Page 79 of One Wicked Secret
“Only those who are afraid of the truth,” Daniel countered.
“So you come seeking a truth, eh?” He gestured to two old wooden chairs, which hadn’t seen a coat of varnish in years.
Daniel made the introductions while Elsa brushed the seat with her gloved hand. “I assume you are Mr Hawthorne.”
“Yes, the senior,” he said with a wry smile. “If you askmy son, he’ll insist I’m the older, grumpier version. How may I be of service?”
“I believe you hold something belonging to my father, Mr Jacob Tyler of Edenberry, Chippenham.”
“You believe, or you know?”
“My father died a year ago, sir. He left behind a series of cryptic clues to a secret that continues to baffle us. There has already been one attempt on my life, so if you know why we’re here, do enlighten us.”
The solicitor removed his spectacles and polished them with a handkerchief. “It’s not that simple, Mrs Dalton. My reputation rests on discretion and integrity. I cannot give you what you seek without proof you have a claim.”
His reluctance to hand over any evidence of fraud was reassuring. While many men would accept a bribe, Daniel suspected Hawthorne would throw them out at the mere suggestion.
“What sort of proof do you need?” he said.
Hawthorne drew a slow breath. “Books are delicate things, easily destroyed by forces of nature. The great blaze claimed much, leaving ash and ruin in its wake. Water can be as unforgiving as any flame.”
Water? Was he referring to the book left in the pond?
Until now, it made no sense why Mrs Tyler had left it there.
“Perhaps you have experienced this yourself,” Hawthorne added. “And still recall the name of the beloved book you lost years ago.”
Elsa sat up, excitement lighting her eyes because she knew the answer. “Yes,The Romance of the Forest.”
Hawthorne nodded. “Who wrote that again? I fear my memory is not what it once was.”
“Mrs Radcliffe, sir.”
“Ah, yes. My wife liked to read while she bathed—a peculiar habit, if you ask me. Those dreaded novels slipped from her fingers no end of times. I was forever buying replacements.”
Yes, why would a woman read in the bath when she could make love to her husband? Why would she soap herself when her lover could see to the task? Indeed, Daniel hoped to wash his wife again this evening.
“A similar thing happened to my mother.”
“She lost a book in the tub, my dear?”
“No, in the garden pond. I only recently fished it out.” Elsa looked at Daniel. “Well, my husband was kind enough to retrieve it for me.”
“I assume it’s unreadable.”
“It was a sodden pile of mulch, nothing left but the board and remnants of a faded bookplate.”
“What are bookplates but a mark of ownership, a personal glimpse of the person who once cherished the book?” Again, the solicitor removed and cleaned his spectacles as if his next comment was important. “Did your mother favour the traditional country scenes? I know some who design their own.”
Elsa went on to explain both designs, telling Hawthorne that the book in the pond had the fox and oak tree ex-libris.
Daniel smiled to himself at the mention of the oak tree. Perhaps his wife might like a picnic at the bottom of the garden tonight, to indulge in another erotic adventure.
Satisfied with Elsa’s answers, Hawthorne gripped the arms of his chair and stood, though it took three attempts. “Your father was very specific in his instructions. Had you married Lord Denby and arrived here with him, asking thesesame questions, I was to deny everything and send all correspondence to your brother.”
While the man hobbled to the row of bookcases lining the wall, Daniel asked the obvious question. “How do you know I’m not Lord Denby using an alias?”
Hawthorne laughed. “For one, your wife looks happy.”
