The Visitor (40 page)

“I didn’t doubt that, Tate, but you must know by now that Cassie doesn’t yearn for jewels and a life of luxury. If she’s surrounded by believing family members who love her, she is most content.”

Tate nodded, more tired than he’d ever been in his life but also experiencing great relief.

“She is a treasure, Henry. I have known that for some time.”

“That she is. So!” All at once, Henry got down to business. “I probably don’t have as many connections in London as you do, but is there anything I can do to help?”

Tate took the next hour to outline some of what had gone on. He’d been blinded the previous November but had not moved to Collingbourne until January. In the months he was there convalescing, property had been sold, and the money was unaccounted for. Capital stock in several companies had also been sold. Pierrepont had tampered with account books and business ledgers.

It wasn’t hopeless. Tate still had income. But the shock of it all still had Tate reeling a bit. Henry heard him out and then introduced his plan.

“I need to send word to Newcomb Park that I have arrived in London and will be here for a time. I have an old friend whom I haven’t seen in years. I think he might be able to help.”

“Thank you, Henry. I hope you will stay here. I have plenty of room, and I think we can make you very comfortable.”

“I accept. I’ll write that letter and then pay a visit to Edmond Ellenborough.”

“You know Ellenborough?” Tate referred to a detective in London, one whose reputation for finding people was well known.

“Yes,” Henry smiled. “If he can’t track down Pierrepont, I don’t know who can.”

Some of Tate’s fatigue drained away. A plan of any kind was a step in the right direction. It might turn out that Ellenborough would not be able to help him at all, but at least he could say they had tried.

Tate supplied stationery, a pen, and ink. The moment Henry finished his letter for home, the men were on their way.

Chapter Nineteen

Newcomb Park

Both Steele sisters were on hand when Henry’s letter arrived. As they stood in the foyer reading it, Edward joined them.

“From Henry?” he guessed.

Lizzy passed it to him, and both women watched as he read.

Dear Lizzy and Cassie,

I will be in London for a time. I am staying at Preston Manor with Tate. His findings were grim, but we are attempting to locate his business manager and put a halt to his deceptions. If you find you have need of me, contact me here.

Cassie, enclosed is a letter for you from Tate. He has my permission to contact you. I shall see you all soon.

With warmest regards,
                

Henry
                                            

“Did you read the letter, Cassie?” Edward asked.

“It wasn’t in the envelope. I don’t know what happened to it.”

“Let me see it.”

Hoping his sisters had missed something, Edward looked but found nothing. He looked into Cassandra’s eyes, wishing with all his heart that he could somehow cause this letter to materialize.

“It does say Tate has permission to contact you,” Lizzy pointed out. “Is that not a good sign, Cassie?”

“I think it might be.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“Well, it’s a bit complicated. I was just asking myself what I should do if a letter arrived from Tate before I knew if Henry had spoken to him, because he’d told Tate not to contact me without permission. I want to hear from him, of course, but not against Henry’s wishes.

“We know that Henry has spoken with him, but maybe Tate only gained permission to write and tell me he won’t be back.”

“If he felt that way, why would Henry stay and help him?”

Cassandra’s face was thoughtful.

“That’s a good question. It would seem that Henry’s staying to help him is a good sign.”

“We will just assume that it is, Cassie,” Edward declared. “In the meantime, write Henry at Tate’s address and tell him there was no letter.”

Cassandra looked uncertain about this, and Edward made it an order.

“Do it now.”

“Why?” she argued with him.

“Because it will give you something to do besides wonder and speculate.”

Cassandra nodded slowly, thinking it couldn’t hurt—or could it?

“Does that make me seem a bit anxious?”

“Cassie, you are anxious,” Edward pointed out.

“But I shouldn’t be.”

This stopped her older brother in his tracks. That Henry was not the only one to change in his absence was swiftly coming to light for him. He had never been in the habit of babying Cassandra the way Charlotte and Lizzy had, but he had coddled her nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, Edward.” Cassandra was contrite. “You’re trying to help, and I’m making it tough on you.”

“No need to apologize, Cassie. You’re certainly correct about not being anxious, but I don’t think it’s wrong to distract yourself either.”

Cassandra suddenly saw the point he’d been attempting to make and excused herself. Both Lizzy and Edward watched her head to the stairway.

“Do you truly think it’s a good sign, Edward?” his older sister asked.

“I haven’t seen Henry in many months, and yet I know my brother. He traveled, something he is not fond of, all the way to London to confront a man on Cassie’s behalf, and now he’s staying to help him out. I may not know
this
Henry very well, but I’m still taking all of that as not just a good sign but as a miracle.”

