Impulse (20 page)

“T
HEN YOU DID
know my mother,” Cam said quietly.

Janet Stewart nodded slowly. “You look like her. She had a different look to her mouth—different from John, I mean. You have that mouth. And your hair, your eyes, aye, I'd stake my last penny on your being John's nephew, all right.”

“My mother was his sister? What happened? Why won't your husband admit that he knew her?”

“That was the old man's doing. He was always a regular tartar, old Hamish. When Grace left, he declared that she was dead to him. He would never speak of her, nor listen to anyone else talk about her. Her name has never been mentioned in the house the whole time I've lived there, and I've been married to John for almost thirty years now.”

“But why?”

“They quarreled. She was…in the family way, you see.”

“With me?”

Janet nodded. “Yes, I suppose so. It would have been about thirty-four years ago. Old Mr. Stewart was a very devout man. He was hard on sin. And when he found out, he threw her out. He told her she was no daughter of his, that she was dead to him from that time on. It was a terrible shame to him.”

“I would have thought the shame was
his,
” Angela
put in hotly, “for throwing a poor young girl out like that. His own daughter!”

“I thought so, too. I think, sometimes, that John has regretted it, too, but he stuck by his father. He and William argued about it a few times—William's their younger brother. He moved to Edinburgh. He couldn't get along with his father. William would have liked to find Grace. He talked to me about it once. But we had no idea where to look. I never saw her again after that night of the quarrel. She came to stay with me, you see, after old Mr. Stewart tossed her out. She said she was going to the young man, your father, and tell him. She hadn't told him, for she said she didn't want to be a burden to him. She didn't want to make him marry her. But I think it was probably more that she was afraid he would refuse to marry her, him being quality and all.”

“Quality?” Cam's eyebrows rose.

“Yes. You know, one of the gentry—and from England, too. He was visiting friends near here, some English family that owned a summer place up here.”

“Who was he?” Angela asked.

“Oh, now that I don't know. Grace was always careful about that. She said he wouldn't want anyone knowing. And, of course, she was keeping it secret, too, from her family. They wouldn't have liked it. I mean, the difference in stations and all, him being quality and her being an artisan's daughter. It stands to reason that it wouldn't come to marriage, doesn't it? His father would have nipped it in the bud. So Grace kept it from everyone. I don't think she told anyone but me about him, and she wouldn't tell even me his name. She'd call him by his first name, but that's not much help. It was something common, like Henry or William or Charles. I forget what. But it's not much help without a last name.”

“Did she say where this man was staying?” Cam put in. “The name of the summer place, or the people he was visiting? Where he was from?”

Mrs. Stewart shook her head thoughtfully. “No, nothing like that. I'm not sure if she knew who it was he was visiting. She might have said the other young man's first name, but…” She shrugged expressively. “All I know is that they were English.”

“Do you know what he looked like?”

“I never saw him. Grace talked enough about his looks, but it was mostly how handsome he was. He was tall, she said, and fair. I guess his hair was blond, and I—let me see now—I think she would talk about how blue his eyes were.” She looked at Cam. “There's not much of him in you. You look too much like your mother.”

There was a pause as Cam and Angela tried to absorb the information they had just received and think of what important thing they should ask. Mrs. Stewart looked down at the table, tracing a long scratch that ran across it.

Finally, in a soft voice, she asked, “What about Grace? Why haven't you asked her these things?”

“She would not talk to me about it. She hated any talk of my father.”

“Of course she would. He must have abandoned her, too.”

“Yes,” Angela agreed. “It's clear that she had no help from her family or from him. It's little wonder that she hated to talk about that time, or her early life.”

“So you have no idea where she went after she left your house?” Cam asked. “You don't know if she remained here or moved to another town?”

“I never saw her or heard from her again. All I could
think was that she had moved somewhere else.” Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. “Surely if she had been here, she would have come to me for help. Don't you think?”

Angela laid her hand over the other woman's on the table and squeezed it sympathetically. “Of course she would have. She knew you were her friend. After all, she had come to you before when she was in trouble. I am sure you are right. She must have moved away. She probably wanted to go where nobody knew her.”

Mrs. Stewart nodded eagerly. “Yes. That is what I thought. She had a little bit of money. She had saved up some over the years, and I gave her what I had. It wasn't much, but it would have been enough to go somewhere else, maybe rent a room. Poor thing, she must have been so scared. I always hoped that she had found him and he had done the right thing by her—because of her not coming back.”

“No.” Cam shook his head grimly. “It's clear he didn't marry her. Somehow she managed on her own, though.”

“I'm sorry I haven't been more help.” Mrs. Stewart stood up. “I have to go now, or John will be wondering what has happened to me.”

“You've been a great deal of help,” Cam assured her. “You've told me more of my mother and father than I've ever known.”

“Well, I'm glad for that, at least.” She smiled. “And I'm glad to see Grace's son. I am sure she was very proud of you.”

“I hope so.”

“She was,” Angela assured them both. “I am positive of it.”

Mrs. Stewart held out her hand a little tentatively,
and Cam took it. “You know, all this makes you my nephew.”

Cam looked a little startled. “Why, yes, I guess it does.”

“And William's nephew, too. He… I think William would like to meet you.”

“And I, him.” Cam reached into his pocket and pulled out his card case. “Here, why don't you write down his address for me? Angela and I will be returning there tomorrow, anyway. I could easily look him up…if you think that he would like it.”

“Oh, yes, I am sure he would. He has missed Grace all these years. He was only a boy when she left, you see.” Mrs. Stewart took the card and pen Cam offered and began to write. “I am putting down my address, as well. John won't like it, but…well, I have a right to hear about our family, don't I?”

