“Excellent,” Michael said. “This has been a good day’s work, gentlemen. At least we know now that Miss Peach was here, although for what purpose we cannot tell.”
“She may have discovered some link between the smuggling and Nicholson,” Neate said.
“Possibly. Or she may simply have become distracted by the smuggling and assumed it had some relevance when in fact it did not. Whatever the case, we cannot know until the notebook is understood. There is nothing more we can do here. Let us leave everything as we found it.”
“And the key?” Neate said.
“I believe I shall keep it for now. Returning it will raise questions which I am not sure I wish to answer yet.”
“Ye could simply leave it in the lock,” Sandy said.
Michael laughed. “That will confuse everybody! Very well, but whenever this business is settled, if it everissettled, I shall be obliged to confess.”
“Confession is good for the soul,” Sandy said with a grin.
“Ah, if only our murderer understood that,” Michael murmured. “Confession — arealconfession, that is — would make my life so much easier.”
***
KentleftBrantonwithinthe hour, driven by a burning fear that Katy would be taken advantage of by a fraudster. Gray came to the inn with him, gave him the newspaper cutting to show the Cathcarts and talked to him while he packed. That is to say, Mitcham packed while Kent paced restlessly back and forth.
“It might not be as bad as you fear,” Gray said. “Whether this man is indeed Katy’s brother or not, he cannot seize control of her fortune by main force. He must go through the law, and you know how the law operates, Mr Atherton. There will be all manner of documents required, and he will have to prove that he is who he says he is. Lawyers are very reluctant to hand over money to unknown persons. Mr Humber at the bank has full control of every penny of Katy’s fortune, and he will not give it away until he and all her trustees are satisfied with this man’s claim.”
“But he is to take her away from her aunt and uncle,” Kent said despairingly. “She will then be completely in his power.”
“Then we must hope that you arrive in time to prevent her from leaving. I wish you God speed, Mr Atherton.”
Kent spent two slow, dreary, fretful days on the road, veering between hope that he would arrive before Katy had left and terror that he would be too late. And if this man was truly Harold Parish, and everyone laughed at him for his anxiety, what did that matter when set against Katy’s safety? He had to be sure!
It was dark when he arrived in Birchall, but he could not wait another second to know how matters stood, so he drove straight to Cathcart House, startling the butler by striding past him into the hall, his mud-stained boots leaving a trail of footprints on the tiles. The ladies had already gone up to change for dinner, but Cathcart was still in his study, and emerged to greet him.
“Mr Atherton?”
“Is she here? Miss Parish? Is she still here? It is imperative I see her at once.”
“Good heavens, whatever has happened, to bring you here with such urgency?”
“I must know that she is safe.”
“She is perfectly safe. A miracle has occurred, Mr Atherton, for her brother is returned from the dead. Her own brother! No one is better suited to take care of her.”
“But is she here? I must see her!”
“She has gone to York with Mr Harold Parish, where they will set up home together.”
“Then I am too late!” Kent cried in despair.
It took some time to explain his fears to the Cathcarts, who were filled with incredulity.
“Such a pleasant young man,” Mrs Cathcart said repeatedly. “So amiable and well-mannered. I am sure he must be exactly who he says he is, Mr Atherton.”
But James Cathcart frowned as he read the newspaper cutting. “Here is mention of the balloon ascension he recalled seeing as a boy… and the fire at Mr Parish’s mill, too! Everything he told us could have been obtained from the newspaper, for the entire history of Harold Parish is laid out here for anyone to read. It even mentions that Cousin Kate’s new home is in Birchall, and your names, too. This man came straight here, did he not? He never went to Branton, where any number of people might have said at once whether he was truly Harold Parish.”
By this time it was almost the dinner hour, and Kent’s postilions were still outside and growing restless. The Cathcarts offered Kent a room for the night, he gratefully accepted and after unloading the luggage, the carriage was sent on to the White Horse for the night.
Nothing else was talked of at the dinner table but Katherine and her supposed brother.
“He was so open in his manner, I was certain we could not be deceived in him,” Mrs Cathcart said distressfully. “Such a pleasant man! How could we have been so taken in? Surely he must be just what he claims to be!”
