Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Later that morning, Finn reconvened at Bottoms House with Xenia, Lord Ethan, and the Grantleys.
They resumed dissecting the clue. What lies might Felix be referring to?
Xenia jotted down a list of possibilities.
The most obvious one was about Rose murdering Thomas.
Related to that was the false claim that Rose and Thomas were enemies when they were lovers—and eventually man and wife.
Also, the villagers had wrongly accused her of being a witch.
The group scrutinized the falsehoods from various angles but failed to make headway.
“Perhaps we ought to be focusing on this F. P.,” Gigi suggested. “If we knew more about him, then it might be easier to decipher his riddle.”
Finn squirmed because she knew F. P. was Felix Pearce. Yet she couldn’t tell the others about Carver’s letter…but maybe she could pretend to have a vision and give them Felix’s name? The trouble was she knew little about Felix, and they needed more information to solve his riddle.
“Good thinking, duchess,” Grantley said. “However, James and Evie have found no Pearces whose first name started with F in the parish records. While they’re giving it another go, I think their chances for success are slim.”
“That is why we need to consult a different source.”
The duke lifted his brows. “What source?”
“I was hoping you would ask,” Gigi said brightly.
Xenia and Lord Ethan excused themselves to work on his latest sonata while Finn accompanied Gigi and Grantley to the village dress shop. Mrs. Sommers, a brunette who was as tidy as her establishment, greeted them with a curtsy.
“Welcome, Your Graces and Madame Seraphina. It is a pleasure to see you, as always.”
“You are looking well, Mrs. Sommers,” Gigi said warmly.
Grantley looked around the shop. “Business appears to be thriving.”
During Finn’s visit with Nell, she’d appreciated the airy and immaculate space.
Sunlight streamed through the spotless windows, illuminating the muted blue walls and dusty pink chairs.
Glass-fronted cabinets showcased arrangements of fashionable accessories, and dressmaker’s figures dotted the room, displaying frocks cut in the latest silhouettes.
“The expansion of the premises has led to an increase in orders,” Mrs. Sommers said with satisfaction. “I am in your debt, Your Grace, for the generous renovation.”
“Think nothing of it.” Grantley waved a hand. “It was a sound investment. I plan to refurbish my other properties along the square as well.”
“Once he raises the funds, he is also going to build a new theatre,” Gigi said proudly.
“The villagers owe you both a great deal, and I hope we can return the favor. Speaking of which”—Mrs. Sommers turned to Gigi with a knowing smile—“I have a gown with pagoda sleeves that would suit you beautifully, Your Grace. Shall I have it brought out?”
“To my deep regret,” Gigi said, “I have a purpose other than shopping today.”
“Words never before spoken by my wife,” Grantley quipped.
“Is there something else I may help with?” Mrs. Sommers asked.
“If it isn’t too much of a bother, we would like to inquire if Mr. Walford is free,” Gigi said.
“It is no bother at all. Grandpapa just finished taking luncheon. If you’ll follow me through?”
Mrs. Sommers led them to the back of the shop, through a curtain, and past several changing rooms. As she and Grantley chatted about business, Gigi turned to Finn.
“Mrs. Sommers has a flat above the shop, but when Grantley made improvements to the building, he added a suite in the back,” she explained. “That way, Wally doesn’t have to climb the stairs with his bad knees.”
“That was kind of His Grace,” Finn said.
“My husband’s reputation for ruthlessness is vastly exaggerated.” Gigi’s eyes twinkled. “Deep down, he is a sentimental fellow.”
Finn thought it must be very deep down, but she gave a polite nod.
At the end of the corridor, they arrived at a door painted a glossy green.
Mrs. Sommers knocked loudly. “Grandpapa? You have visitors.”
Shuffling sounds came from the other side. The door opened.
“I have mail, you say?” Wally peered out, his dark eyes magnified by his thick lenses, his hair standing up in wispy tufts. “Oh ho, visitors. Come in, come in.”
Wally ushered them into his home, which was decorated in a colorful and eclectic fashion. Nothing matched, but everything went together. It reminded Finn of the Hawks’ decorating style. She felt at home as Wally seated them at a scarred table and served them tea in mismatched cups.
“If I had known you were coming, I would have put on my best coat,” he said. “It’s quite eye-catching.”
Since his current coat was a blinding shade of canary, Finn could only wonder.
“We are sorry to drop by unannounced,” Gigi said. “We wish to consult you on a matter of some urgency. It will require your utmost discretion.”
