24. Chapter 24
Sometime in the wee hours Algenon drifted to sleep, his head resting on his father’s bed. He jolted up, however, when Lady Roberts finally entered the sick room with two doctors.
The sun was fully in the sky, proclaiming the hour much later than Algenon had expected.
“Please forgive me, Roberts,” Lady Roberts said. “I did not feel well upon waking so I stayed abed much longer than I wished. Now the doctors have come, why don’t you retire?”
Algenon ran a hand over his face, the stubble on his chin scratching his palm. He needed to do something, but his sleep fogged brain could not recall what. Slowly he rose, his back and legs stiff from the hard chair and his awkward sleeping position.
One of the physicians poked at the drooping side of his father’s face, causing him to stir.
His eyes now open, Lord Roberts looked between the two men and then to Algenon. “Book.”
Algenon straightened. The journal. He needed to retrieve the journal, but first he needed to know where they were kept.
“Lady Roberts, do you happen to know about any green journals my father might have in his possession?”
Her brow creased. “Green? I do not believe so. His current journal is brown.”
“I believe it is an older one, but I cannot be certain.”
She crossed to his father’s side, running her fingers over his forehead to move a lock of greying hair. Her smile was soft and sad as she looked at her husband. His father raised his good hand a little and she clasped it.
“David, I am going to ask you some questions. If the answer is yes, squeeze my hand once, twice if no.”
His father didn’t answer, but his gaze remained locked on Lady Roberts.
“Is the green journal in your study at Roberts House?” She paused for a moment, then looked at Algenon. “It is not there.”
Algenon felt foolish. Why had he not thought to communicate in such a manner? “Is it in the study at Blackthorn?”
After a moment, Lady Roberts shook her head. Algenon folded his arms, trying to think where else he would keep it.
“Is it in your room?” Lady Roberts asked.
Algenon waited.
She glanced up and smiled. “In his room.”
“Here or at Blackthorn?”
“It needs to be yes or no, Roberts.” Then she turned to Lord Roberts. “Is it at Blackthorn?”
This time Algenon saw both squeezes. Relief washed over him. At least he’d not need to make a mad dash to the estate for a mere book.
“Thank you, Lady Roberts.”
“Are you quite finished?” The older of the two doctors hovered close by, his lips pinched. “We need to complete our examination.”
“Forgive me.” Lady Roberts stepped back, releasing her husband’s hand. Her shoulders instantly drooped, as if the weight of the world had come crashing back down on them.
Algenon led her to a chair, surprised at how much just holding his father’s hand had brightened her. She truly loved him. It was an odd thought, but true all the same.
“Thank you, Roberts,” she said as she settled into the chair. “Your father always says you are the most thoughtful gentleman he knows.”
Algenon’s head jerked back. He glanced at the bed but could not see his father’s face past the doctors. It had been years since he’d paid Algenon a compliment, but the knowledge that his father didn’t think him completely hopeless soothed a battered part of his soul.
“I will go fetch his book and be back before noon.”
“But—”
He held up a hand, knowing her protest before it formed. “I need to do this. He won’t rest easy until I do.”
“Very well, but then you will take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“I will.”
At the door he spun around when his father’s strangled cry split the room. Both doctors were standing back, hands up and eyes wide, but his father’s gaze was on him.
“Fal… fal… fa—”
Algenon willed his mind to understand what his father was saying. Then he remembered the bet, Lord Falcross’s and Lord Rupert’s sudden attention to their family, and his father telling him he wouldn’t understand.
“Falcross?” he asked.
His father lifted his hand and closed it once. “Hurry.”
That one word raised the hair on the back of his neck. Fear hung in his father’s eyes. In all his life, he’d never seen his father so frightened. He was firm and immovable, a man who showed little emotion and never fear.
“I will, Father.”
Algenon rushed home, eager to clean up, collect the book, and present himself at Harris House, but when he entered his father’s room he stumbled to a stop.
Only a bed, a side table, a bureau, and an armoire filled the space.
Where were the chairs for sitting in front of the fire, or perhaps a bookcase to store personal volumes?
