands as he clenched them together. “Hancock! Ashford! Oh, the joy! You have come at last!”
Adam cocked his head. “You were expecting us?”
“Yes! Of course. My father served your forebearers. He wrote this very letter seven decades past. I remember well, for I was eight years old at the time. I carried it to the post with these very hands, this letter and another.”
Jane produced her letter and held it open. “This one perhaps?”
“Exactly so! And here you are! My father’s employers’…”
“Great-grandchildren,” said Jane.
“Of course. That would be about right.”
“And just who are you?” said Adam.
The old man bowed. “Thomas Chance, at your service, and waiting seventy years to complete my father’s business.”
Adam glanced at Jane to find her staring in wide-eyed wonder. She gave voice to that wonderment. “Trust unto Chance for the rest of the plan. Are you the Chance of which the letter speaks?”
“Not precisely. That was my father. Miss Hancock’s great-grandfather employed him to watch over a specific asset. However, when my father passed some thirty years ago, I accepted the mantle. On this day, then, I am the Chance you seek.”
Jane shook her head, her face the picture of amazement. “Seventy years, Mr. Chance! Why did you never approach our families?”
“I promised my father to wait for you. He said you would come when your families had settled their differences. And here you are. Have you abandoned the conflict, then?”