“Discretion is my middle name,” Wally declared.
Gigi had told Finn that Wally was a trusted friend and an expert in the history of Chuddums (something Finn already knew from his tour).
He was aware of the ladies’ visions and believed they came from Rose.
Now Gigi informed him of their quest to identify the villain of Rose and Thomas’s story.
She laid the two clues from F. P. on the table.
Smoothing them with his gnarled fingers, Wally read them.
“Finally, it has come to pass,” he said softly. “The truth of the past will be revealed.”
“We’ve come to you,” Gigi said, “because we’re stuck on the second riddle.”
“I hope you don’t think I am going to solve it. I can hardly recall what I had for breakfast.”
Wally slurped his tea. Pulling a flask from his pocket, he added a liberal dose of amber liquid to his beverage and tasted it again.
“That’s better.” He smacked his lips, holding out the flask. “Your Grace?”
“Thank you, no,” Grantley said.
“When it comes to the happenings in Chuddums, you’ve the memory of an elephant, Wally,” Gigi persisted. “Anything you can tell us about the author of these clues might help solve the riddle. Do the initials ‘F. P.’ ring any bells?”
“Quite a few folks with those initials have lived in Chuddums at one time or another.” Setting down the flask, Wally began counting off his fingers.
“There was Franklin Potter—died in 1790 when he got hit by a cart. Pity that, he was a genial fellow, always willing to lend a hand. Borrowed a hammer from him and never had a chance to return it. Well, he left behind three sons. Frank, Fred, and Fritz. Frank, the eldest, had eight children of his own…”
Grantley reached for the flask.
“Perhaps I could narrow things down?” Gigi said hastily. “We have a suspect in mind. And we believe F. P. might be related to him.”
Wally raised his bushy brows.
“We believe Langdon Pearce is the villain,” Gigi said. “He abused Rose and killed Thomas.”
For once, Wally appeared speechless.
Finally, he sputtered, “Langdon Pearce—our esteemed founder?”
Gigi nodded. “Without proof, we cannot destroy the reputation of a man everyone believes to be a hero.”
“No one would believe you,” Wally said flatly. “Not even with proof. Langdon Pearce has been enshrined in our history as a crusader for justice. For generations, schoolchildren have been taught about his sacrifice for the good of the village. He is our martyr and hero.”
Finn spoke up. “What is your opinion of him?”
“My opinion?” The wrinkles on Wally’s forehead deepened.
“Surely you must have your own impression.”
“My impression,” Wally said, looking baffled, “is that he was a great man. I was a child when he passed, but I remember him being larger than life. He was powerful, revered, a fellow who always got his way. His reputation was spotless, his word as good as gold. No one would dare gainsay him—not even now.”
Although Wally spoke with admiration, Finn sensed timidity as well. It was the kind of reaction inspired by bullies. No one dared to speak against Carver, either.
“Surely recent events have shown that the Pearces are not what they seem to be.” Grantley’s expression was sardonic. “After all, my regrettable relation Abel Pearce presented himself as Chuddums’s prize citizen. In reality, he was a prize idiot and criminal.”
“Folks have a way of explaining things to fit their beliefs,” Wally said. “Even now, the villagers say that Abel is the rotten apple that fell far from the illustrious tree. They say that Langdon would be turning over in his grave if he knew of his descendant’s misdeeds.
“Even though you Harringtons have found the ultimate proof of Rose and Thomas’s love and commitment—their marriage license—there are those who still believe she was a witch. They maintain that Chuddums’s misfortunes are because of her and her family—outsiders who had no place in the village.”
“But the facts speak for themselves,” Gigi said indignantly.
“When I was a boy, I saw Thomas and Rose together,” Wally said.
“I knew the two of them were in love. When Thomas was found dead, I tried to tell my parents that she could not have killed him. But they wouldn’t listen.
They insisted she was guilty—that because she was part of a traveling family, she must be a witch.
People see what they wish to see. Convincing them otherwise isn’t always possible. ”
“We cannot give up,” Gigi argued. “The only way to undo the curse is by revealing the truth of what happened—and that is why we need your help, Wally. These clues were written by someone with the initials F. P. We looked through the parish records and could find no Pearce whose name matched. Do you know who F. P. might be?”
“The fellow you’re looking for is Felix Pearce. Langdon Pearce’s youngest brother.”
Wally spoke so definitively that even Finn, who knew this for a fact, blinked.
Gigi’s brow furrowed. “Why is there no mention of Felix?”
