Bobbi Smith (7 page)
Authors: Heaven
“I couldn’t find him,” Philip told Robert as he rejoined him in front of the hotel.
“It’s not really important, but I do find it curious that he was here in the first place and seemed to be avoiding us.”
“We’ll ask him about it later. Right now, all I want to do is get over to father’s lawyer’s office and arrange for the official reading of the will,” Philip said. “Tomorrow as soon as he’s buried sounds good to me.”
“Do you suppose Dell will have any objection?”
“Who cares? He’s in our employ now, not father’s. He’ll read the will when we tell him to.”
The two brothers were feeling quite invincible. It had been a successful 24 hours. Everything had gone exactly as planned. They still couldn’t believe their luck in discovering that the professor was in town and had made a date to dine with their father. The fact that a friend of theirs had been in the dining room when the two had had a heated argument and had told them about it had only been an extra bonus. It had been a simple matter then to put their plan into action, and now all was done. Now, because of their brilliance, their father was dead, the professor had been arrested for his murder, and they were going to be very rich men.
A few months before, Philip had stolen a copy of their father’s will and had shared it with his brother. They’d been furious when they’d discovered what he’d done with the crown. It annoyed them to no end that they’d have to waste time tracking the damned thing down, using the books of clues he’d written, but that was just like him. Even from the grave he planned to torment them. The delay in claiming what they believed to be rightfully theirs hadn’t stifled their enthusiasm. They had merely bided their time. Now, glad he was dead they would go about finding the crown and then they’d be able to get on with enjoying their lives.
Philip thought of Penny, the maid who loved him so slavishly, and knew he would have to give her a special ‘thank you’ for slipping into their father’s room early that morning and switching medicine bottles. She’d already returned the one he’d filled with poison to him and replaced it with the correct bottle. Philip planned to make her a very happy woman just as soon as all the fuss died down and they had some time alone. Sometimes things did go as one planned. Sometimes life could be wonderful.
“You realize, after our visit with Dell, we have to go home and play the dutiful, mourning sons,” Philip pointed out with distaste.
“Do you suppose he’s heard yet?”
“If not, we’ll have the pleasure of telling him.” His smile turned cold. He despised his father’s attorney and couldn’t wait for their business association with him to be through.
Henry was up at dawn the next day. A terrible sense of urgency filled him. Philip and Robert, in their rush to bury their father and be done with their responsibilities, had set the funeral for noon that very day, and the reading of the will for seven that evening. He had to get to the jail and speak to the professor right away, for he wanted the books out of his possession before the reading. He’d been lucky the night before. When the two had returned to the house they had obviously been drinking heavily. He doubted their state was the result of grief; it seemed more like celebration. They had questioned him briefly about his presence at the hotel, and he’d been relieved when they accepted his answer that he’d been there to see a friend who worked at the place.
Now, as he slipped from the house before anyone else had risen, he took the books which he’d hidden under his mattress for the night and some of the money Mr. Anthony had left him. It was common knowledge that access could be gained to the prison by bribing the guards, and he wanted to be prepared. A little later, after parting with a substantial amount of his money, Henry waited in the center yard for the guard to bring the professor to him.
“Henry? Thank God!” Enoch spoke his name in surprise and relief as he followed the guard from the dark, dank, miserable building.
“Professor Parker . . .”
They clasped hands, and Enoch thought perhaps that things would finally change for the better. He hoped desperately that the valet had some kind of news that would help to set him free. One day in the filthy prison had been enough to last him a lifetime.
“This is all so terrible. They think I murdered Lawrence! Have you heard anything? Anything at all?” the professor asked. His hopes were high as he awaited his reply.
“Nothing. I wish I did have some good news for you, but I don’t.”
“Damn!”
“I do believe you are innocent, sir,” he offered.
“Thank you.” The older man gave him a heartfelt look. “I’m not sure why I’ve been arrested, other than the fact that Lawrence and I argued over dinner. He told me some very startling news, and I was shocked and angry, but we never came to blows. In fact, we went back to his house and talked for several hours afterward. When I left him, he was fine. I don’t know what could have happened.”
“I don’t know what happened either, but I do know that Philip and Robert have arranged for Mr. Anthony’s funeral to be today at noon.”
“So soon?” Enoch stared at him in amazement. “Then everything Lawrence confided in me was true.”
“Everything?”
“He told me that he’d disinherited them. . .. He felt he had no sons, no family.”
Henry had suspected as much after the night he’d confided in him about the books. “They don’t know it yet, and they won’t until tonight when they have the reading of the will. Did Mr. Anthony tell you about this?” He drew the wrapped book out of his coat pocket and handed it to him.
“The book . . .” He took it from Henry and held it as if it were the most precious of relics. He wanted to rip the package open and devour every word, but he didn’t. When he looked up at Henry and there were tears in his eyes, what he did next was the most difficult thing he’d ever done in his life. He handed it back to Henry. “I can’t keep it.”
“But Mr. Anthony insisted I deliver it to you.”
“The book is too important to be put at risk, Henry. I dare not keep it here. God only knows what might happen to it, and we can’t risk letting it fall into his sons’ hands. We just can’t.”
“What shall I do with it, sir?”
“Send it on to my address in Boston. It will be safe there. Alex will know what to do with it.”
“You’re sure?”
“We have no choice,” he answered solemnly.
“I’ll do it.”
“Thank you, Henry. You’re a true friend, to Lawrence and to me.” For a moment, he’d been able to forget his own dire straits as he’d thought about the crown and the book, but now reality returned. He would have to return to the hell of the prison.
