And then, there was a sheaf of paper. 'And this is what we have come to see.' He quickly sorted them into two stacks, by the hand they were written in. 'These are the things written by my father. I do not see anything written by Hebden amongst the rest. I fear our quest is in vain, just as I thought it would be.' He riffled quickly through them. 'I must have read them all at one time, seeking comfort. And I don't recall anything that made me think of a code.' He shrugged. 'Of course, I was very young. Most everything that adults wrote might well have been a code to me, for all that I could understand of it.' He folded his legs, tailor fashion, and piled his father's letters into his lap to read by the light of the attic window.
He was silent as he read, lost in his own past. And there was little for Diana to do, so she contented herself with reading the rest of the stack. It made her heart break to think of the poor little boy who had gathered everything he could find hoping to preserve the few remaining memories of his father. Here was a tailor's bill. And here a note of thanks from a long-ago friend, concerning a weekend of shooting at the Leybourne estate. And then, a note in a woman's hand.
She read. And then said, 'Nathan, this is from Amanda.'
She saw her husband flinch at the name. 'Kit Hebden's wife. You saw the journal. You must know what was said about them at the time. That note will do us no good, if I remember it for what it was. She wrote to him when he was in jail. I think she wanted him to confess. He passed me the letter, and bade me hide it from my own mother, because he said it would distress her. And so, I brought it back to hide amongst my things.'
She gave him an amazed smile. 'That is not what this is at all. But you were a little boy when you read it. You must have stopped after a line or two, then put it away. What did you know of such things? Tell me if you do not see it differently, now.' She held up the paper and began to read.
'"Tell them, William. My husband is dead, and I do not care who knows. There is no reason that you need keep secret what happened between us that night. Not if it means death for you. Kit would not hold it against you, for you know as well as I that he knew the truth and did nothing about it while he was alive. You might think there is honour in secrecy, but if it means that I retain my reputation only to watch you hang, then what good is my honour to either of us?"'
He looked at her, his expression puzzled. And she said, 'Can you not see it, even now? He was with her on the night of the murder. At least the first part of that night. That is why your father was so eager for you to hide this letter. He was trying to protect her, and your mother. And she says that Kit Hebden did not mind. So it was not a crime of passion. Whatever was on your father's mind that night, it had nothing to do with codes or keys or spying. He had no reason to kill his lover's husband. The arrangement suited them all.'
He read the letter again, and she watched the paper shake in his hand. 'You are right. My God, Diana. I think you are.' He looked at her in amazement. 'I don't know what Veryan will make of this, if anything. And I don't know if I dare show it to the Gypsy, for if he has any scrap of love left for his stepmother, then he will not welcome this news. But you are right. Nothing here makes my father out as traitor.'
She smiled. 'And you thought there would be nothing at all.'
He smiled back. 'It is but a scrap of information. But a scrap is more than I ever hoped to find. It is enough to build on, at any rate.' He rose and dusted off his pants. 'And it renews hope in me. My father was innocent, just as he said.'
'And if that is true...'
He squared his shoulders. 'Then whatever people may say of him, I am proud to be his son. I will clear my name, and his as well. And even if it takes me a lifetime, I shall make you the Countess of Leybourne, my dear.' He held out a hand to her, lifting her to her feet again, and led her down the stairs to their rooms.