Tenacious Trents 02 - A Perfect Gentleman Page 17

  “You should go to bed, Miss,” Perkins suggested from his chair across the room. “I will awaken you if you are needed.”

  “What of you? You haven’t left Father’s side.”

  He offered a weak smile. “My bed is not far, as you know.” He gestured to the small room off of her father’s that Perkins had made into a sleeping chamber for himself after father was injured. “If I get too tired I will lie down but leave the door open.”

  That was clear across the room. Would Perkins hear her father if he needed anything?

  “I am a very light sleeper,” he assured her as if reading her thoughts.

  She did need to sleep. Perhaps a night in her bed, in a nightgown, would leave her refreshed in the morning. With a last squeeze of her father’s hand, Grace bent and kissed his forehead. “Sleep well, Papa.”

  With heavy steps she left the room and made her way down the hall and paused at the library. Vicar Trent was asleep, a blanket across his body. One leg fell to the side of the settee and another off of the end. He could not be comfortable, but he seemed to sleep deep enough. She turned the light down on the lamp and made her way upstairs to her own room. There she shrugged out of her dress and into a nightgown before slipping between the cool sheets. Grace hadn’t bothered to light a lamp because there was enough brightness from the full moon that shone into her room. With a sigh she closed her eyes and tied to fall asleep.

  The minutes ticked and she heard the clock chime down the hall. It was too quiet. The house was never noisy, especially at night but now the silence was even louder than usual.

  She rolled on her side to find a more comfortable position and blew out a breath. Once again she tried to find her slumber, but each creak and squeak was so loud in the silence. She listened for a few moments but none of the sounds were out of the ordinary.

  Why wasn’t she falling asleep? Her eyes ached and burned so much she didn’t want them open, but her mind would not calm. Grace would never get to sleep this way. Each time she came close to drifting away, the slightest noise awakened her. She was simply on edge from the events of the past two days and needed to block out all noise.

  Grace reached across the bed and grabbed a second pillow and placed it on the side of her head and bent her arm to press the pillow against her ear to drown out the night sounds. Finally, blessed silence.

  The squeak of the hinges on her door was muffled by the pillow but Grace heard them just the same and her eyes flew open. Who was in her room? The only people in the house, besides her father were Vicar Trent and Perkins and why would they close the door.

  She rolled over and began to push the pillow from her head when it clamped down over her face.

  Grace opened her mouth to scream but could not get a breath to do so. She pushed at the pillow to get it off of her face but whoever was holding it was much stronger than she. Her heart raced and panic engulfed her. She kicked and flung her arms, fighting the darkness that threatened to invade. Her hand connected with the lamp on the table and she used a fist to knock it over. Thank goodness she had not left it lit. With any luck Vicar Trent or Perkins heard the crash and would come to help. Whoever was holding the pillow let up for a second and then pushed it even harder against her face. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs burned with the need for air.

  She couldn’t fight the darkness any longer.

  Something woke Matthew and he bolted from his sleep. It took him a moment to focus and listen. Sounds came from above, as if there was a struggle. They were coming from Grace’s room. Without thought he thrust himself from the settee and raced up the stairs and into her room. Someone was bent over her, but Grace was not moving. Matthew threw himself at the dark cloaked man but he turned at the last second, catching Matthew across the chest with his arm. He was propelled back against the armoire and the man ran out of the room. Matthew pushed himself up and took off after the assailant. It was hard to see in the darkness but there was only one set of steps and he raced down the hall. The man had reached the bottom of the steps and was pulling on the front door.

  “What is going on here?” Perkins cried as he ran down the hall.

  The man at the door turned and fired. Both he and Perkins ducked. It gave the man just enough time to escape into the darkness.

  “Go check on Grace,” Matthew ordered and raced out the door.

  He stopped at the front of the house. A lone man rode off on a dark horse, the cloak flying in the air after him. Blast, he hadn’t even gotten a good look at him and there was nothing about his stature or coloring that was easily identifiable. If only he would have thought to knock the hat off the man’s head then at least he would have had a color of hair to go off of.

  Matthew leaned over, hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. What would have happened if he had not been here?

  “Grace!” She could be lying dead upstairs now. He hadn’t checked on her but ran blindly after the man who tried to kill her. He raced back to the house, taking the stairs two at a time and bolted down the hall and into her room.

  Perkins sat with her and Grace looked in his direction. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Who would try to kill me?”

  “Hush, don’t think of that now.”

  She sat up suddenly. “Father,” she cried.

  Before Matthew could stop her she flew out of her bed and down the hall. Matthew and Perkins raced after her. She stopped at the entry to his room. “What are you doing here?”

  Grace moved slowly into the room and Perkins gently pushed past her to stand by Mr. Cooper. On the other side of the bed sat Mrs. Thomas. Mr. Thomas stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’ve worried so much about your father and the way I left,” Mrs. Thomas said.

  “I brought her here so she could see for herself he was getting better and maybe then she would sleep.”

  Matthew knew he shouldn’t judge them but the situation was a bit suspicious. It was the middle of the night. He glanced at the clock. It was midnight at least. People normally didn’t call at this time of night, unless they were in London arriving at a ball. These circumstances were completely different.

