Chapter 22
A knock at the door got her attention, and Arabella looked up from the letter in her hands. The door opened and Clara stuck her head into the room.
“May I come in?”
“Clara!” Arabella almost burst into tears at the sight of her friend. “I didn’t know you were coming here.”
“Philip sent a message suggesting that I come and sit with you for a while.” Clara hurried across to the bed and sat beside her, wrapping her arms around Arabella’s shoulders. “I heard what happened last night. I can’t begin to imagine how you felt when that happened.”
“I… I feel like it was a waking nightmare. I heard that the magistrate wanted to talk to Alastair about Pa’s death, and…” Arabella gulped, trying to swallow the hard lump in her throat. “I can’t believe that happened. That Alastair… he might’ve…”
“There’s a chance that he didn’t do it,” Clara suggested. “Maybe someone heard him asking around looking for answers and decided to try and get him out of the way.”
“But what if it’s true? What if…?”
“No, Arabella. You’ve gotten to know Alastair recently, haven’t you? You should know him well enough by now.”
“I’m not even sure at the moment,” Arabella murmured.
She was still trying to come to terms with everything that she’d started to believe.
Finding out that her father might’ve been murdered by the man she loved, that he knew someone was stealing money from her and Philip, and then reading Pa’s suicide note, she didn’t know what was going on anymore.
It made her feel sick, and she was scared.
She had come to believe that Alastair would never do anything to hurt her.
Not after the way they’d been around each other.
Last night just made everything explode.
“This is probably what someone wanted,” Clara said.
“What?”
“To make you doubt yourself. Also, a suicide note with the magistrate now believing your father was murdered? That doesn’t make any sense. Surely, you would’ve noticed that yourself.” Clara shook her head. “I’m surprised you didn’t put those two together, Arabella.”
Her words started to take form and sink in.
And Arabella could see where she was coming from.
She groaned and closed her eyes. How could she have been so stupid?
If the magistrate was changing his mind about the cause of death and the nature of it, then why would there be a suicide note?
Pa wouldn’t have written one and then expected someone else to kill him.
“I’m not thinking clearly right now,” she murmured.
“Obviously. Let me have a look at that note.” Clara plucked the letter from Arabella’s hands before she could protest and read it closely. “This doesn’t sound like something your father would write at all. He wasn’t a flowery sort of person with his language, was he?”
“How do you mean, flowery?”
“There are a lot of big words that make it look more dramatic, but I seem to remember your father as being to the point. Making it simple. Does this look like something he would write?” She held it up for Arabella to look at. “And look at it more closely. You know something’s wrong with this.”
Arabella did look, and she couldn’t see anything out of place. The language was not something she would’ve expected of her father, but Pa wouldn’t have been in his right mind.
But if this wasn’t written by him, and it was composed by someone else…
“Something else is wrong,” she said, leaning in to peer at the words more closely. “This doesn’t look like Pa’s handwriting.”
“Are you sure?”
“I… I don’t know. But there are a couple of words that don’t look right. Pa had a bit of a flair with his handwriting, and you can spot it after many times seeing the same thing over and over again.”
“And you think this might not have been written by your father?” Clara asked, her tone starting to get excited.
Arabella stared at it, looking at things she hadn’t paid attention to before. Then something settled in her stomach, and she felt like she was going to be sick. This was more sinister than she anticipated. “We need to go.”
“What?” Clara sat up as Arabella practically jumped off the bed. “Where are we going?”
“I’ll explain on the way. Come on!”
Arabella didn’t wait for her friend to catch up, rushing down the stairs and grabbing the arm of the maid who was walking by.
“Bring the carriage round to the front, and fetch us our coats,” she said. “Quickly!”
The servant didn’t need to be told twice. She hurried off, and Clara joined Arabella, almost tripping on the stairs in the process.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Just then, the morning room door opened and Philip stepped out. He looked bemused at the presence of his sister. “Arabella? What’s going on?”
“Why didn’t you give me the letter earlier?” Arabella shot back.
Her brother blinked at her. “What?”
“You’ve had the letter for a long time, haven’t you? Surely, you would’ve given it to me immediately. So why didn’t you if this was addressed to both of us.”
