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He gestures for me to join him in front of a glass case. Inside, two pieces of paper lie side by side. The handwritten letter is addressed to William’s mother, the duchess. Dated mere days before theVictoriaembarked from England, the letter is written in black ink that has become faded over the decades. I lean in and squint to make out some of the text.
Rest assured, dear mother, we shall reconcile when we’re both good and ready. Brothers cannot hate each other forever. This shall pass.
“He’s talking about his relationship with Robert,” I tell Nate, excitement surging through my blood. “That’s the eldest brother who disappeared.”
Some parts of the letter are difficult to read, so I pull out my phone and snap several pictures of the display case. I’ll upload them to a photo editor later and play around with the exposure settings, see if I can make the words more palatable to the eyes. But the important thing is I was right.
William and Robert were estranged before William boarded that ship.
And while there’s no mention of Josephine, this is the strongest indication yet of the rift between the sons that could explain Josephine’s place in the story.
“What do you think it means?” Nate asks.
“I don’t know. Nothing I’ve found so far suggests Josephine was on the ship. Did William leave England because she chose Robert? Or did she follow William to America and leave Robert behind?”
I’ve still found no clue as to how or why Robert disappeared. There are plenty of theories but none with any evidence I could hope to follow. As with everything in this mystery, each clue is another unanswered question.
Continuing our search, we come across a diary entry from theduchess. She describes her son Robert as the steadfast sort, a young man with an intense conviction and will but well-liked and admired by his peers.
William, in contrast, was never at peace to sit idle on the grounds of the estate.His heart seeks exploration, the duchess mused. He was most fulfilled when out on some new adventure, which was a difficult pill to swallow for a mother who wished to keep her sons close to her.
“Hello there.”
The sudden appearance of a tall middle-aged man startles me.
“Sorry I didn’t hear you sooner,” he says, his expression rueful. “Afraid I fell asleep in the back after my lunch.”
“That’s all right,” I answer. “I hope it’s okay that we’re in here. The door was open.”
“Of course. All are welcome.” He smiles. “Though we don’t get many visitors if I’m being frank. Are you a student?”
“Yes, actually.”
He nods, hunched under the low ceiling. He’s lanky and brittle in a wool sweater and collared shirt. “That’s about all who find a reason to come here these days. There’s the ladies’ bridge club on Sundays. And we do get the odd photo shoot. An episode ofMidsomer Mysterieswas filmed here once.” That last tidbit brightens him right up.
“Well, that’s something,” I say with a smile. “May I ask a strange question?”
He beams at me. “I adore strange questions.”
“Excellent.” I gesture to the large portrait hanging on the wall behind Nate. “Do you have a theory about Robert Tulley? About what happened to him?”
“Ah.” He thinks on it a moment. “Well, I can’t say I know better than any who’ve attempted to answer that question before. However, Robert was a charming, honorable man who cared a great deal for his family. I suppose whatever occurred, it was quite extraordinary. I’ve often wondered if it was his kindness that did him in.”
“How do you mean?” Nate asks.
“Loyal young man like that, perhaps too trusting of the world. There are any number of ways for someone to take advantage.”
I purse my lips. “You believe he was killed then. Rather than ran away.”
“Who’d run from all this?”
I take his meaning. The former glory. The wealth. The titles and privileges. It’s an ironic metaphor, though, standing in this empty, dark little cottage surrounded by the faces of the dead. Sifting through the wilting remains of the Tulley legacy as their estate crumbles into scandal and bankruptcy.
“They’re buried out there, you know. Nearly every one of them. If you’d like to visit.”
My breath hitches. “Would that be okay?”
I’d been tempted when we first drove by, but it seemed uncouth. Cemetery tourism has always felt wrong to me.