  “What were those noises?” Mr. Thomas asked.

  “The man who tried to kill Mr. Cooper came back and tried to smother Grace.”

  Miss Cooper shivered and brought a hand to her throat.

  “That is impossible,” Mrs. Thomas insisted.

  Mr. Thomas squeezed his wife’s shoulder and Perkins turned on her, a look of shock on his face.

  “What do you mean?” Grace asked in a quiet voice.

  Mrs. Thomas looked at Perkins. Their eyes seemed to lock in private understanding. What did these two know that hadn’t been said before? After a moment Perkins sighed and turned away.

  “Mrs. Thomas?” Grace asked.

  “Nobody tried to kill your father.”

  “Of course they did. Mr. Cooper could have never climbed the stairs on his own,” Matthew insisted. Unless these two had helped him, but the thought was not something he could come to terms with. That meant Mrs. Thomas and Perkins had been lying to them.

  “I helped Mr. Cooper up the stairs.” Perkins sighed again and sank into a chair.

  The man wasn’t strong enough to have gotten Mr. Cooper up the steps. Matthew had to help him take the man to his bed the other day.

  “As did I,” Mrs. Thomas said.

  Grace stepped forward and grasped the end of the bed as if she needed support. “Why?”

  Mr. Cooper stirred and opened his eyes. He slowly looked at those in the room. Had he been awake this entire time and heard the conversation. His eyes locked with Grace and a tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. Matt’s gut tightened. Had the man truly tried to kill himself? But why and who had written the note? And, if he had, who had just tried to kill Grace? Question after question formed in his mind but there were no answers.

  Miss Cooper moved to the side of the bed, sat and picked up her father’s hand. “Why Papa?”

 
The man struggled and he tried to form words. It was barely a whisper but after a few moments Matthew was certain he heard the whispered words of “Love you.”

  “Oh, Papa,” Grace crumpled, her head on her father’s chest as sobs shook her body. Mr. Cooper’s good hand came up and stroked her back. Perkins turned away from the tender sight and hung his head. Mrs. Thomas looked away. If one attempted to help another with suicide did that make them guilty of attempted murder? Matthew wasn’t certain what the law was and he also wasn’t sure he would tell. What these two did was out of love for Mr. Cooper, but surely they also knew how wrong their actions were. Yet, neither was a murderer, not like the person who had come into the house earlier.

  Matthew straightened. How did that man get in? Each door to the house was locked. Matthew had seen to that before he retired. He looked at Mr. Thomas. “How did you get in? I didn’t hear anyone knock.”

  “My wife has a key.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t hear you come in.” He was on the settee, in the parlor just inside the door.

  “You were sound asleep and we were careful to be quiet.”

  He slept so soundly that three people got past him. Some guard he turned out to be. Had he slept any deeper, Grace would be dead. He needed to post security at the house, but who could he trust?

  His hand fell to the side and Grace sat up. “Papa?”

  Please, don’t let him die. Not now.

  “Papa?” Grace cried.

  “He sleeps, Miss Cooper.”

  She glanced back at Perkins. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She lay her head back on her father’s chest, as if to listen. “His heart still beats,” she whispered.

  Matthew pulled away from the bed. “We should go to another room so Mr. Cooper can rest.”

  With reluctance Grace pulled away from her father. When she stood she wrapped her arms tight about her body, rubbing her upper arms.

  “Dear, you should put on a robe and slippers.”

  Grace continued walking but when she got to the foot of the stairs she stopped. “I can’t go up there.”

  “I will.” Mrs. Thomas moved around her and climbed the stairs. Her husband followed after her.

  Matthew led Grace into the parlor and helped her get settled on the settee and tucked the blanket around her before he moved to build a fire. There was a chill in the room that had not been her earlier. Perkins followed a moment later and stood by the window.

  Nobody said anything until Mrs. Thomas returned and helped Grace into her robe and slid the slippers onto her feet. When she stood she glanced around the room. “I’ll put a pot of tea on. I think we are going to be here a bit.”

  “Yes,” Matthew agreed. “Miss Cooper deserves answers.” He didn’t want to sound harsh, but these two, who Grace trusted, had lied to her. Or had they? Perkins said her father had tried to kill himself. He and Grace were the ones who had not accepted the possibility. But, Mrs. Thomas had claimed to be locked in the cellar, which was not possible if she was helping get Mr. Cooper upstairs.

  Mrs. Thomas gently pushed a cup of hot tea into Grace’s hands. Grace clutched it, willing the warmth to sink in. She was so cold and numb. She couldn’t focus on one single thought. None of this made sense to her. Why would someone try to kill her? Why would her father try to kill himself? Why had Perkins and Mrs. Thomas helped?

  She glanced up and looked around the room. Everyone was watching her, as if waiting for her to burst into hysterics again. She wouldn’t. She was stronger than this. If she could only manage to concentrate and focus on one issue at a time maybe she could come to conclusions that would set her world right once again.

  “Did my father really try to kill himself?”

  “Yes,” Perkins answered.