Lizzy smiled. “He certainly has changed.”

“I can hardly wait to find out for myself.”

Cassandra’s siblings suddenly found themselves in need of their own distractions. They went their separate ways, prayerful for Henry and Tate in London but trying not to dwell on the situation overly much.

London

Ellenborough had not been in on Saturday, which is why Henry’s coach could be seen taking him toward Ellenborough’s office on Monday morning. This was a more familiar part of London for the man from Collingbourne. For this reason and several others, his mind didn’t dwell on his surroundings but was once again on the service at Tate’s church the morning before. Henry had been very pleased by the whole experience.

Pastor Annesley had the congregation studying in the book of 1 Peter. He’d not covered many verses, but what he’d shared had been insightful and helpful to Henry. Henry knew Tate loved his sister; he’d known it long before the younger man had voiced such thoughts. Had Henry any doubts about the man’s character, his love for Cassandra wouldn’t have meant a thing. Also now knowing the type of church he chose to worship and fellowship in gave him even more hope of his sister’s future happiness.

“I never did ask you, Henry—how do you know Ellenborough?”

Henry brought his attention to the inside of the carriage, to Tate, the coach’s other occupant.

“I was in school with his younger brother.”

“How old is this man?”

“I’m not exactly certain. He’s at least ten years ahead of me, if not fifteen. He was long out of school by the time William and I went through.”

“And do you still have contact with his brother?”

“No, I’m afraid that’s a rather tragic story. William is dead. In fact, it was his brother’s mysterious death that sent Ellenborough into detective work.”

“Did he ever solve the case?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Tate fell silent then, working to take it in. Henry Steele was turning out to be vastly different than he had imagined. He wasn’t without his peculiarities, such as the way he would fall silent for long stretches of time, but Tate was coming to genuinely admire him.

“Here we are,” Henry said when the coach pulled up. The two men stepped onto the street, and Henry led the way to the door of a dark, small-looking office. A man looked up from his position behind a desk the moment they stepped in, his brows rising in question.

“Is Ellenborough in?”

“He is. Do you have an appointment?”

“I do not. I would like you to tell him that Henry Steele is here.”

It was not said unkindly or with any force, but the man rose without question. He knocked softly on an interior door and slipped inside. Almost no time passed before the man was back and inviting Henry and Tate to enter.

“Henry Steele.” Ellenborough met him in the middle of the room. “How many years has it been?”

“Too many, Ellenborough. How are you?”

“I am very well. In fact, I was thinking about you not six months ago. Do you know, I’ve never solved William’s murder.”

“I’m sorry to hear that; truly I am.”

“Well, come in,” the detective invited, even as Henry did the honors. The moment the two men met, Ellenborough took his seat behind a large, messy desk and sat back as if he had all the time in the world.

“What can I do for you, Steele?”

Henry gave an abbreviated version of Tate’s situation and then waited to hear that the man was too busy or didn’t take those types of cases. The secretary and the cluttered atmosphere of the entire office reminded Henry that this man was no longer just the older brother of an old friend.

“Did you say Pierrepont?”

“Yes.”

“First name?”

“Charles.”

“And he was your business manager, Mr Tate?”

“For many years.”

“You seem surprised, Ellenborough,” Henry commented.

“I am. I’ve only just heard from another man—Plunkett of Chelsea. Plunkett claims that his business consultant has disappeared with some assets. His name is also Charles Pierrepont.”

Tate had all he could do not to put his hand to his head. Had all of this been staring him in the face and had he missed it? Had his vision been of so little use to him even before the accident? Could Pierrepont have been that good at deceiving all of them?

“I take it you want me to find the man?”

“Yes, very much.”

Ellenborough pulled a sheet of paper toward him and began to write. He asked Tate for names—correctly spelled—addresses, a bit of personal history, and details that included dates of employment and Tate’s accident. But when he asked for the whole story from Tate, he sat back and listened without interruption.

When Tate finished, Ellenborough was quiet, thoughtful. Tate took his cue from Henry and said nothing, but he felt his body tensing, moisture beading his upper lip.

“I’ll look into it,” Ellenborough finally answered.

“Thank you,” Tate said, feeling he could breathe again.

The men didn’t stay any longer. Ellenborough told Henry to visit again soon, Tate thanked the man, and they made their exit.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Tate said once they were both back in the carriage.

“Well, let us hope he can find some leads.”

That Henry didn’t want to be given any credit was obvious. Tate let him have his silence, wondering if there was anything else he should be doing. Even without voicing it, Tate thought he knew the answer: Trust God first and then trust Mr Ellenborough to do his job. It was no coincidence that Henry knew him. God would use whomever He chose to accomplish His purposes.