She took a few more drinks at the encouragement of Vicar Trent until the contents were gone. Mr. Trent took the glass from her and added more.
What was she drinking? She’d never had spirits before, other than wine at dinner and on special occasions. Was this a gentleman’s drink, what her father used to enjoy?
“Tell us what happened?” Vicar Trent encouraged Mrs. Thomas without moving from Grace’s side or taking his hand from her shoulder. The warmth was comforting and anchored her in place, though gently. Without it, she would have surely swooned already and she never fainted.
“Your father was napping like he often does in the afternoon.”
Grace nodded, concentrating on the housekeepers words.
“Perkins left to take his usual afternoon constitutional.”
Grace looked up at Matt. “Father’s valet takes his exercise when father sleeps.”
He nodded down at her and returned his attention to Mrs. Thomas. “Then what happened?”
“I had gone down to the cellar for a bottle of wine for dinner and when I came back up the door was locked.” Tears formed in her eyes and Mrs. Thomas looked down, away from them. Grace reached forward to grasp the woman’s hand in comfort, but dizziness assailed her and Vicar Trent tightened his hold and pulled her back against the chair. Tears were streaming down Mrs. Thomas’ face. “Had I known, I would have been more careful. If I may have been able to stop…” She was sobbing now, almost incoherent, but she hadn’t explained what her father had done.
Mr. Trent moved across the room and into the hall. “Perkins, could you please come in here.”
Her father’s valet must have returned to pacing outside her father’s door. They said he tried to kill himself, not that he was successful. She needed to hold onto the thought that he was still alive. This moment was so much like the one when her father had been gravely injured, waiting for the doctor, wondering what happened, and Grace shut out the image of her father’s broken body being carried through the house from her mind. She mustn’t think of that now.
The valet stepped into the room, his back stiff, chin high. The only sign that his composure had been shaken was from the paleness of his skin.
“What can you tell us, Perkins,” Vicar Trent prompted.
“When I returned from my walk, I found Mr. Cooper at the bottom of the stairs.”
Grace straightened and the fog cleared from her mind. She turned in her seat to focus on her father’s trusted servant. “He collapsed at the bottom of the stairs? How is that a suicide attempt? Father has fallen before.” Clearly everyone was overreacting. Soon Dr. Norton would come out and say her father would be fine and just needed rest.
Perkins did not look at Grace but his eyes bore into Vicar Trent’s.
“Why do you assume it is a suicide attempt?” Mr. Trent asked.
“He clearly fell from the top of the stairs and there was a note.”
Perkins voice was barely audible and Grace leaned forward. “Did you say note?”
The man would still not look at her. “We found it in his pocket.”
“Had I any idea, I would have never…,” Mrs. Thomas began but didn’t finish.
Grace did her best to not focus on the woman. This was not right. Her father would not try to take his own life. “May I see it please?”
“I don’t think that is wise, Miss Cooper. It will only upset you.”
Anger surged for a moment. Why did people, men in particular, feel the need to protect her? “I will be fine. Please, give me the note.”
He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper but instead of handing it to Grace, he handed it to Mr. Trent, who read the contents, his face devoid of any emotion, he then handed it to Vicar Trent. It was her father and she was the one who should be reading his supposed last words, not them.
Vicar Trent scanned the contents, a frown marred his brow.
“May I have it please?” She should not have to beg for her father’s letter.
He held it before her and Grace grasped the parchment, took a deep breath and began to read.
My Dearest Grace,
It is the best for us both. I can no longer live in a body that does not function, nor can I continue to tie you to me and this house while you are so young. You deserve a life of happiness but you will not do so as long as I live. I don’t wish to be carted off to Bedlam and if I know my brother he will get his way. This will further ruin your life.
I am sorry to distress you so. I only do this because I love you so much and wish for you to have a full life, not one chained to an invalid.
Your loving father.
She stopped taking in the words once she reached the end and stared at the document as a whole before glancing up and looking around the room. “Who wrote this?”
