“Anything relating to legal or financial matters. His will left his fortune to his daughter, but no one seems to know what this fortune might be, or where it is hidden.”
“There is no money here?”
“Almost a thousand pounds in coins and notes in the safe.”
Winnie’s eyebrows rose. “So much? Papa never keeps more than two hundred at home.”
“Sensible man, but I understand there was a certain amount of gambling for high stakes went on here. Mr Nicholson was often successful. Could you make a start on these drawers while I work through the desk?”
“Of course. I shall make three piles — personal letters, bills and anything legal or financial.”
“Ah, my husband was right,” Mrs Edgerton said. “You have an orderly mind, Miss Strong.”
For a while, they worked in silence, Mrs Edgerton at the desk and Winnie sitting on the floor, happily sorting into neat piles. After a while, as the piles grew unwieldy, she found string and bundled them up with a neat label on each,‘Letters from Andover, 1777-1785’or‘Tailors’ bills, 1790-1800’.
But then she came to an oddity.
“Ma’am? I am not sure what to do with this letter. It is from the Bishop of Winchester, relating to Mr Nicholson’s ordination. Should I start a new pile, or just put it with the Hampshire correspondence?”
“Is it merely a form letter of congratulations?”
“No, it predates his ordination. It seems to suggest he tried to be ordained previously.‘I wonder, sir, if you have reconsidered your desire to be ordained, since I have not heard from you in the two years since our last meeting at Christmastide? I remain willing to accept you into the church as a priest, but if you have found an alternative path in life, then I wish you well.’”
“May I see it?” Quickly, she scanned it. “Well, it is official enough that my husband will want to see it. He is interested in Mr Nicholson’s early life as well as his more recent doings. Miss Strong, you are clearly familiar with your father’s affairs, so would you give me your opinion of these accounts? There are some entries I cannot quite make out. For a clergyman, Mr Nicholson wrote a very poor hand sometimes.”
***
Captain Michael Edgerton had interviewed all the members of the Atherton family who had been at the castle on the night of the chaplain’s murder and had reached the upper servants. After the butler and housekeeper, he called a halt for the evening, as Sandy clenched and unclenched his writing hand, stiff and aching from a day of taking notes.
“Not to worry, Sandy,” Michael said cheerfully. “By the time we get to the housemaids and footmen, there will be nothing to write.” He affected a broad Yorkshire accent.“Oh, no sir, never saw or ’eard a thing, sir. I were fast asleep in my bed all night, sir. Could ’ave knocked me down with a feather when I ’eard what ’ad ’appened.”
Sandy laughed. “So why do ye bother asking?”
“I want them to look me in the eye as they say it. If they cannot, I shall know they are lying. Ah, Luce!” It was the oddest thing how after six years of marriage, his heart still flip-flopped when his wife walked into a room. “Had a good day, my dear?”
“No. You give me the dullest tasks, Michael. However, I like Miss Strong. She is a sensible, useful girl who gets on with the work without fuss. She has devised a system for sorting everything into piles, and then tying them into bundles. You will have no trouble laying your hand on Mr Nicholson’s hatter’s billsfor the year 1803, should you ever need them. Here is your mail for today. This one is local.”
“From Lady Strong, inviting us to dinner. We have a choice of dates. Tomorrow if we want to eat en famille, or the day after if we should care to dine with some of the neighbours — the Franklyns. Do you know anything of them?”
“The daughter is betrothed to Lord Birtwell.”
“Ah, so she is the future Countess of Rennington? Then I should certainly like to meet her. Sandy, you are invited too, if you care to come.”
“Why not? It will make a change from this place. Have ye finished with me, Captain?”
“Yes, off you go and change for dinner. Leave your notes. I shall lock them away in the tower room.”
When Sandy had gone, Michael smiled at his wife and patted his knee invitingly. Laughing, she draped herself on his lap, and allowed herself to be thoroughly kissed.
“I am sorry Nicholson’s papers are so dull,” he said when they eventually surfaced. “However, it must be done. There could be a letter hidden in those piles of hatter’s bills that would show us exactly why Nicholson was killed.”
“That reminds me,” she said, stretching to reach her reticule without falling off his lap. “Miss Strong found this. She gave it to me because she could not work out how to file it, but it puzzles me for other reasons entirely.”
Michael read the letter carefully. “It puzzles you because it took him two attempts to be ordained?”
“No.” She flipped it over to show the direction. “It was sent to him here. The bishop wrote to his family home, but they forwarded it to Mr Nicholson here. So he must have come herebeforehis ordination.”
“No, I believe… I am tolerably certain he was already ordained. Can you reach Sandy’s notebook?” Another stretchbrought it within reach. “Let me see… it was the earl who told us the story… where was it? Ah, here it is.‘Father met N at an inn… snowed up… got on well… brought him back to be chaplain.’Now, here is the crucial point.‘Father brought the…’What does this say? Oh, special licence. He had got it in town and was bringing it with him.‘Thought could not be married because of snow, but N newly ordained, able to marry us. Very convenient.’The earl thought it a wonderful story, Nicholson arriving with his father and able to marry them, despite the snow, because it is quite a distance to the church at Birchall, and the parson was elderly. The whole of the bride’s family had gathered for the occasion, seemingly, and Nicholson saved the day. But he must have been ordained— Oh, but the bishop says‘as a priest’.Perhaps he was already ordained as a deacon. He could have married them as a deacon. Only the Holy Sacrament is reserved for priests.”