He made his way to the armoire. The ornate carvings of vines, flowers, and hummingbirds made the piece stand out from the plain lines and even edges of the rest of the furniture. Flinging the doors open, he pushed the evenly spaced clothes aside to look at the bottom. Nothing. Not even dust.
The table was bare of any boxes that might hold books. The bureau, too, had nothing of interest. Algenon dropped to his belly and peered under the bed. A sigh of relief escaped him. There were three small crates filled with books. Unfortunately, each one contained at least one green book.
He removed the first and flipped through the pages, noting the date.
This one had been written when he was twelve.
His name flashed on a page and he stopped, curious about what his father had written about him.
An accounting of a fishing trip during a break from Harrow followed.
He read several lines, disappointment soon ebbing his curiosity.
Nothing but the facts were recorded. He should have expected as much, but a part of him wished for more.
What had his father thought of him? Did he enjoy the trip?
Algenon glanced at the other books. Would there be any personal thoughts about him in their pages? The urge to read them battled with his need to hurry. A black book with worn edges caught his attention, and he slipped it free. It was older than the other volumes, the writing inside less fine.
The date on the top read July 1, 1780.
“My brother continues to be a trial to our parents. Upon his return from London, we received word of another young lady needing to remove herself from Society. When will Solomon learn to be circumspect? One of these days, he will bring our family to ruin with his recklessness.”
Algenon swiftly shut the book, his heart stuttering. Reckless was exactly how his father had described him. Did he somehow remind him of his brother? Was that why he had been so hard on him?
He returned the book to its place and took out all the green volumes, six in total. He could only hope he’d gotten the correct one. He slid the first two crates back without issue, but when he pushed the last one under the bed, it bumped into something.
In its way there was a beautifully carved mahogany box. Etched in the top was his mother’s name. An ache filled his chest.
This was his mother’s. She had held it in her hands and perhaps filled it with her dreams. Heedless of how his father might feel about him snooping, he flipped the clasp and opened the lid.
Inside, he found three stacks of letters tied with ribbons. One was obviously addressed to his father; the others were from acquaintances. Under them he found a few locks of hair, a rabbit’s foot, and two wrapped packages. The names scrawled on the brown paper of each made him pause.
One was to him. The other, to Lady Upton.
He slid the packages free, a new wave of frustration building. Not only had his father not told him of his mother, but he’d actively kept a gift from him. One she’d personally left.
Slipping his fingers under the string that bound it, he opened the paper. Fabric, yellowed from age, filled it. He patted what looked like an old cravat and found several lumps in the folds. Carefully he peeled back the layers, exposing a letter, a timepiece and chain, and a pair of cufflinks.
He opened the note, and his heart sank. A single sentence graced the sheet of paper.
To Algenon from your father.
He’d hoped for more things of hers, like the small opal ring on his pinky, not more of his father’s effects. If he’d wanted those, he could have simply asked.
Picking up the watch, he rubbed at the tarnished silver.
It would need to be cleaned and wound before use, so he set it aside to give to his valet.
His hand hovered over the packet labeled to Lady Upton.
Why had it not been delivered to her immediately upon his mother’s death?
Did he dare deliver it against his father’s wishes?
He slowly closed his hand into a fist. The urge to not disappoint his father further, to not be reckless as he’d accused, warred with the need to right a wrong.
Javenia’s beautiful smile flashed across his mind.
If she’d found the package she’d not hesitate to make sure it made it into the right hands.
The size and shape was reminiscent of the books in the crates. Algenon pulled it free of the box. It was heavy and firm as he’d expected. He tipped it from side to side looking at the edges, but the brown paper kept the contents firmly hidden.
Algenon set it to the side and returned most of the items to the box, however, two letters caught his attention.
One was addressed to his mother in a loopy hand that appeared eerily like Javenia’s.
The other was to Mr. Solomon Roberts. He could only assume that his mother had written it.
The postage mark showed it had been delivered, so why was it in his mother’s possession?
He slipped the two letters from the stack, tightening the ribbon to hold the others together without the missing papers. After returning the box to its place and pushing the remaining crate under the bed, Algenon gathered Lady Upton’s package, the letters, and the six green journals.