Chapter Fifteen #2
“Mr Harrison,” she said carefully once the door had closed, “how long has young Mr Simmons been in your employ? I ask, because, just now, he seemed far more interested in the documents before us – he barely managed to set the tea tray down without spilling things.”
The solicitor glanced up, his expression sharpening at her tone.
“Just these past few months. He came with excellent references from... oh.” He stopped, sudden understanding dawning in his eyes. “From a legal firm in the next county. Near Sir Geoffrey’s principal estate.”
Edmund straightened in his chair, his casual manner vanishing.
“Perhaps we should continue this discussion more privately?”
Mr Harrison rose swiftly, moving to lock the office door.
“I am a fool,” he muttered, returning to his desk. “Such an obvious ploy, and I never thought...”
“You are not to blame,” Charlotte said quietly. “It would appear that Caldwell’s schemes most likely run deeper than any of us suspected. Though this may explain how he acquired certain information about Alverton’s affairs.”
The solicitor gathered the scattered documents with trembling hands.
“Your Grace, these papers must be secured immediately. If Simmons has already informed Sir Geoffrey of your visit...”
“…then Sir Geoffrey will realise that I have come into possession of the papers that he was so remiss as to drop. That will likely concern him even more than the thought that this copy is perhaps lost.”
“Then we have little time,” Edmund finished grimly. “Charlotte, we should return to Alverton at once. William must be warned—”
“No.” Charlotte’s voice held quiet authority that surprised even herself. “First, we must ensure that we have proper proof. Mr Harrison, can you complete your analysis quickly?”
The solicitor’s hands steadied as he returned to his task.
“Give me half an hour, Your Grace. I shall provide a complete documentation of every discrepancy, every proof of forgery. Though I fear...” He hesitated, glancing at the door. “I fear Simmons may have already sent word to Sir Geoffrey.”
“Let him,” Edmund said grimly. “The more desperate Caldwell becomes, the more likely he is to make a mistake.”
Charlotte paced the small office as Mr Harrison worked, her mind in turmoil.
The morning sun had risen fully now, streaming through the office’s windows to illuminate the dust motes dancing in the air.
Each passing minute seemed to stretch endlessly, weighted with the knowledge that they raced against time itself.
She could picture William at Alverton, perhaps even now sitting in his study surrounded by his father’s papers, trying to protect her from truths that she already began to understand.
The thought of his solitary vigilance made her heart ache.
“Here.” Mr Harrison’s voice drew her from her reverie. He held out several carefully written pages, the ink still drying. “A complete analysis, with specific reference to five separate documents bearing the late Duke’s authentic signature. The forgery is quite clear when one knows where to look.”
Charlotte accepted the papers with hands that trembled slightly.
“You are certain? Beyond any doubt?”
“Absolutely certain, Your Grace.” The solicitor’s voice held quiet conviction. “I would stake my professional reputation on it. Indeed,” he added with a slight smile, “I believe that I just have.”
Edmund moved to study the documents over her shoulder.
“We should make copies,” he said quietly. “Keep them in separate locations. Caldwell seems the type to go to extreme lengths to protect his schemes.”
“Already done, my Lord.” Mr Harrison indicated several sealed packets on his desk. “One for Your Grace, one for Lord Parrington, and one to be secured in my most private files. Though perhaps,” he added with a grimace, “I should find a more secure location for those, given recent events.”
A sharp knock at the door made them all start.
“Mr Harrison?” Simmons’s voice carried clearly through the heavy wood. “Sir Geoffrey Caldwell has arrived, sir. He insists upon seeing you immediately.”
Charlotte’s heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. She met Edmund’s eyes, seeing her own alarm reflected there. Mr Harrison moved swiftly, gathering the scattered documents with practiced efficiency.
“The back door,” he whispered urgently, moving to a small, door partially hidden behind a bookcase. “It leads through our service corridor to the alley behind the building. Your carriage...”
“Is waiting in the square,” Edmund finished grimly. “Too visible. We’ll need another way.”
Charlotte tucked the precious documents into her reticule, thinking quickly.
“The milliner’s shop,” she said suddenly. “It connects to the alley, does it not? And Mrs Wilmot has always been a loyal supplier to Alverton.”
Another knock, more insistent this time.
“Mr Harrison? Sir Geoffrey is most particular about seeing you directly.”
“One moment!” the solicitor called, his voice admirably steady.
To Charlotte and Edmund, he whispered, “Go. I shall delay him as long as possible. Your Grace...” He hesitated, then pressed one final paper into her hands.
“This may help to explain certain matters. But please, be careful how you use it.”
Charlotte glanced down at the page - a copy of a letter written in the late Duke’s hand, dated just weeks before his death.
Her hands shook as she read the first lines, recognising immediately their significance.
She folded it carefully and tucked it away with the other documents as Edmund’s hand at her elbow urged her along the service corridor.
The sound of the outer office door opening lent wings to their feet as they slipped out into the narrow alley.
The October morning had turned grey, threatening rain.
Charlotte gathered her skirts, following Edmund through the twisted lanes behind Millhampton’s main street.
Her mind spun with the morning’s revelations - the proof of forgery, Simmons’s betrayal, and now this letter that seemed to change everything she thought she knew about William’s father.
They reached the milliner’s shop just as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Mrs Wilmot, bless her quick understanding, took one look at their faces and ushered them through to her back parlour without a word.
“Your Grace must take tea,” she insisted, closing the shutters with practiced care. “The weather has turned quite inclement. Perhaps an hour’s shelter while it passes?”
Charlotte sank into the offered chair, her legs suddenly weak with reaction.
“Mrs Wilmot, I cannot thank you enough...”
“Thanks are unnecessary, Your Grace.” The milliner’s lined face held knowing sympathy. “I remember when the current Duke was just a boy, riding through town with his mother. Such a fine lady, the late Duchess. And His Grace has ever been kind to those who depend upon Alverton’s prosperity.”
Edmund stationed himself near the window, keeping watch through a gap in the shutters.
“No sign of pursuit,” he reported quietly. “Though I fear that Caldwell will not be long in discovering which way we fled.”
Charlotte’s fingers trembled as she withdrew the letter from her reticule. The late Duke’s words seemed to burn from the page:
My dearest son,
If you read this, then my sins have finally found me out.
But know this - whatever mistakes I have made, whatever burden I leave you, none of it was your doing.
Caldwell’s claims of partnership were ever false, his documents forged by his own hand.
I was fool enough to trust him once, but you need not carry that shame. ..
“Charlotte.” Edmund’s voice held quiet urgency. “We must go. A carriage just stopped before Harrison’s office - Caldwell’s man looking rather agitated.”
Charlotte rose swiftly, tucking the precious papers away. “Mrs Wilmot, we can never repay...”
“Nonsense, Your Grace. Though perhaps...” The milliner’s eyes twinkled suddenly. “Perhaps you might mention to His Grace that my daughter’s wedding approaches? A new shawl for the occasion would not go amiss.”
Charlotte managed a shaky laugh.
“I shall see to it personally.”
They slipped out through the shop’s front entrance, forcing themselves to walk with calm dignity despite the urgency thrumming through their veins. The rain had intensified, providing a convenient excuse for their swift progress towards their waiting carriage.
Yet as they pulled away from Millhampton’s quiet streets, Charlotte’s heart raced with more than the mere risks of their escape. The proof that they carried would save William from Caldwell’s threats - but at what cost to the careful trust growing between them?
Only time would tell.