Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘Iknow who our note messenger is.’
Mason’s excitement fizzled at the end of the phone. ‘Seriously?’
I glanced at my reflection in the bedroom mirror and proceeded to tell him about Ryan.
‘So, who has been getting him to do this? Did he give you a name?’
I sank down on the edge of my bed. ‘He says he doesn’t know her name.’
‘Doesn’t he recognise her or know anything about her?’
‘No,’ and I told him about Ryan being new to the area and that I’d told Ryan not to tell the woman that we knew. ‘I figured that way the clues should keep coming and we have a better chance of discovering her identity.’
Mason agreed. ‘I think that’s a great idea.’
I toyed with the end of my blue satin duvet. ‘How are your mum and dad?’
‘Oh, they’re fine. They’re very impressed with you.’ I could hear a smile in his voice as he spoke. ‘They were very keen for you to take them on a guided tour of Port Starr, but I managed to distract them with a nice drive up the coastal road.’
A pang of guilt stole over me. ‘I feel bad about the deception.’
‘It’s not deception,’ insisted Mason. ‘It’s just massaging the truth.’
His words made me study myself in the mirror. What on earth did I think I was doing?
‘Poppy,’ he began. ‘I wondered if you wanted to come over this evening. To discuss where we go from here … with the research, obviously…’ There was a pregnant pause before Mason explained, ‘Mum and Dad are doing their own thing tonight.’
A warning klaxon blasted in my head. I had to think of myself.
This situation was on the brink of getting out of control.
Actually, now that I thought about everything, I think it already was.
I had to rein myself back in. Mason was winding his way deeper and further into my affections, despite my best efforts.
‘Oh,’ I answered. ‘It’s just I’m rather tired.
We’ve been flat out here with the cottages and I’d planned to crash out on the sofa. ’
There was a disappointed silence for a few seconds. ‘Right. No, I understand you must be exhausted. It’s just…’
I sat up a bit straighter. ‘What is it, Mason?’
‘It’s just … well, I thought we could … we could…’
My heart pinged against my ribcage.
‘I thought we could make some more progress tonight with looking into this Gideon Kelly character.’
Of course. Silly me. Why would I think he was going to talk about something more personal?
For a moment, I was tempted to refuse again.
My thoughts travelled to the Scarlet Highwayman.
Was I prepared to let my emotions and frustrations get in the way of finding out the truth?
I couldn’t have that; not when we appeared to be drawing ever closer to discovering who he was.
I could handle this. I could handle my feelings for Mason.
I just had to keep reminding myself about those two other women. Maybe there was more than two?
‘On second thoughts, okay,’ I replied airily. ‘I’ll come over.’
‘Great. We could get a takeaway.’
‘Takeaway would be good.’ I ended the call by saying I’d be over at his apartment by seven.
I washed and scrunch-dried my hair, so that it looked rather undone and tousled.
Then I raked in my wardrobe for something to wear.
Most of the tops I considered were dismissed for being too dressy or revealing, and a couple of the skirts I pulled out for a closer inspection were verging on the plain side.
In the end, I opted for my new navy shift dress, with its stiff collar and chunky white belt.
I decided to pair it with my long blue velvet boots.
And to finish off the look, I swept on some cream eye shadow and dark mascara and slid on some of my favourite rose-pink lipstick.
As soon as I began to think I was starting to understand him, Mason would say or do something that threw me off balance. I knew I’d made an extra effort with my appearance. Oh, sod it! I wanted to look and feel good for me. I frowned at my reflection and picked up my scalloped bag from the bed.
My Scarlet Highwayman portrait was just inside the utility room, still perched on its easel, almost complete. All I wanted to do was add a little more contouring to those cheese-grater cheekbones of his.
I loitered for a moment in the hallway, the evening sunshine melting on the carpet. My portrait stared back, a knowing fleck in the highwayman’s dark eyes.
‘At least I know where I stand with you,’ I sighed at his compelling painted face.
I peered into my bag to make sure I had Ryan’s latest note with me. And with a jangle of car keys, I headed out the door.
Our half-empty takeaway boxes of lemon chicken, egg fried rice, prawn curry, crispy shredded beef and stir-fried noodles littered Mason’s breakfast bar in his black marble kitchen.
‘I’ll clear up in a bit,’ he said. ‘Let me make a pot of coffee and then we can try searching the internet again for Gideon Kelly.’ His laptop was set up on a small mahogany desk in the far corner of the sitting room.
