Page 151 of The Language of Love

Chapter 27

Henry briefly considered sparing her the confession—telling her he’d known about Leech since before he’d left London. But he believed that telling him in her own words would be cathartic.

“A little over a year ago, a man came to the village of Cocklesham. He went by the name Richard Leech and was handsome, kind, and interesting. He was a curate who was taking a last holiday before he moved to his own parish in Yorkshire. And best of all, he was interested in me.” She gave a mocking laugh. “Hope springs eternal, as Mr. Pope said. When Leech paid court to me, I believed he was serious.”

She paced restlessly, her hands clutched before her, her eyes in constant motion, as if she were searching for an escape.

“I’ll make this pitiful story short. He used his acquaintance with me—a faux courtship—to get him into the local squire’s house, among others. Because of his connection to me and my grandmother, they invited him to a dinner party at which he had access to an extremely valuable item. In fact, it was the only thing of value this poor country gentleman had: a small Vermeer that some intrepid ancestor had acquired. Foolishly, the man kept it in his house, in a room all its own. Mr. Leech stole the painting. But the clever thing he did was to replace it with a fake so well-done that nobody has noticed the switch even a year later. That wasn’t the only house he robbed. Each time he was invited to social functions, he’d spend some time getting to know the house. He would then come back and help himself to anything of value. Never the same night—he knew that would have drawn attention to him—but a few nights or even weeks later.”

Her breathing was ragged now. “I’m telling you all this as if I knew what was happening while he was conducting his thieving—but I didn’t know at the time. He only told me the truth after I caught him at it one night. He wasn’t ashamed; he laughed and told me that if I reported him to the authorities, he would take me to jail along with him—and my grandmother, too. He said he’d tell the authorities that it was my grandmother who’d come up with the idea—that she used her position to get him access to peoples’ houses.”

She swallowed convulsively. “He’d been openly courting me, coming to our house almost every single day, eating dinner with us, driving the gig with me—” She broke off and wrung her hands. “I know it was wrong, but I kept my mouth shut and let him go. I thought it would be over when he left, but it wasn’t. A few months ago, I received a letter from the man of business I’ve used for years. He told me that my annuity, my grandmother’s cottage, and her savings were all gone. That I’d signed off on the papers.”

Annis stopped in front of him, breathing so hard she sounded as if she’d run from the village without stopping. “I know I told you I wasn’t holding anything else back. I thought Richard Leech was in my past, that it wouldn’t matter. But—but—it matters because—”

“Because he is here.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Richard Leech—he is here, in Stokely.”

“How—”

Henry held out his hand. “Come sit with me and I’ll explain. Let me hold you.”

“You won’t want to hold me when you learn what he wants from me.”

“He wants you to help him steal something from me. My guess is, based on his particular set of skills, that he’d like to steal the relics.”

She stared.

“Come and sit with me, Annis.”

She came toward him like a sleepwalker. When she would have sat down on the settee, he gently tugged her onto his lap, pulling her small body against his chest and cuddling her.

“I don’t want you to look so haunted anymore,” he said.

“I have my reasons.”

“I know you do. I’ve known about Leech since the day I gave you the money in London.”

“What?”

“Yes, I followed you to Mr. Pears' office. I waited until you left and then I questioned him about you.”

Her pale brows drew down in a fierce V. “He shouldn’t have told you anything about me!”

“No, he shouldn’t have. But I can be very persuasive.”

“You threatened him.”

“Not physically, but I made him understand it was ill-advised to deny me what I wanted. He also knew the bank draft was from me and that we were betrothed. And he wanted somebody to do something about the man who’d stolen from you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“I kept hoping that you would tell me the truth.”

She dropped her gaze. “I should have, Henry, I know that. But—”