Page 97 of One Wicked Secret
“Yes, for a little over a year.”
That was impossible. “You must be mistaken. My mother was raised in Oxford. I believe she was born there in the same year.”
Thomas shifted his feet. “Brace yourself for shocking news, my dear. News that will explain why you find yourself in this terrible predicament.”
Nerves tightened her chest. Perhaps it was better not to know. To leave this house and flee to Geneva themselves.
But the reverend didn’t deliver the news as though telling a fable—there was no softening of the truth, no gentle moral at the end. “Your mother was the daughter of Clarence and Cynthia Denby, raised by their friends after the couple were slain in their beds.”
Time stopped for a moment.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
A vision of the gruesome scene formed in her mind, except the picture shifted. Suddenly, it was her and Mr Carver, not a couple so desperately in love.
“But that cannot be,” she said, almost laughing at the absurdity of it all. And yet, in her heart, she knew it was true.
“The tragic events of that night are documented in the letters. Clarence had been expecting an attack. No one in Port Noir knew the identity of their friends and presumed they were servants. It’s how they managed to escape with the child.”
She sat in quiet contemplation, past meetings with her grandparents flitting through her mind. The glorious summersspent in Oxford. The day her mother visited Grandmama Josephine’s sickbed but left looking as shocked as she was distraught.
“Your mother came to see me some years ago,” Thomas continued, “after hearing Josephine’s dying confession. She knew if the truth came to light, your life might be in jeopardy. She considered visiting the authorities but knew no one would take her claims seriously.”
“Claims?”
“That Clarence and Cynthia were killed by men hired by his father. She lacked the funds and social standing needed to tackle a powerful family, and prayed the truth remained buried.”
Yet something had changed.
Something that had shifted the tides of fate.
“And so you think someone tried to kill my wife because of these old letters you mentioned? To rid themselves of the problem altogether?”
“Possibly, but I believe I’m the only person who knows about the letters.” The reverend excused himself to take a sip of his boiled water. “My throat gets so dry these days. And where are my manners? I forgot to ask if you would like tea.”
Elsa declined the offer. Her hands were trembling so severely from the shock she’d probably scald her fingers.
“Then let me fetch the box.”
When the reverend left to fetch the mysterious box, Daniel crouched beside her and asked, “Are you all right? The news must have shaken you deeply.”
She nodded, though she was still trying to catch her breath. “I’m almost too stunned for words. It’s the last thing I would have expected. On the bright side, I’m glad we’re making progress.”
“I confess it was no small revelation,” he agreed. “But I’m still confused as to whyyourlife would be in danger. There was no mention of Magnus. Why would your parents keep the truth from him? If anything happens to Denby, he could have a claim to the barony.”
“Hopefully we will find the answers in the letters,” she said with a deep sigh.
The reverend returned, moving with the ease of someone half his age and carrying a mahogany box. He brushed dust off the lid before handing it to Elsa.
“I pray you find some peace,” he said, his smile warm and sincere. “I pray the past is finally put to rest. However, I feel compelled to offer a warning.”
Elsa swallowed hard. “Yes?”
“Guard the contents with your life.”
Chapter Eighteen
After supper, they retired to Daniel’s study to examine the contents of the mahogany box. He poured Elsa a sherry, hoping a drink might settle her nerves. She had held the box on her lap during the journey home, cradling it as if it were the Ark of the Covenant. Not that he blamed her. The letters inside bore a secret that had nearly cost Elsa her life.
