16
James
For a moment, James Poole couldn't explain the weight on his arm. He was back home. That much was certain, but he lived alone, and no animals to lay in his bed, either.
Then his mind came back to him and he remembered. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and saw the woman in his arms. She smiled at him and pressed her lips into his, and he knew that he had made a big mistake. That he didn't regret it only made it worse.
He'd gone and done it, now. Her life, for all intents and purposes, was now well and truly over. She wouldn't have any hope of marriage prospects with her innocence compromised. He pulled her closer and kissed her back.
"Did you sleep well," he said softly.
He could see that she was holding something back when she nodded, but he didn't press her on it. He rolled onto his back, and for a moment he thought about picking up where they'd left off. But he had work to do.
"Good." The words came out as a hoarse whisper.
He couldn't think straight with her around, and the more time that passed the more it was becoming clear that he needed to be at his best. He was beginning to realize that walking away from her wasn't an option any more.
That meant that he needed to find some way to make up for his inability to think clearly. Mary was smart as a whip, even if she tried to hide everything from him. He smiled and sat up.
"Come on. Let's get dressed." He was already pulling his trousers back on as he said it. "I'm finished with business in London, and we need to get back to the Geis estate to get back to work."
It wasn't true. He could feel the letter on his coffee table drawing his attention like a magnet. He needed to pay for his father's hospital bills, and he needed to do it now, but it would need to wait. He didn't have time now, and as much as it surprised him, he had more important things to address.
He could see doubt on Mary's face, and he pursed his lips. It didn't matter what she knew or thought, as long as she let him do what he had to do. As her face changed, he knew it was too much to hope for.
"You've got a letter," she said. She didn't go on, but she didn't have to.
His face pinched together, and for a moment he struggled with a flash of anger. Then he put it away and his face blanked back over.
"That's not important right now," he hissed.
And it was true. He'd gotten involved in something bigger than him, in a pensioner's hospital bed. Even if that pensioner was the man who'd raised him, who'd given nearly everything for him.
It hurt to admit it to himself, but right now there was nothing anyone could do. He'd been thinking about it a lot, lately—even with all the distractions that dogged him constantly, it seemed as if there was always the implication hanging over his head.
If there was anything he could do to change it, then he would move heaven and earth to do it, but there wasn't. He shut his mouth tight.
"James, he's your—"
"I know who he is!" He shouted. "I know! What do you think this has all been about? Why do you think I came to your house?"
His voice boomed loudly through the room, and he realized that he was breathing hard, hunched over in a predatory posture. Mary sat back onto the bed and started to cry.
James touched his forehead. His head ached, and he'd regretted the outburst before it had even ended, only finishing through sheer momentum. He shut his mouth and watched her.
The train ride back to Dover was tense—as tense as the first had been, but with fresher wounds. James sat, watching the scenery trundle by, and tried to think hard.
The entire situation didn't make any sense to him. Oliver was making a considerable play, here. The death of Lord Geis would bring a close eye, and if indeed he were involved then it couldn't have been a good option. James was surprised they hadn't seen more investigators, but he pushed the thought aside; it wasn't useful to think of what should have happened.
He needed to focus on what was happening.
The money was fairly easy to understand. Either he needed it, or he needed Mary's father not to have it. In either case, though, that left him at square one. Why would a Colonel in His Majesty's Army need money? Surely his day-to-day expenses were covered by his stipend.
If he wanted his brother not to have it—why? Was he trying to sap him completely dry? He was doing a perfectly adequate job of it, if so.
Every answer, every possible answer, only had more questions. James shut his eyes and tried not to think about Mary, sitting across from him. He tried to push the image of her, sitting on his bed and softly crying, out of his mind. He would make it up to her, in time, if he could. Now he needed to help her with something larger and much more important.
But he couldn't distract himself long enough to solve the problem, and he couldn't find the words to ask her for help.
They arrived back at the house in the late afternoon, after having eaten supper in town, in a steely silence. He didn't know what he expected, but James was surprised to find the place in the same condition they had left it. He thought they'd find it ransacked, or find someone waiting for them.
Instead, the lock eased open and when they went in, the place was empty. He carried their bags, one in either hand, to her room, and then to the room he'd claimed for himself.
That was when he noticed it. It wasn't ransacked. His things were in bags, the way he'd left them. His papers weren't strewn about the floor. But as he looked, he could tell. Someone had gone through them, while they were gone. And then they'd put them back, hoping that he wouldn't notice.
"Mary," he called out loudly. He couldn't tell if she heard him, and he didn't know if she would answer if she had.
The halls seemed longer, now. As if the anxiety were keeping her further away from him.
"Mary!"
He felt as if he'd been walking forever when he got to her door. He wasn't sure what had possessed him of the idea, but he pounded on it; he absolutely had to talk to her, and immediately.
She opened the door wordlessly. There was a book on her bed, a leather-bound journal that he hadn't seen before.
"Mary, thank God you're alright." James took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to get himself back under control. His heart thudded in his ears. "Someone's been in the house. They went through my things."
"Are you sure?"
For a moment he wondered why she had asked. But that wasn't important. It was only important that he communicate it all to her.
"Certain."
"Is anything missing?"
James blinked. He hadn't thought to check, beyond his room. He couldn't make a complete inventory of any place in the house, except... Without answering, he started to walk toward the study.
It looked right to him. At first. A stack of ledgers, neatly arranged. The papers had been pushed aside, he recalled with a blush, by Mary's bottom. He'd never put them back in order. Now they looked like a jumbled mess on the table, just like he'd remembered them looking.
It seemed strange, though. Something seemed slightly... off. He started sorting through them, and then it became clear.
Several of them—the ones that had led them to Oliver Geis in the first place—were missing. P and D were still there, as was B and R, but O was mysteriously absent.
If someone were presented with only this evidence, then they'd never have gotten even as far as James and Mary had. It would have all looked like the records were incomplete.
He opened one of the ledgers. They were the same as he remembered, except the last. On the bottom, as he opened it, someone had written in handwriting that could have passed for his own, one word: "Embezzled?"
James sat back in the chair and stewed. What on earth was going on here? He laid back and let out a long sigh. The day had already been long. He'd been upset and confused before he ever got on the train, and then things had been incomprehensibly tense. The discovery that the house had been broken into was triply worrying.
But now he had a new reason to worry, a big reason to worry.
Someone was going back to cover up their tracks.