As for overcompensating for her introverted nature, he had his own such experience, and he wasn’t proud of it.
“You know, when I first arrived at boarding school, I was terrified. Until puberty, I was one of the smallest in my class and subject to bullying from some of the older students. In my third year, when I felt a little more confident, I took it upon myself to make a new student miserable. The poor boy was the perfect target, small, like me, upset at leaving home and clearly unhappy. I might explain my behaviour as a continuation of what was happening to me, continuing the cycle of cruelty, but no matter how much I might wish to, I cannot excuse it.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“After two years of my bullying, he fought back; left me bloody and bruised, and too ashamed to admit that a younger boy had got the better of me. I seethed for a time, determined to make him frightened of me once again, when puberty hit. I grew six inches almost overnight and realised that if he could stand up to me, I could stand up to my own bullies.”
“Did it work?”
“Not as well as I might have liked. They did me as much damage as I did them but hurting them wasn’t the point.”
“What was the point?”
“That I wasn’t going to lie down and take it any longer. They tried to subjugate me on a further two occasions and when I refused their orders, they tried to hit me. I fought like a wild-man each time, kicking, biting, scratching. They gave up after that.”
“And what became of the younger boy?”
“Oddly, we became friends.”
“Friends?” she sounded surprised.
“Yes. It took another year or thereabouts, until I found the courage to apologise to him. We were cordial after that, I suppose, but little more, until he joined me at Oxford. We were in the same college and interested in similar topics. Slowly we became friends.”
“Who was it?” she asked.
He looked at her over the rim of his glass. “Matthew.”
“Matthew who?”
“Matthew Copley. My brother.”
Her jaw dropped open.
“I knew that he would never betray me and even if he did, my parents would just believe it was sibling rivalry.”
“But you are friends now?”
“Best friends, so you see, there is always hope and besides, your offences combined were not anywhere near so grave as mine.”
She smiled. “Thank you for telling me.”
“And now I suppose we should retire, or we will be ill equipped to investigate even a sheep theft tomorrow.”
“Thank you, but I believe I shall stay here for a while longer.”
He was about to protest so she pressed on.
“I don’t sleep well at the best of times and in a new bed, probably even less well.”
“Then I’ll keep you company.”
“No, please. If I may, I will help myself to another drink and probably retire after that.”
“Do you promise not to go running off into the night, breaking into the Cock and Bull?” he teased.
“I promise,” she assured him. “As much as I want answers, you raise a very good point about inebriated men, and I most certainly don’t have a death wish.”
Although his better judgement told him not to leave her alone, he knew that he needed not only to trust her, but to show that he trusted her.
“Then I shall bid you good night. Please help yourself to the decanters.”
***
Damaris poured herself another small measure of brandy then, needing a distraction, sat at Nathaniel’s desk to ponder the runic word in her father’s notebook.
The three books he had taken from the library were sitting on the edge of the desk, and she opened and began to read them, hoping to find a translation for the unknown word on the first line.
She expected to be up for a few hours before she grew tired but to her surprise, she was yawning before she had finished half of the first book. Deciding that a good sleep would make her sharper, she left her drink and her runic symbols, for now.
She changed for bed and as she sat before her dressing table, brushing her hair, her eyes alighted on a small wooden chest reflected in the mirror and for a moment, she felt unable to look away. Finally she put the brush down and turned to look at it properly.
That chest contained everything that she had gathered about her father’s disappearance and in a very real sense, she felt as if it was her last connection with him. No one else had ever looked through its contents before and she felt that if she were to share it with someone else, anyone else, her last connection to the man she had idolised would be reduced.
She sat still for a long time as she wondered if she was brave enough to share it with Nathaniel.
Chapter Eleven
As soon as Nathaniel entered his library, he noticed the small wooden chest sitting on the edge of his desk, and he recognised it as the one Damaris had kept her detectives’ notes in. He approached with caution, wondering why she had left it here and what he was supposed to do with it.
As he got closer, he noticed a small key resting on the top and he smiled, realising that she was learning to trust him
He picked the box up and moved it closer to the desk chair, so that he might better peruse the contents. As he sat down however, he noticed a single sheet of paper on the centre of his blotter and picked it up.
It seemed to be a partial translation of the first line of the runic text, found in her father’s notebook.
She had noted many possible translations, not just of each symbol but each word. He looked through the possibilities for the middle word, the one that was causing her so much trouble.
Seeing the words uuith, yyith or mmith, it suddenly made sense to him. Charles Howard probably didn’t have his daughter’s exceptional memory so instead of the letter W, he used the U symbol twice.
He picked up her pencil and under her notes added ‘UU = double U = W’
The first sentence also made sense; Madonna with Child. There were many sculptures and pictures with that title, so he was still unable to guess the meaning of the runic list.