Philip grimaced and looked embarrassed. Arabella waited, expecting him to say any number of excuses, something that would tell her that he was hiding the real reason. She was looking for a fight, and she didn’t care who else saw it. But then her brother’s shoulders slumped.
“I just… I didn’t want you to be sad.”
“What?” Arabella started. “What do you mean you didn’t want me to be sad? Did you expect me to be happy that Pa died?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. You were very distraught over his death, and this letter would’ve proved that he had killed himself, something you denied he did at all.”
“And so you decided to just hide it away and let me wallow in not knowing that happened?” Arabella brandished the letter in the air.
“If you’d shown me this months ago, you would’ve given me the answer then!
That’s what you should’ve done if you wanted me to stop investigating.
Instead, you decided to let me tie myself up in knots. ”
Philip frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“We’ve got to go.” Arabella grabbed Clara’s hand as the maid handed them their coats. “We’ll be right back.”
She rushed out before Philip could say anything, almost falling into the carriage in her haste. Arabella waved at the driver, who was peering at her curiously. “To the Duke of Hartwood’s house!”
Clara jumped in behind her, both of them falling against the cushions as the carriage set off, trundling along so fast that Arabella could barely sit up. Clara managed to get upright and stared at her.
“What’s going on, Arabella? Why are we going to Alastair’s house?”
“Because he needs to see this.” Arabella took a deep breath. “And I also need to apologize. Once I’ve confirmed that he isn’t involved.”
Arabella wasn’t about to say anything further, staring out of the window and wishing the carriage could go faster.
She felt like they were traveling far too slowly.
Why couldn’t they just blink and end up on the doorstep of their destination?
That would be so much easier, but that was her imagination running wild.
This wasn’t anyone’s imagination, though. It was serious and real. And Arabella needed to be absolutely sure.
She was expecting some resistance into letting them inside, so Arabella was surprised when the butler let them in without any complaints. As their coats were taken, Helena appeared at the top of the stairs. She gasped in surprise.
“Arabella! Clara!” She hurried down the stairs, rushing over and almost tripping over her skirts. Arabella caught her and righted her. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to Alastair. Is your mother around? I don’t want her throwing me out.”
“No, she’s gone out to visit some friends. I’m just waiting for Edmund to take me out.”
“And Alastair?”
“He’s in the study.” Helena hesitated. “You’re not going to accuse him again, are you? Because he didn’t have anything to do with your father’s death.”
Arabella pressed a hand to her racing heart. She didn’t know if she was going to lose her temper or burst into tears. She was in such a mess that it was making her head spin.
“I saw him that night,” Helena continued. “I was out late with my chaperone and a few friends, coming back from a party. We saw Alastair and Edmund walking along the road three streets away at the time your father died. I even leaned out of the window and waved at them, so they saw me.”
“Alastair never said anything about that.”
“Did you give him a chance to explain? I’m willing to bet that you didn’t.”
Arabella started to protest but then realized that Helena was right. She hadn’t given him a chance; her anger had gotten the better of her. She glanced at Clara, chastised. Her friend gave her a sympathetic smile, clearly awkward for her.
“Arabella.” Helena stepped toward her. “I don’t know if you trust Alastair anymore, and given the circumstances.
I can understand that. But you should trust me.
I know Alastair, and I know what I saw. He was always willing to help you even when he didn’t need to, remember? He wouldn’t hurt someone like that.”
“I know that,” Arabella murmured. “I do.”
“Then you need to apologize to my brother for the way you treated him.”
“Who needs to apologize?”
Arabella’s breath stilled, and she felt her pulse skitter at the sound of Alastair’s voice. He appeared further down the hallway, staring at Arabella as if he couldn’t believe that she was there. He approached her slowly, as if unsure of what was going to happen.
The tension twisted between them, and Arabella could feel her legs going weak. She wanted to throw her arms around him and apologize for what she said, but she kept herself rooted to the spot. She wasn’t going to do that, not yet.
“Arabella,” Alastair whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“I need you to write me something.”
He blinked at her, clearly surprised. Helena looked at her like she’d gone mad. Clara cleared her throat.
“I know it sounds strange, but we’ll explain once you’ve written something for us. Can you do that?”