The next couple of hours were spent searching through the paperwork left behind by Mr. Clark. Papers that dated as far back as his childhood were included among them, and it was like getting a glimpse into the life of the man who’d had such a profound influence on her life, even though she never knew him.
Suddenly James called to her, “Cassandra, come look at this.”
She hurried to his side and looked over his arm at an open portfolio. He pointed to a number, and then she saw it.
A transaction sheet.
WithDenton School for Young Ladieswritten across the top.
Excitement welled within her as they slid the entire contents of the portfolio out onto the desk. Letters and ledgers tumbled out. She recognized Mrs. Denton’s handwriting immediately. Hungry to receive all the information at once, she shuffled through the papers, eager for her next discovery.
And then she saw it. Her father’s copy of the custody agreement. Overwhelming relief rushed her. “Now we have both my mother’s and father’s copies of the paperwork.”
Laughing, she turned to him. “This is wonderful! Oh, James, it is all here. Every bit of it.”
She sat down with the letters, several of which were written by Mrs. Denton. The writing style was so familiar. They were full of insights on her life—on Cassandra’s personality and upbringing. On how she was doing with her studies and with the other girls. It was a year-by-year account, from her earliest days.
In that glimmer of a moment she could see past Mrs. Denton’s betrayal. Past the heartache. For these letters described their relationship. These letters told the story of what the woman really thought of her.
“It’s like looking into my life,” Cassandra exclaimed as she shuffled through the letters. “And to think she was protecting me. Her sister. Even herself. Oh, how I wish I could apologize to her.”
“If she knows you as well as you think she did, then she would understand.”
“I know, but it’s heartbreaking. She meant so much to me, and I will never be able to tell her.”
“That’s the sort of thing that people who know each other well just know. She knew you loved her. And judging by these letters, the sentiment was returned.”
Chapter 41
James studied Shepard’s face as he picked up each individual piece of paperwork—the signed custody agreement, the ledgers of school payments, the baptism record—and read them. “Well? What do you think?”
Shepard clicked his tongue and chortled. “I don’t think Peter Clark will be very happy about this.”
“I don’t think so either, but based on all of this documentation, Miss Hale is unquestionably the woman named in Robert Clark’s will,” commented James as he uncorked the decanter to pour his guest a drink. “There has to be a connection with Longham’s death. There’s too much overlap, and I’m guessing that whoever killed Longham knew he possessed the documents and wanted to prevent him from pursuing this in court. And that’s why they were stolen from the murder site.”
Shepard looked toward Cassandra and pointed a thumb in James’s direction. “Do you agree with his assessment?”
Cassandra, who had been waiting quietly as James explained the situation to the magistrate, nodded eagerly. “I do.”
Shepard accepted the glass from James and settled back in his chair. “Very well, Warrington. You clearly have someone in mind. It’s written all over your face. Out with it then.”
James licked his lips and forged ahead. “Initially I believed Peter Clark to be involved. We all know his temper. But then, when Miss Hale found the baptismal record, I realized it could not be him. He did not even know Miss Hale was his half sister until after she had begun searching for the records.”
“So then, who do you think it is? Who is our murderer?”
“Vincent North.”
Shepard scoffed incredulously, his already ruddy face pinkening further with amusement. “What, the vicar in Anston?”
James stood from his chair. “Miss Hale, perhaps you should tell him what Mrs. Kent told you.”
Cassandra turned to face the magistrate. “Mrs. Kent confided that Mr. North’s uncle was the vicar before him, and Mr. North took over the office when he died. My mother told me that the vicar who had baptized me was named Edward Stricklin—the same vicar who had once loaned my father a great sum of money and who was named in the will. These men are related, Mr. Shepard. Mr. North is Mr. Stricklin’s nephew.”
Shepard rubbed his chin. “Yes, I’d forgotten that the vicars had been family.”
“I think Mr. North knew about the will and stands to gain if Miss Hale doesn’t inherit, so he is the one who tore the page from the record but did not destroy it in case he needed it at a later date. I also think he knew that Longham had paperwork to support Miss Hale’s claims and would do anything to keep it quiet.”
“Even kill the man?” prompted Shepard.
