When they arrived, Mrs. McGrath held back and allowed Cleo to walk to the grave on her own. Kneeling down upon the grass, Cleo laid her hands upon her mother’s stone. “He is with you now, Mother,” she sighed. She could not stop the tears slipping down her cheeks. “I know that he missed you dearly and will be overjoyed to be with you now, but I also know that he would not take his own life to do so.”
Cleo turned her gaze to the empty place on the headstone that was soon to bear her father’s name and ran her fingers over the cold stone. Her mind filled in the words that would soon be written there.Here lies Henry Woodward Wallace, beloved husband, father, teacher, and friend.
There and then, she swore to her parents’ ghosts, “I will find who has done this.”
Rising from the grass, Cleo rejoined Mrs. McGrath by the cemetery gate. “What do ye wish tae do now?”
“We will return home to await Aunt Caroline for now, but as soon as the constables have finished with my father’s office, I would like to return and see what might be found out about his death. There must be someone that saw or heard something.”
“Aye, we can only hope,” Mrs. McGrath agreed, bobbing her head. “It would have been better if the constables had kenned the truth o’ the matter and nae decided that it was by himselves’ own hand.”
“Yes, but they cannot see much past their own noses.” She had never been a person prone to violence, but she sincerely wished that she had punched the constable in the face when he had dragged her away from her father’s office. This mental image brought her a moment of bitter pleasure.
“Ye will show them differently, I ken it in my bones.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McGrath, for your confidence in my father and in me.”
“Always, lass, ye are my family.”
“And you are mine.”
They walked back to the house leaning on each other for support; every step seem to be weighted as if sacks of stones were being dragged along behind them. They were fueled by the fire of their determination to uncover the truth of their loved one taken so violently.
When they arrived back at the house, Mrs. McGrath retired to the kitchen to prepare some tea and Cleo went to sit in the drawing room. She stared blankly out of the window, mindlessly watching the people as they traversed the road going about their daily lives as if the world had not just ended.I suppose to them it has not, but it feels as though mine most certainly has.
A knock on the door drew her from her thoughts, and she arose to see who it might be. By now, word would have reached the surrounding community about the circumstances of her father’s demise. It upset her to know someone on the loose not only took a life by also a professor’s reputation.I will avenge you, Father. I swear it.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Cleo opened the door to find a tall stranger with broad shoulders. When he removed his hat and bowed, she saw blond hair falling roguishly over crystal-blue eyes. He was the most handsome man that she had ever seen. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “Arthur MacDonald, Earl o’ Irondale,” he introduced himself with a Scottish burr. “I have come tae pay my respects tae the family o’ Professor Henry Wallace.”
“I am Cleo Wallace, his daughter.”
“Miss Wallace,” he bowed over her hand. “My sympathies for yer loss.”
“Please, come in.” Cleo stepped back and allowed the Earl to enter. She had never met a member of the nobility, at least not that she was aware of.
Cleo showed him to the drawing room. “Yer home is lovely,” the Earl complimented as he took a seat across from Cleo.
“Thank you, My Lord.”
“Please, call me Arthur. Yer faither and I were dear friends long afore I became the Earl o’ Irondale.”
“How did you know my father?”
“I was one o’ yer faither’s students, but that was quite some time ago.”
“Forgive my curiosity, My Lord, but your accent clearly places you as Scottish and yet the Earl of Irondale is an English title.”
The Earl chuckled at her impertinence. “Aye, I am Scottish. The Earl o’ Irondale was my maternal grandfaither’s title. After his son died, I became my grandfaither’s heir. When he died, I became the Earl.”
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“As I am for yers. I realize that I am paying call earlier than is customary or perhaps even appropriate, but when I heard the news about yer faither’s death, I felt it my duty tae come as soon as was possible.”
“How so?”
“I dinnae believe that yer faither killed himself.”
Cleo’s heart thudded hard in her chest at his words. “What do you know?”