“I suspect his family had him struck from the records. They were ashamed of him, you see.” Wally sighed.
“He was born with deformities, and because of this, the Pearces kept him hidden away. I think he was around my age, but I remember very little about him. I only saw him a handful of times—as a silhouette in the window of their manor. They kept him locked inside. I remember he got out a few times, causing a brouhaha. In the end, they hired an attendant to keep an eye on him.”
A chill entered Finn’s blood. Felix’s story reminded her too keenly of her own upbringing in the orphanage. Of how society treated its unwanted.
“Felix was not to blame for the circumstances of his birth,” she said vehemently. “His family should have helped him—not treated him like some prisoner.”
“They made him so invisible that I had not thought of him for decades,” Wally said somberly. “It was as if he never existed, the poor chap.”
“But he did exist. The clues prove it,” she argued. “It makes sense that Felix could have witnessed his brother’s crimes. He was so unseen and voiceless that Langdon might not have noticed or cared about his presence. Yet underestimating Felix will prove to be the bounder’s downfall.”
“Whilst Felix’s voice was taken from him during his life, he has managed to make himself heard now,” Gigi agreed. “With his clues, he intends to expose the truth of what happened. When we manage to solve his riddles, we will break the curse—and he will be the hero.”
“Or the scapegoat,” Wally said.
“Scapegoat?” Finn frowned. “Why would that happen?”
“These clues.” Wally gestured at the scraps of paper. “Some will interpret them as confessions.”
“I don’t understand—” Gigi began.
“This is not the end of my penance,” Grantley murmured. “My last confession rests with what I have left you. Wally has a point. These lines could be construed as admissions of guilt.”
“But we know Rose’s murderer died in her presence,” Gigi said.
“Evie saw it in a vision: when the villain was about to attack Rose again, she cursed him to suffer for what he’d done to others, and he died of an apoplectic fit.
Which means he could not have written these clues, and ergo, Felix could not have been the murderer. ”
Grantley shrugged. “If only logic were as powerful as bigotry.”
“You would be asking folks to believe that Langdon, the pride of the village, committed unspeakable evils.” Wally looked troubled. “They would need to take the word of his brother, the outcast hidden from the world and erased from history, against his.”
Finn had to bite her cheek to stop herself from revealing the existence of Felix’s letter.
In it, he’d written that complicity was his gravest sin and duty and cowardice had kept him silent.
The duty he felt must have been toward his brother and the family name.
As restitution for what Langdon had done to Rose—and for his own perceived failure to speak up—Felix had left her his family’s heirloom.
The pieces are coming together. But how can I share what I know without compromising my mission? How can I work with them and carry out my plan to rescue Iris?
Carefully, Finn asked, “Do you know when Felix passed, Wally?”
Wally scratched his ear. “I am not certain. Several years after Langdon, I believe. The Pearces kept him shut away until the very end, and I don’t recall a funeral.”
“There is something else,” Grantley said. “Did the Pearces possess any jewelry of note?”
“Come to think of it, they did. Langdon’s wife, Leonida, came from a wealthy family and a bridal parure was part of her dowry. The extravagance caused a stir at the time. Leonida took great pleasure in wearing the pieces on special occasions.”
“Do you recognize this?”
Conflict twisted Finn’s insides when Grantley took out the ring.
Seeing part of Iris’s ransom within reach made her question her decision.
Was Caleb right? Should the Hawks filch the ring and send it to Carver as proof of progress?
Finn’s instincts told her showing the ring to Carver was like waving a red flag at a bull.
By keeping it a secret for now, she was protecting Iris—and Owen and his family.
Yet the fact that the Harringtons now knew about the parure would make a stealthy flit with the jewels even more difficult.
I shall cross that bridge when I get there.
“I have seen that ring.” Wally’s eyes widened. “On Leonida Pearce’s finger.”
“You are certain?” Gigi asked.
“Hard to forget a sparkler like that. As I said, it was part of a set: I think there was a necklace, diadem, and bracelet…perhaps more.” Wally frowned. “But the jewels were discovered missing after Rose disappeared, and Leonida accused Rose of being a thief as well as a witch.”
“It was Felix who took the jewels and hid them—as restitution for the harm his brother had done to Rose and Thomas,” Gigi said. “He left clues that only she would know how to solve.”
“Which means the truth is not the only thing worth finding,” Grantley said.
The anticipation glinting in the duke’s eyes spiked Finn’s heartbeat. The truth about the jewels was out. The race was on to find them, and she had to win—no matter the cost.