Even if he had wanted to translate the rest, he didn’t know how, so he moved the small chest in front of him and unlocked it. Everything was very neatly organised by date, although she had grouped some letters together, such as one bundle of letters marked ‘Sightings’ which were tied together with string.
He began with that but to his surprise, it wasn’t organised by date. It took him a few moments to realise that rather than being grouped by the date on the letter, they had been organised by the date of the sightings. He quickly turned to the last few letters and found that the last person to admit seeing Charles alive, was a gentleman by the name of Buchan, who had seen Mr Howard on his horse, rounding the village green on the Sunday he went missing. They had tipped hats in greeting but hadn’t stopped to chat.
Mr Buchan’s letter was informal and he expressed concern for both Charles and Damaris, so Nate inferred that he was probably a family friend.
He wasn’t sure what was to be gained by tracing the last person to see Charles. If they had seen him being attacked, then that might have been useful but given Damaris and her detective’s investigations, such a witness would surely have come forward by now.
He felt that since the body had been discovered in Lanford, it was probably safe to say that he had been attacked on the outskirts of town.
As to why he had been attacked and by whom, they still had little clue.
He set each pile of papers out on his desk and saw that as well as sightings, they had been grouped into ‘London/War Office’, ‘Boat Ticket’ and ‘Miscellaneous’ but before he could open another pile, Damaris came in.
“Good morning,” he smiled at her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you.”
She blushed and he wondered if she was regretting leaving the box for him to look through, so he thought it best not to mention it. She came up
to the desk and took the sheet of paper that she had been writing on last night. He saw her eyes widen, then she groaned.
“I can’t believe I missed that,” she lamented, seeming to deflate into the chair opposite him, rather than simply sitting. “Double u; W… I’m such a fool.”
He hadn’t been expecting such self-reproach.
“Sometimes it’s difficult to see the wood for the trees,” he tried to console her.
“But I should have seen this!” she cried, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m an idiot.”
“Damaris,” he stood and came around the desk, perching on the other side of it. “You are an exceptionally intelligent woman, but you are not infallible. To believe that you and you alone are capable of spotting these things, shows an unpleasant amount of conceit, wouldn’t you say?”
He didn’t want to insult her but instinct told him that a lot had always been expected of her by her father and if she failed to live up to his expectations, as well as disappointing him, she was probably ridiculed by her mother. His words might have been harsh but he needed her to know that as much as he admired her gifts, they were not the most important thing about her.
“You think I’m arrogant?” she asked in a small voice.
“Not at all. I think that in most instances, you have needed to rely on yourself as you didn’t have many friends, especially these past few years. I also think that discovering what happened to your father is of paramount importance to you, so you feel this failure, if it can even be called that, far more keenly than usual. But you aren’t alone any more, Mari, and failing to be perfect won’t make me think any less of you. I’m here to support you, to help you.”
She dabbed at her eyes a final time and she looked up at him, a small smile on her lips and even with her eyes still shining from her tears, he was struck by how beautiful she was. For perhaps the first time since he had met her, there was no annoyance, defiance, anger or defensiveness in her expression. He had a feeling that he was seeing the real Mari for the first time, the person beneath the towering intellect and cool attitude.
“Thank you.”
On impulse, he reached out his right hand and cupped her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheek bone.
Her smile faded, as did his own but much like the dance at the ball, he felt captivated by her eyes. He could see the pain in them, the loss and the loneliness but more than that, he could see that she had a great capacity to love, and that frightened her.
She seemed torn between pulling away and protecting her heart, and leaning into his hand accepting a little comfort.
Unwilling to damage their tentative relationship before it had had a chance to grow, he withdrew his hand and moved away from the desk.
“Breakfast should be ready by now,” he said. “Are you coming?”
“Oh, yes.” She seemed slightly dazed, probably much like he felt right now. “I just want to see if I can decipher the other symbols first,” she added, turning back to the notebook and the page she had been writing notes on. Nathaniel came to look over her shoulder and she did her best to ignore his presence, or at least the more distracting elements of it.
With the book she had read last night still fresh in her mind, she quickly transcribed the page of runic symbols and wrote the list out in English.
“They’re paintings,” he said, looking at the list as she wrote.
“I believe so, but why would my father write a list of paintings in the runic alphabet?”
“I have no idea, but I do have a friend at Manning’s Auction house in London. He’s the son of the owner and art history is his speciality. Perhaps this list will mean something to him.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Then I’ll write to him after breakfast and send a messenger to deliver it. Since you’re already dressed for the day, I suggest we get straight off to the Cock and Bull.”
The expression on her face was inscrutable but she nodded her agreement. “Yes… yes, good idea.” She stood up. “You don’t want to finish the documents?” she said, noticing the wooden chest.
“I’ll read through them but I don’t think we should pass a real lead up in favour of them. Besides, I’m certain that you can recite them at will.”