I flopped back on the sofa, hoping I didn’t resemble a beached whale with my overstuffed tummy. ‘That was delicious,’ I murmured aloud.
Mason stopped by the door. He didn’t say anything, just hovered for a few moments, appraising me.
Darwin was at my feet, a mass of slumbering fur. I stared up at Mason, noting how tall he looked in his crimson shirt and dark-grey trousers.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying a tray with a glass pot of swirling hot coffee, a jug of milk and two Italian-style coffee cups. ‘If it was just me, it would be straight out of the jar and into one of my rugby mugs.’
‘Oh, that’s right. You said you used to play.’ My imagination conjured up images of Mason in one of those tight tops and with thighs like tree trunks. I dipped down to stroke Darwin and concluded Mason must have looked like a real alpha male on the pitch.
‘I used to play badly,’ confessed Mason, sitting down beside me. ‘But I was a lot younger then and able to take a few knocks.’
‘Oh, you poor old man,’ I teased.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said with a glint in his eye. ‘I still have one or two impressive moves.’
I accepted my coffee. ‘Stop bragging,’ I mocked.
Feeling emboldened, I studied him over the rim of my coffee cup, and with a jokey smile said, ‘So, seeing as I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, don’t you think you should tell me what you want from life?’
Mason’s features shut down. ‘I think we should concentrate on work for a while, don’t you?’
I blinked at him, stung and incredulous. There it was again; the clang of the gates closing, anytime I so much as asked him a personal question.
Mason fetched his laptop from his desk and placed it down on the coffee table in front of us. ‘Do you have that note with you?’
I shot him a cool glance as I leaned down to my bag, unzipped it and handed him the crumpled piece of paper.
He read it, his light eyes boring into the sentence, before he took a slug of coffee and tapped the keys on his laptop.
Darwin’s triangular ears pricked up at the noise, before folding themselves down again.
Mason looked pensive. ‘I wonder if it might be worth us taking a look at the local newspaper at the time; see if they had a society page.’
‘Do you think this Gideon Kelly could’ve been landed gentry?’
He shook his head. ‘I’d be surprised if he was, considering the lack of information about him and the modesty of his gravestone.’
He pulled up a library database site of newspapers from the 1800s.
He rattled in a couple more passwords that allowed him entry into another section of the site.
‘It’s worth considering. Maybe we should widen the search?
See if he appears in any of the more prestigious newspapers, seeing as he had a connection to the Lapley family through tutoring Oscar? ’
He typed in Gideon Kelly’s name and pressed the ‘Enter’ key. ‘Here goes.’
The screen shimmered a few times, not in any hurry to part with revelations. But then it morphed from the ‘Home’ section into a yellowing series of pages from The Daily Herald & Times.
Mason jumped forward. ‘Look, Poppy.’
I followed the first article with interest, my attention snared by the neon-yellow highlighter capturing Gideon Kelly’s name. I read the contents and sank back against the sofa, optimism bubbling in my chest. ‘I’ve got a feeling this is another skeleton in the Lapley closet.’
I took a mouthful of coffee.
The first article featured an elaborate diary page that was dated 23 June 1793, which said, ‘It has been announced that Mr Gideon Kelly has been recruited to the post of music tutor to Master Oscar Lapley, of The Hawthorns estate, Port Starr.’
Mason scrolled down the screen onto the next article that referred to Gideon Kelly. It was dated 20 December 1800.
Congratulations are extended to Master Oscar Lapley, of The Hawthorns estate, Port Starr, who has achieved first place in the Scottish Violin Competition.
Upon receiving his award, fourteen-year-old Master Lapley paid a huge debt of gratitude to his former tutor, Mr Gideon Kelly, extolling his kindness, dedication and enthusiasm.
Indeed, Master Lapley credited his previous music tutor, a former member of the prestigious Rose Mount Royal Orchestra, for his success thus far.
The third mention of Gideon Kelly spoke of another success Oscar Lapley had six years later, when he was granted a place at the prestigious Glasgow Music School.
It is reported that Mr Oscar Lapley insisted that a party be held in honour of Mr Gideon Kelly, his former music tutor, to show his appreciation and heartfelt thanks.
There was a biography of Gideon Kelly in another section of that edition of the same paper, listing an impressive musical heritage, which included ancestors that played in some of Scotland’s most prestigious orchestras and even a distant cousin who was an official musician to Bonnie Prince Charlie.
‘One thing’s for sure,’ mused Mason, ‘Gideon had a positive effect on young Oscar.’
