With one hand James grabbed the strap at his side and, with his other, he anchored Cecilia to his side.
“You can serve as our referral to Dr. Worcham and the sanatorium.”
“Easily!”
“And I should like an introduction to your mother,” Cecilia said. “She knows the people and attitudes of those within the sanatorium now. She could be invaluable to my investigation.”
Mr. Stackpoole nodded. “I can do that. I think she would be supremely amenable to assisting in your inquiry. I have heard her mention a Mr. Montgomery in the past. The library is one of the common areas for men and women, and I believe she used to discuss books with Mr. Montgomery in that room—I just never connected the Montgomery she mentioned with my Aileen’s father!”
“There is no reason you should have as Miss Montgomery’s father was supposedly deceased,” James observed.
Mr. Stackpoole’s brows drew together, and his lips compressed.
“What is it, Mr. Stackpoole? I can see something has you bothered,” Cecilia asked.
“I don’t understand Dr. Worcham. I’ve always known him to be an upright gentleman. He had to have agreed to this farce.”
“Farce?” James said.
“Yes! Mr. Montgomery faking his death. He probably has no idea the depths to which it has affected his family.”
“He may not know he has any family other than his cousin who helped him enter the sanatorium.”
“I suppose there could be truth in what you say. Aileen told me he has lived with his affliction for years. She could not understand what changed to make him decide to enter a sanatorium.”
James and Cecilia exchanged glances.
“I’m sure he felt he had a good reason. Perhaps he felt he was getting worse and wanted to go away to protect the family,” James suggested.
“And to preserve blessed family memories,” Cecilia offered.
James nodded.
“But fake his death?”
“From some things Mrs. Montgomery told us, I gathered he did not want them to visit him while he was in the sanatorium, and he didn’t want them holding false hopes that one day he might be cured. They needed to get on with their lives.”
Mr. Stackpoole snorted. “Which Mrs. Montgomery was trying to do. He didn’t think through the ramifications of his‘death.’Did he honestly think she would never want to remarry? That is cruel and disrespectful,” he declared.
“We cannot know what was in the man’s mind and heart,” Cecilia said with a sad sigh.
Mr. Stackpoole leaned back against the carriage squabs. “I could never believe Lord Soothcoor to be a murderer. Do youthink it is possible Mr. Montgomery could have taken his own life?” he asked.
“We don’t know,” James said resignedly. “We have much to learn.”
The Branstoke’s carriage rolled into the courtyard of The New Bell Inn as sunset colors brushed the sky with faint pinks and oranges, muted by the persistent overcast weather. Cecilia thought in any other year than the miserable cold year they’d had, the colors would appear as a vivid blaze across the fenlands.
James took her arm to lead her into the sprawling redbrick inn. She was surprised at the Georgian styling of the building, obviously a newer construction than many inns where they stayed.
“Mr. Price is the innkeeper,” Mr. Stackpoole said, hurrying to come alongside them. He pushed his round glasses frames higher on his nose.
A tall, angular man came out of the inn. He looked all legs and arms. “Sir James Branstoke?” he said, his voice higher pitched than Cecilia would have guessed from looking at him.
“Yes. Has my staff arrived?” James asked.
“Two hours ago, sir.”
“Excellent. We have added one more to our party, Mr. Stackpoole, here. Might you have a room for him as well?”