  It was not the answer she hoped for, but she needed to accept the fact. Had she failed him somehow? If she had married, would he have taken this action? “The note. Who wrote it?”

  “I did,” Perkins answered again.

  But his handwriting looked so much like Papa’s before the accident. How is that possible?

  “For years before your father’s injury he suffered from pains in his hands. I believe the doctor called it arthritis. I used to do all his writing. He didn’t want you to know.”

  Grace could barely remember a time when Perkins had not accompanied her father to work and then home. They spent hours together. Even though Grace wasn’t in society, even she knew that Perkins did more than a mere valet, but she hadn’t troubled herself to consider the situation further and assumed that in addition to the valet duties, he acted as father’s secretary as well.

  “How long has it been since father has written?”

  He shook his head. “I can no longer recall, but many years. The accident has only made it more difficult since he had to learn to write with this left hand and through the pain in his hands.”

  “I wish he would have told me.”

  “He didn’t want to trouble you.”

  Grace accepted her father suffered from pain and it wasn’t unusual for a secretary to do all the things that Perkins did. But, most secretaries did not pen suicide notes. “How did you know what my father wanted to write?”

  “He wrote that himself.”

  Grace stood. “I know my father did not write that note so don’t try to tell me he did.”

  “No, Miss Cooper. He wrote another.”

  “Where is it?” She held out her hand. She refused to believe her father had taken this action without proof. Who were they to tell her that Papa wanted to die? He couldn’t speak for himself. They could be lying to her now, as he had for so many years, and Mrs. Thomas too. Was there anyone she could trust?

  “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Grace sipped the cooling tea and settled back down on the settee. Until she had proof, she would not believe anything that was told to her. Someone had tried to kill her tonight and that same person had pushed her father down the stairs. It was the only reasonable explanation.

  Nobody talked, for which she was grateful. She didn’t want to hear any more lies, or be forced to think of matters best left alone.

  “Here you are, Miss Cooper.”

  Perkins held out sheets of paper which she took. They were in her father’s handwriting. “I am certain they do not say what you think they do.” Grace looked away and refused to take them. She didn’t want to find out the truth. It hurt too deeply.

  “Take them Miss Cooper,” Vicar Trent urged. She swallowed and accepted the parchment.

  Though near indecipherable, the words were nearly the same as Perkins had penned. By the time she reached the end Grace could barely see what was written because of tears. It was too much. She couldn’t accept her father wanted to do this. If she did, she would have to accept that it was her fault. Oh, why hadn’t she married when she had the opportunity, before this? He wouldn’t have felt the need to take such a drastic action. And, could she truly blame him? If uncle Stillwaite got his way, he would live out the rest of his life in Bedlam. She would rather be dead as well.

  “Why didn’t you try to stop him? Why did you help?” The question came from Vicar Trent and it was something she wanted to know as well. Her father would be fine right now if Perkins and Mrs. Thomas had refused to assist him.

  “We didn’t know his intention,” Mrs. Thomas answered.

  “He insisted on going upstairs,” Perkins confirmed. “He was trying to get up there himself and kept pointing. I had no idea what he wanted but there was an urgency in his actions.”

  “Had I known what he intended, I would have never helped. I just assumed he wanted something so Perkins and I helped him to the top of the stairs.”

  “But he struggled,” Vicar Trent pointed out.

  Perkins shook his head. “Only in that it was difficult to manage. Mr. Cooper was determined to get upstairs.”

  “The rungs were broken on the stairs.”

  “One from when Mr. Cooper slipp
ed, taking me with him, and the other from Mr. Cooper’s fall,” Perkins explained

  Grace looked away and pulled the blanket tight. Did she really want to know the details?

  Yes. From details she could find a nugget of truth and perhaps her father hadn’t really meant to do himself harm.

  “Then what happened?” Vicar Trent prompted.

  Mrs. Thomas and Perkins looked at each other for a moment before she continued. “When we got to the top of the stairs we asked which way he wanted to go. I was on his good side and he pushed me away. Perkins let go of Mr. Cooper for a moment to steady me and then Mr. Cooper pushed at Perkins. We both stumbled back and before we could get to your father.” She looked at Grace. “He turned and flung himself down the stairs. There was nothing we could do.” Her voice broke and tears streamed down her face.

  “We ran down the stairs after him, but could not reach him before he was at the bottom,” Perkins continued.

  “I thought he was dead,” Mrs. Thomas whispered.

  “I ran down to the Zucker’s home and asked Clive to go for the doctor and came back here.”

  “While we waited, Perkins and I moved your father to his bed and tended him as best we could.”

  “That is when I found the note. It was on his nightstand,” Perkins continued. “That is when we realized what he had done and that he had used us.”

  “Why rewrite the note?” Grace found herself asking.

  “We didn’t know if your father would live.”

  “I don’t see why that makes a difference.”

  “If your father were to die of a suicide, he could not be buried on sacred ground, but at the corner of a crossroad,” Vicar Trent answered.

  Perkins nodded. “I knew that nobody would believe Mr. Cooper wrote the note and would suspect someone had attempted to kill him. And, since nobody had, a killer would not be found. Then, if he did pass, he could be buried next to his wife.”