I savoured my coffee. ‘It sounds as though the boy really looked up to him and never forgot the impact he had on him and his music.’
Mason tapped the keyboard. ‘Let’s see what else there might be.’
We both expected another article to wing into view about him, but it didn’t. The only other mention of Gideon Kelly was in his obituary in the local paper.
Mason and I stared in disbelief at the screen.
I was incredulous. ‘Is that it?’
Mason’s eyebrows threatened to bolt into his hairline.
‘It seems to be. That’s very odd, considering he was employed by one of Port Starr’s most influential families and what he helped Oscar to achieve.
’ He sat back against the sofa. ‘Gideon’s obituary should have been much more representative of his achievements and his role in the area than that.
’ He flicked his hand at the screen. ‘Instead, he was only given this?’
I read over the brief mention of Gideon’s death.
‘The death has been announced of Mr Gideon Kelly. Born 3 February 1762. Died 6 June 1830.’
Darkness was feeding into Mason’s apartment now. He stood up and moved around the sitting room, flicking on table lamps. A vanilla glow splashed up the magnolia walls.
A crackling silence ensued, until Mason said, ‘I’ll put the kettle on again. Make a fresh pot of coffee.’
‘Thanks. That would be great.’ I nodded at the laptop screen. ‘I understand what you mean about Gideon’s obituary. It’s as if he’s gone from hero to zero.’
Mason wandered into the kitchen, saying, ‘Whoever this strange woman is that’s paying that young lad to deliver notes to you, she must want to get at the truth, too.’
‘Would you mind if I had a scroll through some of this information on your laptop, please, Mason?’
‘Sure thing,’ he called out from the kitchen. ‘Knock yourself out. I just hope I don’t discover you asleep from sheer boredom when I come back in.’
He was relaxed again, I acknowledged, now that we were talking about the research.
I shook my head with confusion. One minute Mason was kissing me and then next, he was Mr Stand-offish.
I tapped the ‘Return’ button. For something to do, I decided to enter Georgina Lapley’s name.
That took me into another series of articles, which I read through.
Most of them seemed to refer to Georgina as an appendage to her odious-sounding husband, which irritated me. Then I spotted a reference to the name Blake Summers. I gasped, causing Darwin to raise his heavy head by my feet. He awarded me an odd look before settling down again.
‘Mason,’ I yelled, my breath rasping.
He wandered back in, clutching a teaspoon in one hand.
‘Read this.’
He frowned and came around the table to look at the screen. ‘Blake Summers?’
I gestured to the screen. ‘He’s my great-great-great-grandfather.’
Mason sat down beside me. ‘Bloody hell. Of course. He was Lizzie’s brother.’
We read the short article about Lizzie’s untimely passing, with quotes from Blake blaming her exhausting job at The Hawthorns estate for her death.
Wild thoughts shot around my head. ‘You don’t think … you don’t think Blake was the Scarlet Highwayman, do you?’
Mason’s brows dipped. ‘Well, when you think about it, he had a good motive for wanting to get his revenge on Augustus. He believed he’d mistreated his sister and caused her death.’
‘And that most recent note,’ I said, fidgeting. ‘It was talking about looking closer to home.’ My hand shot to my mouth. ‘My home?’
Confusion rocketed through me.
Mason pointed to the last couple of paragraphs of the local newspaper article. ‘Have you read that bit at the end?’
I re-focused on what he was referring to and read the text aloud.
‘It is rumoured that following Lizzie Bishop’s death, Mrs Lapley is making every effort to support and assist the family and that Mr Blake Summers, an accomplished stable hand and the late Mrs Bishop’s eldest brother, has been granted employment at The Hawthorns estate in that capacity. ’
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed, turning to stare at Mason. ‘Georgina gave him a job.’
His brows rose. ‘That’s strange. Blake’s name wasn’t listed on that employee list from the estate.’
I thought about it. ‘So, do you think someone was trying to keep his employment there a secret? And if so, why?’
Mason looked bewildered. ‘Well, working at the stables would have been an important role. That would’ve meant he was working closely with the estate horses, which were worth a lot of money in those days. He was probably also a very competent rider, otherwise he wouldn’t have got the job.’
I could see Mason slotting pieces of the jigsaw together. ‘And that meant he would have been close to Augustus Lapley, if he did want to avenge his sister.’ He paused. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
My heart clattered against my ribs. ‘Oh God. The Scarlet Highwayman could be my great-great-great-grandfather.’