“Professor Parker, I’ll do everything I can to help you. I know you didn’t poison Mr. Anthony.”
“You seem to be the only one who believes in me.”
“Time’s up!” the guard announced coming back to claim his prisoner.
“Henry, you’re my only hope.”
The guard led him away.
Henry watched the good man go back inside, and he vowed to try to find some way to prove his innocence. He understood the professor’s very real concern about the books, and so when he went to post his book to his daughter in Boston, he also mailed the one to Matthew McKittrick. He felt tremendously relieved once they were out of his possession, for he didn’t trust Philip or Robert at all. It was not going to be a pleasant evening once they had heard the terms of the will. He knew they would be furious when they found out that they’d been disinherited, and he was not looking forward to the repercussions.
Threatening clouds hung low and dark over the city and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as the minister spoke at the graveside. Philip stood with his brother next to the casket, taking care to look suitably sorrowful and wishing fervently that the man of the cloth would hurry and finish his damned prayers. He wanted to get this over with before it rained. It was bad enough that they were going to have to receive visitors at the house for the rest of the day and listen to declarations of respect and love for their dead father. He’d despised his father and his parsimonious ways, and as soon as he got his hands on his share of his inheritance, he was going to show London how to live!
“Amen.”
The minister’s last word broke through Philip’s annoyed musings and brought him back to the present. Irritating as it was, he had to follow custom or possibly arouse suspicions about his motives, and that wouldn’t do. He’d already surprised a lot of people by rushing the burial and reading of the will, but that didn’t matter. He and Robert had been telling everyone that they were so grief-stricken that they wanted to be done with it as quickly as they could. Most believed them. Some did not.
Meanwhile as the coffin of his dear friend was being lowered into the grave, the solemn muted prayers of the priest filled the bedroom where Edward lay near death. Edward’s mind wandered, his breathing became more and more labored, and rampant fever burned away the last of his vitality.
“Winston . . .”
“Yes, sir.” Winn had been up all night, keeping his vigil, praying for a miracle, and the sound of his uncle’s voice jarred him from his exhaustion. He reached out to touch his arm, to let him know he was there, and he could feel the heat of his illness even through his bedclothes.
“You’ve been like a son to me, Winn.” Edward gazed at him for the last time. “Don’t waste your life on useless pursuits. Use your strength and knowledge to do what’s right.”
“How will I know?” he asked, confused.
“God will show you, if you ask him.”
Winn was tempted to argue, for he’d been pleading for God to heal his uncle for days now, and God hadn’t listened. His torment must have shown on his face, for Edward spoke again, but more weakly this time.
“Winn, I’m not afraid to die.”
His words, so bluntly spoken, jarred him. Somehow, it seemed wrong to speak of dying.
“If I truly believe all that I’ve preached through the years, and I do, then this day will be a celebration for me. Love is my legacy to you, Winston. Remember. . .” The old man’s eyes drifted shut.
“I love you, Uncle Edward . . .”
Winn was never certain his uncle heard him for in that moment the old man’s agony was taken from him and he found final peace with God.
Father Michaels understood, and he concluded his prayers and blessings. That done, he quietly made his way from the room, leaving Winn alone with his uncle.
It was a long time later when Winn finally emerged from the bedroom, his face haggard, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. The vigil had ended, and death had won. Weariness weighed upon his soul. He looked up at the servants who’d heard of Father Edward’s passing from Father Michaels and had gathered in the hall to comfort Lord Bradford.
“It’s over . . .” His voice was tight and hoarse with grief and pain.
“We’re sorry, sir.” Arthur took it upon himself to speak for the entire staff. Father Edward had been a frequent visitor to the house and was loved by all.
Winn gave them a grateful look. “So am I. He was a good man. I’ll miss him.”
“We all will, sir,” Arthur said. “Is there anything we can do for you?” He wanted to ease his employer’s burden, if he could. Winn and his uncle had been very close, and the butler knew this was as painful for him as his parents’ deaths had been all those years ago. One never became accustomed to death, though one did eventually manage to deal with it and accept it.
“No. I’m just going to speak with Father Michaels and then I’m going to rest for a while.”
“If you need anything at all, just call for us. Father Michaels is waiting for you in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Arthur.”
Winn went downstairs and spoke with the priest at length. making the necessary arrangements for the funeral. When everything was completed, he saw the priest from the house and then retired to his own bedroom.
Winn was amazed anew by Arthur’s insight and abilities. A hot bath and a tray of food awaited him. He bathed quickly, too tired to enjoy it. Then he got ready for bed. He ran a hand over his face in an exhausted gesture and was surprised by the roughness of his beard. A quick glance in the mirror over the washstand confirmed the dark shadow of more than three days’ growth. He rubbed his jaw idly as he contemplated shaving, then thought better of the idea and went to lie down. As tired as he was, there was no telling how accurately he would be able to wield a razor. The bed’s softness was a welcoming embrace, and he gave a low groan as he stretched out upon it and rested a forearm over his eyes. Emotional and physical exhaustion claimed him, and he slept.
Philip and Robert were excited as they returned to the house after the burial. Everything was working out perfectly. By 7:30 that evening, they were going to be rich. They sat alone in the study and passed the balance of the afternoon drinking and trying to estimate how long it would take them to find the hidden crown once the lawyer gave them the books that night. The thought of having to pack up and go chasing after the damned thing angered them both, but they knew the prize was worth the inconvenience. When at last the hour neared, they freshened up so they would be ready for Thomas Dell when he arrived for the reading of the will.
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