“You there, get back away from the body,” a young constable barked, not knowing who Arthur was.
“Stand down, Constable.” The dean of the school emerged from the melee. “This is Arthur MacDonald, the Earl of Irondale, and a distinguished alumnus.”
“My apologies, My Lord, but you must understand that we get all types coming in here causing further difficulties,” the constable replied tipping his hat in respect.
“I understand, Constable. Tell me, do ye truly believe this tae be a suicide?”
“That is what it appears to be, My Lord. Did you know the man?”
“Aye, I did. He was a good man.”
“He was indeed,” the dean agreed nodding solemnly. “He will be greatly missed.”
“That is two supposed suicides in but a brief span o’ time. Do ye nae find that suspicious?” Arthur gave both men a pointed look that left no doubt to his opinion. “Neither man would have done something like this.”
“Ye knew the professor as well?” the constable asked.
“Aye, I did. He was a good friend. To end his life in such a way would have dishonored everything that he stood for. Mr. Standish was much the same way in that regard. Neither o’ us believe that Henry Wallace killed himself. It simply is nae so, and Mr. Standish would ne’er have done the same.”
“Do you have any proof of your words, My Lord?”
Sighing in frustration, Arthur shook his head. “Nae, I dinnae, but I know it nevertheless.”
“I am afraid that that does nae help us ascertain anything about their deaths, My Lord. To the trained eye, it looks like a suicide.”
Arthur growled low in his throat. “Can ye truly be so blind?”
The constable’s eyes widened, and he backed away from Arthur. “I am sorry, My Lord.”
Arthur let out his breath slowly and turned to the dean. “Surely, ye dinnae believe this.”
“Nay, I do not, but as the dean there is very little that I can do.”
“Do ye ken if either man had any enemies here within the university?”
“Nay, they were both well favored among the students and staff. I cannot think of anyone who did not care for either man.”
Arthur sighed in frustration as he looked at the crowd gathered in front of Standish’s office. It was all too much to handle. He could not believe that either man had killed himself, and he could not believe that so many people had fallen prey to the notion that it was the truth.
Two such great men of honor and value just vanished in the blink of an eye, and no one asked any further questions on the matter or had the courage or intelligence to think twice about it. To Arthur, this was unfathomable.
Arthur turned to the Dean one last time. “This is unacceptable, and I will discover the truth. Once I have done so, these men had better be remembered properly. They had better be given decent burials and apologies given to their families.”
The dean looked up at him; his eyes were solemn. “I pray that you are right, My Lord, I pray that you are right.”
* * *
Arthur returned and found Cleo leaning against the wall breathing in and out slowly and deeply to stop the nausea building up. She looked pale and drawn and the strain of the last hour has taken its toll on her unmercifully. Yet, here she was strong, beautiful, and determined to seek the truth no matter what it cost her.
“Are ye well, lass?”
“I am fine. What did you discover?”
“Are ye certain, that ye wish tae hear about this?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I am certain.”
“Yer faither would have been proud o’ ye, lass. Tae have ye as a daughter would make any man proud.”