She nodded and they headed through to the breakfast room. Only Matthew was already down and he greeted them with a warm smile.
***
Damaris had been quiet all morning, wondering what was happening to her. It was as if her defences were crumbling about her and she felt more vulnerable than she had for years.
It was Nathaniel’s fault, she knew, for he was making her feel all kinds of new things, so the chances of this not being caused by his proximity were next to none.
Despite what Nate had said, she was also feeling dim-witted for not having spotted the flaw in her father’s runic code and as much as she appreciated his words of support, she knew that she should have thought if it.
The fact that she hadn’t, had shaken her confidence.
Then there was that odd moment when he had cupped her cheek. It had made her feel agitated, yet unable to move, timid yet filled with yearning.
A part of her had wanted to run, from his touch and everything he represented but another part of her had wanted to throw herself into his arms and cling to him, as if her life depended on it.
She felt as if she were at war with herself, only she didn’t know what constituted a victory or a defeat. She knew that he was a danger to her equilibrium and while she had considered leaving and investigating on her own, she couldn’t bring herself to.
She wasn’t usually an indecisive person, so that was another new development that she could blame him for.
And yet, when she was with Nate, she felt vital, more alive than she had done for many years now, perhaps ever. His presence reminded her a lot of her son. When she was worried, Tom’s presence would soothe her, when she was sad, it would cheer her and when she was happy, being with him made her positively joyful.
She was pulled from her reverie when the coach slowed to a stop, and she tried not to notice how nice it felt when she took Nate’s hand as he helped her down.
At one time, the Cock and Bull had been a coaching inn, regularly used by travellers going to and from London, so that they didn’t have to cross the dangerous moors at night time. As Lanford grew however, the area around the inn became as dangerous, if not more so, than the heathland, which was filled with highwaymen. Other inns opened on the new edge of town, and the Cock and Bull was left to cater to those who were not welcome in the more salubrious establishments.
The ne’er-do-well but savvy Mick O’Grady saw an opportunity, and knew that there was money to be made serving cheap gin and watered down beer to the poor, and he recognised that there was even more money to be made with lady-birds. The inn had everything he needed; a bar for the drunks, rooms for the prostitutes to see their clients, and stables to house the occasional animal baiting and bare knuckle fights. He obtained a lease for the inn (some thought using threats and violence) and watched the money roll in.
No one was quite sure where he got the money from to start the venture but equally, no one could prove it was ill-gotten. Even if they had been able to prove it, O’Grady had a fearsome reputation and as long as his business didn’t affect the more well-to-do members of Society (some of whom even enjoyed his women and baiting matches) then he was mostly left alone.
Nathaniel banged on the main door with the side of his closed fist and after five minutes of constant knocking, a lady-bird answered, looking rather worse for wear. When she spotted Nathaniel’s smart suit and general air of power, she pulled her robe tighter around her and stood up straight, trying her best to look as if she hadn’t been servicing the dregs of society all night. Gaining the favour of a powerful man was the most a woman like her could hope for and although she was too old and too used to attract the likes of a Marquess these days, she evidently still had hope.
“Can I ‘elp
you, Sir?” she asked, doing her best to look appealing.
“We’re looking for O’Grady.”
“Haven’t seen him since last night; he was serving behind the bar, but he’s probably in one o’ the rooms upstairs now,” she said bitterly. Like many men in his position, Mick not only took a cut of the womens’ earnings, he liked to sample the merchandise.
Nathaniel pushed past her and looked around the dark bar, until his eyes alighted on the stairs that led to the bedrooms. Damaris followed in his wake, appalled by the mess that she saw around her. Not even the thick layer of straw which covered the floor, could stop the stones from being sticky. She tried not to think too much about what the straw might be covering.
The upper level was cleaner, and straw-less, with two corridors leading away from the staircase. Nathaniel headed to the left, so Damaris took the corridor on the right. She knocked on each door before opening it but didn’t wait for the occupants to invite her in. There were no curtains but the windows were small, so it wasn’t easy to make out what was in the rooms until her eyes had properly adjusted to the gloom. The first two bedrooms had lone women in the beds, the third had a couple, both of whom had awakened at the knock.
“I’m looking for O’Grady,” she said.
“I’ll be whoever you want me to be, darlin’,” the man leered.
Damaris gave him a disgusted look, although his words also chilled her and she hastily closed the door.
What was she doing here, she wondered? She didn’t belong among these types of people.
Then she remembered her father; he was why she was here and he deserved answers, so she swallowed down her fear and moved onto the next door.
Before she knocked, she reached inside her dress to the pocket, and withdrew a small three inch dagger that Lilly had thought to tell her to bring with her.
The next room had two women sharing the bed so she closed the door and moved on to the final room. The man and woman in there just shrugged when she asked about O’Grady.
Her Saving Grace Page 12