“I beg your pardon?” Perkins questioned and for a moment Mrs. Thomas quit crying.
“I asked who wrote this.”
“Your father.”
Grace stood, energy surged through her body, all earlier weakness from the shock of hearing how her father attempted to kill himself long gone. “My father did not write this.” She thrust the parchment back at Vicar Trent. “Did he?”
Vicar Trent took the paper, glanced at it one more time. “Unless his handwriting has greatly improved over the last week, then no, he did not.”
“And,” she continued, “It is impossible for him to have flung himself down the stairs.”
Mrs. Thomas straightened and looked over at Perkins. Did they know something or were they just realizing what they were led to believe was an impossibility.
“I don’t understand.” Mr. Trent came across the room and stood before her.
Grace looked up. “My father couldn’t climb the stairs. Why do you think his chamber is on this level of the house?” She stood and pointed down the hall. Anger and betrayal assaulted her being. Who did this? Why would someone try to kill her father? He was a good man and would never harm a living soul.
Vicar Trent stood. His hand slid from her shoulder and down her back until it was anchored at her waist once again. He must fear she may still collapse and though there was no chance of her doing so, the warmth and support he offered gave her great comfort. She closed her eyes and absorbed the strength he offered.
“You are saying someone actually tried to kill your father?” Mr. Trent asked.
“Yes,” Grace whispered.
“And I agree.” Vicar Trent voiced in a tone that brooked no argument.
Matthew tried to concentrate on everything occurring, make sense of it all. Foremost in his mind was taking care of Miss Cooper. For a moment he feared her collapsing. At the news of her father her body had begun to shake and her skin turned a deathly white. Though she appeared to be recovered, he did not want to let go just yet in case of a relapse.
He couldn’t grasp that first Mr. Cooper had tried to kill himself and was finding equally hard to accept someone might have tried to murder him. But, the letter was not written in his hand and Miss Cooper was correct in that the man could not have climbed the stairs. He learned this yesterday when he assisted the man to his room. Though on a good day Mr. Cooper could walk on his own, on a level ground, stairs would be forever impossible for the man, unless he had a miraculous recovery.
But who would try to kill him?
“May I see the letter again?”
Matthew handed it to Jordan who took it to the desk and laid it down before taking a seat. He then began looking in drawers.
“What are you doing?” Matthew reluctantly pulled away from Miss Cooper and walked toward his brother. He immediately felt her loss when he was no longer touching her. He glanced back to make sure she was all right to stand on her own. The color had returned to her cheeks and she appeared sturdy enough.
“I am looking for another sample of his handwriting.”
“Second drawer on the right,” Miss Cooper instructed, following Matthew to the desk. She grasped the ledger Jordan had pulled out of the drawer and flipped through pages, stopping somewhere in the middle of the book. On this page the handwriting changed from one person to another. She pointed to an upper line. “This is what my father wrote prior to his injury.” She skimmed her finger down the page stopping toward the bottom. “This is my handwriting.”
Jordan pulled the note toward the ledger and compared the two. “They do look identical.”
Matthew reached into his pocket and withdrew the two pieces of paper he now carried with him always. The first was the verse he had written long ago from Matthew 5:45. This he put back in his pocket. The second was the verse Mr. Cooper had written for him after their first visit. He laid it beside the letter. “This is what he wrote last week.” If one didn’t know better one would never believe the same man who wrote so neatly in the ledger was the same one who penned the near illegible verse.
“My father had long given up trying to write after he lost a good deal of use of his right hand. Only Vicar Trent prompted him to attempt it again.” She picked up the piece of paper. “There is not a righteous man on earth who does what is right and never sin. Ecclesiastes7:20.”
“I can only guess what prompted that discussion,” Jordan offered dryly.
Now was not the time to discuss the merits of their own father and Matthew ignored his comment. “As you can see, Mr. Cooper did not write that note.”