Chapters (46)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Back Cover
“Were to intercept you—Saint—to keep you from getting this particular forgery.” He shook his head. “Ironic that you stole the very paper they were trying to keep from you.” A dark chuckle slipped from his lips.
“But I wonder…” Joan turned the page over, studying it. “Morgan, this paper, the seal…it’s forged but done so well… Could someone have infiltrated the magistrate’s office?”
Morgan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I would like to say no, but it would most assuredly make sense, especially if this Mr. Brewer could name the traitor.”
“That would certainly motivate someone to have him silenced permanently,” suggested Joan.
“A traitor in the magistrate’s office could easily slip pertinent information to whomever paid highest, or perhaps they were planted in that office to do that very job. Regardless, this needs to be investigated and stopped.”
“I suggest you start by talking to Mr. Brewer and finding protection for him. Seems someone wants him dead.”
“Indeed,” Morgan agreed, then turned to leave the room. “I’m heading to the office. Please, stay here and allow me to do this.”
“I always do. I only intervened when you did something half-cocked,” Joan replied with derision.
“I will not confirm or deny your allegations, only stay.” Morgan pointed, nodded, and then left. “I’ll return this evening, and I’ll be sure to let you know what we found out.”
“Be safe!” Joan called out.
Morgan was already down the hall, calling for his carriage.
Joan sighed. This was the part she hated most, the waiting.
Because between the excitement of it all, there was a great deal of waiting.
Twenty-nine
After dispatching a letter to Joan first thing in the morning, Rowles sat down with the family solicitor. The arrangements for the funeral were easily delegated to the funeral furnisher, who would see to all the details, giving his mother the remembrance she deserved.
The nurses attending his mother had washed and laid out her body, then proceeded to drape the entire room with black baize cloth. The furnisher would see to the hiring of the mutes, mourners, and jobbers to transport his mother’s coffin to the family grave site, where she’d rest forever beside his father.
Rowles leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. The sensation of relief over his mother’s death warred against the guilt he suffered for feeling that way, and he was at a loss for how to address either. The funeral would be held the next evening, and he’d say his final goodbyes to the woman who gave him life. He’d choose to remember the good, the times of peace and health—not the slow, methodical destruction the malady had wreaked on her life, and the lives of those around her. It was over, and he’d been fighting for far too long.