"Now where did I put it?" Elliott Marston stood in the middle of the
carpet and looked around the room. The carved wooden bedstead with the
worn coverlet stood against the wall, the rickety table in the corner and
the battered bureau between the windows.
"Put what?" Sam Marston rubbed her wrist.
"Ah, yes, in the trunk." Marston fell to his knees and pulled the rectangular piece of luggage out from under the bed. With a grunt he heaved it on top of the covers. He dusted his hands as he rose. "With all the excitement we've had in the past few weeks, I forgot about it entirely."
A bemused Sam watched him snap open the catches. He rummaged around, carelessly pushing aside piles of clothing until he pulled out a thick envelope wrapped with a shiny covering. "Here we are!" With a grin, he waved it in the air.
"All right, where are we?" She crossed the room to his side and took the package. "It feels like paper inside."
"I believe it is." Marston closed the trunk and replaced it under the bed. "Your father wanted me to have it. I thought it was simply legal documents that he wanted taken care of. There's a marriage license in there, for one thing."
Sam pulled open the covering and began to sort the contents on the bed. "Yes, here it is; from when he married my stepmother. And here's my birth certificate and Liam's. The others must be here too." She tugged at the remaining papers.
"I'm sure they are. But I wonder if there isn't something equally important." He watched her unsuccessful efforts and pulled out his knife. "Let me help." Inserting the tip into one corner, he sliced the covering from end to end with one stroke. The compressed papers burst out of their tight confinement and fluttered to the floor.
Sam retrieved one. "Here's Niall's birth certificate. And my mother's marriage license." She placed them on a pile beside the pillows.
Marston sorted through other papers. "There's some personal letters here. We might have to go through them. A bill of sale. Receipts from buying horses." He tossed them aside. "And what have we got here? Yes!"
She looked up from her perusal of an old letter. Marston held up a single piece of paper, larger than the others, which looked like an official document. It was a thick stock, written in strong black ink and with an embossed scroll at the top.
"What is it?" Sam reached for it. The paper felt stiff and unyielding between her fingers.
"It seems to be a contract between your father and a senior army officer for some work done two years ago last May." Marston shuffled the other papers together into a semblance of order and sat down on the bed.
"Major Henry J. Fotheringham." Sam turned the page over and reread the contents. "Do you know him?"
"The name isn't familiar to me. I might have met him but I doubt it." He punched the pillows into a comfortable position and laid back with his hands behind his head. "Your father must have had many jobs like this one."
"Dozens." Sam seated herself cross-legged on the covers and propped her chin on her hands.
"So why did he keep this one contract? As you said at breakfast, it was a very basic assignment." He narrowed his eyes and examined the ceiling. "Let's assume that we've found at least a link with our mysterious army officer. He couldn't have had a grudge against me if we didn't know each other. How about your father?"
"Dad never spoke about it. He would have told me if there had been any problem." Sam picked up the loose pile of paper and began to fold them up carefully.
"So it may be a dead end." Marston sighed. A vision of being holed up at Belle's for weeks on end stretched out in front of him.
"Or it may not. Here's something." Sam pulled a piece of notepaper from the very bottom of the pile. A few brief lines were written in a bold hand with a name scrawled across the bottom of the page. "It's just some instructions about getting access to a warehouse but it's signed by another army officer."
"Who is it?" Marston propped himself up on his elbows and craned his neck to read the paper.
Sam squinted at the signature. "I think it says 'Major R. Ashley-Pitt.'"
"Put what?" Sam Marston rubbed her wrist.
"Ah, yes, in the trunk." Marston fell to his knees and pulled the rectangular piece of luggage out from under the bed. With a grunt he heaved it on top of the covers. He dusted his hands as he rose. "With all the excitement we've had in the past few weeks, I forgot about it entirely."
A bemused Sam watched him snap open the catches. He rummaged around, carelessly pushing aside piles of clothing until he pulled out a thick envelope wrapped with a shiny covering. "Here we are!" With a grin, he waved it in the air.
"All right, where are we?" She crossed the room to his side and took the package. "It feels like paper inside."
"I believe it is." Marston closed the trunk and replaced it under the bed. "Your father wanted me to have it. I thought it was simply legal documents that he wanted taken care of. There's a marriage license in there, for one thing."
Sam pulled open the covering and began to sort the contents on the bed. "Yes, here it is; from when he married my stepmother. And here's my birth certificate and Liam's. The others must be here too." She tugged at the remaining papers.
"I'm sure they are. But I wonder if there isn't something equally important." He watched her unsuccessful efforts and pulled out his knife. "Let me help." Inserting the tip into one corner, he sliced the covering from end to end with one stroke. The compressed papers burst out of their tight confinement and fluttered to the floor.
Sam retrieved one. "Here's Niall's birth certificate. And my mother's marriage license." She placed them on a pile beside the pillows.
Marston sorted through other papers. "There's some personal letters here. We might have to go through them. A bill of sale. Receipts from buying horses." He tossed them aside. "And what have we got here? Yes!"
She looked up from her perusal of an old letter. Marston held up a single piece of paper, larger than the others, which looked like an official document. It was a thick stock, written in strong black ink and with an embossed scroll at the top.
"What is it?" Sam reached for it. The paper felt stiff and unyielding between her fingers.
"It seems to be a contract between your father and a senior army officer for some work done two years ago last May." Marston shuffled the other papers together into a semblance of order and sat down on the bed.
"Major Henry J. Fotheringham." Sam turned the page over and reread the contents. "Do you know him?"
"The name isn't familiar to me. I might have met him but I doubt it." He punched the pillows into a comfortable position and laid back with his hands behind his head. "Your father must have had many jobs like this one."
"Dozens." Sam seated herself cross-legged on the covers and propped her chin on her hands.
"So why did he keep this one contract? As you said at breakfast, it was a very basic assignment." He narrowed his eyes and examined the ceiling. "Let's assume that we've found at least a link with our mysterious army officer. He couldn't have had a grudge against me if we didn't know each other. How about your father?"
"Dad never spoke about it. He would have told me if there had been any problem." Sam picked up the loose pile of paper and began to fold them up carefully.
"So it may be a dead end." Marston sighed. A vision of being holed up at Belle's for weeks on end stretched out in front of him.
"Or it may not. Here's something." Sam pulled a piece of notepaper from the very bottom of the pile. A few brief lines were written in a bold hand with a name scrawled across the bottom of the page. "It's just some instructions about getting access to a warehouse but it's signed by another army officer."
"Who is it?" Marston propped himself up on his elbows and craned his neck to read the paper.
Sam squinted at the signature. "I think it says 'Major R. Ashley-Pitt.'"