No one spoke. The money lay on the dark wood, and the curate and the churchwarden stared at it. From somewhere beyond the window came the bright song of a bird, but the stagnant air in the vestry swallowed it, muting the cheerful melody beneath a heavy blanket.
At last, Frederick drew a steady breath. “I beg your pardon for my father’s actions, and I give you my word that I knew nothing of them until the discrepancies in our ledgers brought it to light.”
His hands pressed flat against the tabletop, steady though his pulse thudded in his throat as he added, “Given what has occurred and the changes in my circumstances—which will make it difficult for me to continue my duties—I cannot stand as the people’s representative in the parish.”
Pausing, Frederick swallowed past the thickness in his throat and added, “I know I must stand before the entire council and offer my resignation, but I am hoping that we might keep my father’s actions private. My family is as ignorant of the truth as I was, and I cannot bear the thought of their names being blackened for a sin that was not their own. They have borne enough hardships of late.”
“I add my own pleas to Mr. Voss’s,” said Mr. Moulton. “This young man has conducted himself with great honor and done his utmost to right wrongs that were not his doing. Stealing from the church is a capital offense, and though the man responsible is beyond the court’s reach, his estate and heirs could easily be made to bear a punishment they do not deserve. I ask that you show him mercy.”
Frederick’s pulse raced, though he tried to hold onto Mr. Moulton’s assurances. The likelihood that the law would make the Vosses bear the brunt of Father’s crimes was small, but history was full of examples where overzealous judges and magistrates meted out “justice” regardless of what the law or conscience dictated.
For several long moments, Mr. Keats and Mr. Tudor watched him before the former spoke.
“Then why are you telling us any of this?” he asked, his fingers drumming against the table. “If you felt as though youmust atone for your father’s crime, an anonymous donation would’ve done the job admirably.”
The shadows in his mind churned, reaching their dark fingers further into his heart, and though Frederick knew his motives, he struggled to explain them.
“There are too many secrets plaguing my family, and I am glad to be done with one of them.”
Mr. Tudor nodded and then looked to Mr. Keats, who remained as silent and stonefaced as before. For a moment, the curate sat there, seeming to wait for something, and when nothing happened, Mr. Tudor turned to Frederick once more.
“I see nothing wrong with keeping your motives private. They need only know that you are resigning, and they may infer what they wish,” said the curate. “You have acted honorably, and no good will come from revealing your father’s actions to the parish.”
Nodding, Mr. Keats added, “Your financial troubles are reason enough for you to resign. No one will question if there is more to it.” The gentleman paused before saying, “But you will forgive me if I review the church’s records myself and verify your claims?”
Tucking his notes inside the ledger, Frederick slid it across the table. “Not at all. Inform me immediately if you discover any mistake on my part, and I will ensure that the funds are restored. Every last farthing.”
Mr. Keats scooped it up and rose to his feet, drawing up the others in turn.
Holding out his hand to Frederick, Mr. Tudor gave him a solemn nod. “I am sorry for what has happened, Mr. Voss, but I feel certain that God will bless you for your integrity this day.”
Frederick let out a sharp breath. “Is it wrong of me that I cling to that hope rather than doing good for good’s sake?”
With a wry smile, Mr. Tudor shook his head. “I have a feeling you would’ve chosen this path, regardless.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Frederick followed Mr. Keats and Mr. Moulton out of the vestry. Stepping out onto the church porch, the sunlight struck hard after the dim stillness of the vestry, and Frederick blinked against it as the cool hush of the church gave way to the hum of summer. And despite everything, the air swelled in his lungs, sending a wave of peace through him.
Until he spied Mr. Keats, who stood a few paces away, motioning for Frederick to join him. Mr. Moulton remained at Frederick’s elbow, moving with him, but Mr. Keats held up a staying hand.
“I wish to speak with Mr. Voss alone.”
Glancing at his employer, Mr. Moulton remained where he was until Frederick nodded, and though the fellow looked none too pleased with the dismissal, he strode out of the churchyard.
“Though I agree with Mr. Tudor’s plan, I find I cannot agree with his assessment of your character,” said Mr. Keats. “You may have displayed honesty in this instance, but your continued rebellion is disappointing.”
Frederick’s brows rose. “Rebellion?”
“I withdrew my blessing, yet you have not broken with my daughter,” said Mr. Keats, leveling a narrowed look on him.
Refusing to fidget, Frederick would not admit that the gentleman’s concerns hadn’t forced the issue as much as Frederick’s own. “I wrote to her that very evening to tell her in no uncertain terms that our courtship is ended. I haven’t seen her since.”
Though Frederick suspected the gentleman felt more than he showed, Mr. Keats was not known for effusiveness, yet at that confession, his brows rose, and his eyes widened. For anyoneelse, that would warrant a label of “mild surprise.” On Mr. Keats, it looked positively faint.
“My daughter hasn’t mentioned a word of it,” he replied. “This morning, she was speaking as though you and she would attend the Solstice Festival together.”
With nothing to do but shrug it away, Frederick said, “I’ve given her no reason to believe that. Quite the contrary, in fact.”
Mr. Keats’s expression darkened. “Then clearly, she is digging in her heels, Mr. Voss. It is up to you to disabuse her of that notion and ensure that she accepts the truth.”