“Of course you do,” Angela replied stoutly, and impulsively gave the woman a hug. “Thank you for coming to tell us this. It means a great deal. It was very generous of you.”

The older woman blushed, pleased, and gave Angela a pat on the back. Then she turned and walked out of the inn. Cam and Angela watched her go, then glanced at one another.

“Don't tell me those are tears in your eyes,” Cam said, smiling faintly.

“All right, then, I won't.”

“You are too softhearted.” But the indulgent look on his face took away any sting of criticism from his words. “It is not even your story.”

“Yes, but it is such a sad one. Poor girl, abandoned by her father and the man she loved… It must have been very hard for her.”

“Yes. It's no wonder that she didn't wish to talk about it. No doubt all she wanted was to forget it.” Cam's face hardened. “Damn him!”

“Who? Your father?”

“Yes. And my grandfather, as well. Obviously the males of my family—on both sides—are pretty worthless beings. My mother must have been appalled that her baby was a boy.”

“Oh, nonsense.” Angela slid her arm through his and leaned her head against his arm, in a gesture so easy and natural that it took Cam a moment to realize how rare it was. He went still, scarcely daring even to breathe for fear it would break the moment of natural affection. “I am sure she was thrilled when you were born, and didn't think a bit about whether you were a boy or girl. I know that she loved you very much. You were always a joy to her.”

“She was a good woman. She didn't deserve the kind of life she had.”

“Probably not. But who gets the sort of life they deserve? The good suffer, and scoundrels are rewarded for their infamies. But, then, if we all got exactly what we deserved in life, no doubt most of us would be quite miserable.”

She tilted her head and smiled up at him. It was the smile he had known in the past, the one that had made his heart flip in his chest, and it had its old effect now. He could not keep from smiling back at her, nor from reaching up and brushing his knuckles caressingly over her cheek. To his surprise, Angela did not flinch away or even stiffen. A faint flush stained her cheeks, and her eyes seemed a little brighter.

He wanted to bend down and kiss her, but he held back. Perhaps she was growing accustomed to him,
becoming a little fond of him, even. He did not want to hurt that fragile bond by pushing for more.

“No doubt.” He forced himself to bring the moment to an end. “Shall we go to the parish registry now? It does not seem likely that there will be any record of my birth there, from what Mrs. Stewart said. However, since we are here, it would seem foolish not to even check.”

Angela agreed, so they left the inn and set out for the parish office. With Angela's arm tucked in his and her chatting away in a friendly, animated manner, Cam was glad that he had not done anything that might have spoiled that small moment of affection earlier. She seemed, for the moment, far more like the girl he had known, the bright, sparkling creature whom he had loved and who had loved him in return.

They arrived at the parish registry, where a young, officious clerk dug out the musty leather-bound book they wanted. He watched them with a gimlet eye as they flipped through the pages, looking for the year they sought, apparently certain that their main purpose in studying his records was to mar or steal them.

“Nothing here,” Cam said, turning a page and finding a date a month before his birthday. “Wait.” He ran his fingers down the lines of dates to the bottom of the left-hand page, then up to the top of the right-hand page. “This can't be right. There's something wrong here.”

“What?” Angela leaned closer to look at the pages.

“Look at the date on the bottom of the page,” Cam instructed, pointing his forefinger to it. “Then look up here. May sixteenth is the last date here, and the next one is February the second. There's a gap of, what—almost eight months?”

“You're right. Something's missing.”

The man behind the counter, who had been openly
listening to them, bristled at the suggestion that something was amiss with his records. “There cannot be a gap. All our records are properly kept, I assure you.”

Cam spun the huge book around so that it faced the clerk. “Then look at it, and tell me why the records go from that date to this. Surely this parish did not go eight months without a single birth or marriage or death.”

“Of course not.” The man frowned down at the paper. “There must be some sort of mistake.” He adjusted his spectacles, as if that would somehow make the dates look right this time, and peered at them again. “I don't understand.” He smoothed back his hair and added primly, “Of course, this was before my time.”

Angela bent down and sighted along the furrow where the two pages met. She pulled the book closer, flattening it out and inspecting the pages all the way up and down. “Cam…” Her voice rose a little in her excitement. “I think a page has been torn out. See this little ragged edge of paper?”

Cam bent down and looked where she pointed. “I think you're right.” He straightened and gazed at her in astonishment. “Someone's torn a page out of the book.”

“Nonsense!” the clerk blustered, grabbing the book and almost sticking his nose into the valley between the pages. “Where? Where was it torn?”

The other two ignored him. “Why would anyone try to destroy a record of your birth?” Angela asked.

“It can't be because of that. We don't even know that my birth was recorded here. The odds are that it was not. If Grace had remained in Carnmore, surely Mrs. Stewart would have seen her at least a few times. It isn't that large a place. In all likelihood she went to
England or Glasgow or Edinburgh, and that is where I was born.”

“You're right. Simply because it is the page where your birth would be doesn't mean that the sabotage was directed against you.” She glanced back down at the book. “Though why anyone would wish to tear out a page of records…”

“Probably some fool who wanted the information and didn't care that he was destroying records.” Cam looked back at the clerk, who was still frowning and flipping through the pages in the hope that the lost page would turn up tucked in somewhere else. “Is there a duplicate set of records?”

“What?” The clerk looked up bemusedly. “Oh…no. The original certificate— What was it you were looking for, a record of birth? The original birth certificate would be given to the parents. The registry only records the events.”

“The certificate was lost.”

“Oh. Well…um, I see. Usually, a duplicate could be applied for, based on the records, but, ah, in this case…”

Cam shook his head. “What about the vicar? Could we speak to him?”

“The rector,” the clerk corrected, raising his eyebrows and looking offended. “I can assure you that I have kept the records with the utmost care. If a page is missing, it was not through any fault of mine.”