“Ha, ha! What have we here?” Shepard lifted the bound letters by the ribbon securing them and handed the stack to James. “Start reading.”
James untied the letters and opened one.
“They’re from an Alice Stricklin. Sound familiar?”
“That was his aunt, the late vicar’s wife, if I recall. Here, hand me some.”
Together they skimmed the letters, until something gave James reason to pause.
“Look.” He held out the letter so Shepard could see it and pointed to the lines that caught his eye. “Read here.”
Don’t forget. You must act quickly. You must hold her at bay for the full three years. After that, the land will be yours, and it can be sold. You—we—will be very wealthy, my boy. But keep a keen eye out. Situations like this can change very quickly.
Shepard took the letter and lowered it. “I’d say your suspicion was right.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t tie him to Longham’s murder.”
“But it is suspicious enough for me to bring him in, and I’m the magistrate.”
James handed the remaining letters over to Shepard. “Strange that these candles are lit and no one is home. Do you think he knows we’re here?”
“Perhaps he ran off when he saw us. He’s not a foolish man. No, it seems he’s quite clever. Tricked us all, eh?” Shepard tucked the letters into his coat. “I’m taking these to read further, and I’m going to the Green Ox Inn. Someone there is bound to have seen him, and I’ll fetch the constable to assist. You go home and let me know if you hear anything. But I’d be careful if I were you. If our suspicions are right, this man is willing to murder to keep his secrets. Best keep an eye out.”
Chapter 42
In her heart Cassandra now knew that Mr. North had to be behind this.
How gullible she’d been!
All of the signs pointed to it—all of the subtle hints he’d fed her. He clearly did not care for her as he had projected. He was keeping an eye on her, determined to find out what she knew and to prevent her from learning the truth.
Yes, she’d been naive. But instead of feeling sad or embarrassed, she felt anger brimming within her and fueling her steps.
With a candle in her hand, she made her way down to James’s study, intending to retrieve the letters Mrs. Denton had sent her father and reread them.
But as she entered the darkened study, she froze.
Mr. North was sitting behind James’s desk, his hair disheveled, his posture slack, and his torqued expression desperate.
He lifted a pistol directly at her.
Should she scream? Cry? Run?
Shock threatened to silence her, and yet her voice squeaked out. “What on earth are you doing?”
He eased to his feet, his pistol still steady. “I wouldn’t make a single noise if I were you. Not a peep. Close the door.”
Hands trembling and without taking her eyes off him, she obeyed.
“Now that we are alone, why don’t you put down that candle, sit down, and we’ll have a little chat.”
Resisting the urge to panic, Cassandra complied. It would not do to lose her head.
The simmering fire’s light reflected orange onto his features. Stubble grew on his normally clean-shaven jaw and sweat glistened on his pallid brow. “Shepard and your beau entered my house. Why?”
She shook her head. “I—I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you,” he spat back. “Why don’t you try answering me again.”
