Page 97 of Four Promises to Love

“Finally, it has come to pass,” he said softly. “The truth of the past will be revealed.”

“We’ve come to you,” Gigi said, “because we’re stuck on the second riddle.”

“I hope you don’t think I am going to solve it. I can hardly recall what I had for breakfast.”

Wally slurped his tea. Pulling a flask from his pocket, he added a liberal dose of amber liquid to his beverage and tasted it again.

“That’s better.” He smacked his lips, holding out the flask. “Your Grace?”

“Thank you, no,” Grantley said.

“When it comes to the happenings in Chuddums, you’ve the memory of an elephant, Wally,” Gigi persisted. “Anything you can tell us about the author of these clues might help solve the riddle. Do the initials ‘F. P.’ ring any bells?”

“Quite a few folks with those initials have lived in Chuddums at one time or another.” Setting down the flask, Wally began counting off his fingers. “There was Franklin Potter—died in 1790 when he got hit by a cart. Pity that, he was a genial fellow, always willing to lend a hand. Borrowed a hammer from him and never had a chance to return it. Well, he left behind three sons. Frank, Fred, and Fritz. Frank, the eldest, had eight children of his own…”

Grantley reached for the flask.

“Perhaps I could narrow things down?” Gigi said hastily. “We have a suspect in mind. And we believe F. P. might be related to him.”

Wally raised his bushy brows.

“We believe Langdon Pearce is the villain,” Gigi said. “He abused Rose and killed Thomas.”

For once, Wally appeared speechless.

Finally, he sputtered, “Langdon Pearce—our esteemed founder?”

Gigi nodded. “Without proof, we cannot destroy the reputation of a man everyone believes to be a hero.”

“No one would believe you,” Wally said flatly. “Not even with proof. Langdon Pearce has been enshrined in our history as a crusader for justice. For generations, schoolchildren have been taught about his sacrifice for the good of the village. He is our martyr and hero.”

Finn spoke up. “What is your opinion of him?”

“My opinion?” The wrinkles on Wally’s forehead deepened.

“Surely you must have your own impression.”

“My impression,” Wally said, looking baffled, “is that he was a great man. I was a child when he passed, but I remember him being larger than life. He was powerful, revered, a fellow who always got his way. His reputation was spotless, his word as good as gold. No one would dare gainsay him—not even now.”

Although Wally spoke with admiration, Finn sensed timidity as well. It was the kind of reaction inspired by bullies. No one dared to speak against Carver, either.

“Surely recent events have shown that the Pearces are not what they seem to be.” Grantley’s expression was sardonic. “After all, my regrettable relation Abel Pearce presented himself as Chuddums’s prize citizen. In reality, he was a prize idiot and criminal.”

“Folks have a way of explaining things to fit their beliefs,” Wally said. “Even now, the villagers say that Abel is the rotten apple that fell far from the illustrious tree. They say that Langdon would be turning over in his grave if he knew of his descendant’s misdeeds.

“Even though you Harringtons have found the ultimate proof of Rose and Thomas’s love and commitment—their marriage license—there are those who still believe she was a witch. They maintain that Chuddums’s misfortunes are because of her and her family—outsiders who had no place in the village.”

“But the facts speak for themselves,” Gigi said indignantly.

“When I was a boy, I saw Thomas and Rose together,” Wally said. “I knew the two of them were in love. When Thomas was found dead, I tried to tell my parents that she could not have killed him. But they wouldn’t listen. They insisted she was guilty—that because she was part of a traveling family, she must be a witch. People see what they wish to see. Convincing them otherwise isn’t always possible.”

“We cannot give up,” Gigi argued. “The only way to undo the curse is by revealing the truth of what happened—and that is why we need your help, Wally. These clues were written by someone with the initials F. P. We looked through the parish records and could find no Pearce whose name matched. Do you know who F. P. might be?”

“The fellow you’re looking for is Felix Pearce. Langdon Pearce’s youngest brother.”

Wally spoke so definitively that even Finn, who knew this for a fact, blinked.

Gigi’s brow furrowed. “Why is there no mention of Felix?”