Rose and the Thorn (Fallen Tales series)

Chapter 60

Chapter 60
Patrick
The next couple of weeks went by so quickly. Rose and I spent as much time as possible together. Sometimes she would listen to me play the piano, read a book while I did work in the office or I would write while I watched her clean the house. We spent most of our afternoons down at my family's tomb or just on the grass by the house.
I had even grown use to Curious' body at the end of my bed as we slept. His tiny body warming my feet as he lied on them.
Jenson and I had made a breakthrough in our case. There was a witness that saw my father meeting with a man on the same day he had written about the deal. Sargent Jones was pleased with his payment, making me happy. The more he was happy with the payment the more he would work.
The girls had been around the house a lot more, especially Zoey. Not that I mind. They stayed away from my room and didn't break anything. It was like Rose had trained them. They would normally go to the library which was far away from my office upstairs so I didn't hear them.
The image of Rose in the gold dress was still fresh in my mind. I remembered how thin the dress was, like I was touching a second skin. The best thing was that even though she wore a dress, her hair was in curls and she wore makeup, she still looked like my Rose.
I sat in my office tapping my pen on my desk, thinking. I was bored out of my mind but I was restless. Have to do something.
I stood up and walked over to the filing cabinet. I opened the first draw, flipping through the files. They were in date order and the files were filed with information on everyone that had ever worked for us or done business with. Without realizing, I took out Rose's file. I sat back down on the chair and opened the file. I pulled out a piece of newspaper, her notice. I laughed as I read it.
WORK WANTED. CLEANER FOR ANY PAYMENT. 
I pushed it aside. I found a copy of her visa, past port, even a copy of her birth certificate. I frowned looking down at it.
SURNAME: HALL
CHRISTIAN NAME: ROSE
DATE OF BIRTH: FIFTH OF APIRAL 1944
FATHER: LUCAS HALL
MOTHER: ROSEA ARCHER
"What are you looking at?" Rose said shutting the door behind her.
"Your file," I said not looking up from it.
"Oo, what's in it?" she asked sitting on the table.
I smiled up at her, "well, a copy of your visa, past port. You know it's good to know that you really are American," I joked.
"Mmm, like this," she waved her hand up and down her body, "and this adorable accent could past for what, Italian."
I chuckled.
"What else is in there?" she asked.
"Well, your birth certificate for one. Hey, you didn't tell me that your birthday was next week."
She shrugged as if it was no big deal, "you didn't ask."
"You say it as if you don't care."
"That's because I don't."
I frowned, "What, why? Birthdays are great, you get presents, a cake. Every one singing you happy birthday."
"Yes well that's great when your birthday isn't also the day your mother died."
My heart stopped. God I'm an idiot.
"Oh my God, Rose I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot."
She shrugged, "its okay. It was fine growing up, Dad would do the whole cake thing, present thing. But I always caught him in his room crying. I might have been twelve when I figured it out."
I took her hand, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she said again, "It's not like birthdays are easy for you."
I shrugged, "I guess not."
I squeezed her hand looking at her. She turned her head and coughed clearing her throat.
"So where did you get that?" she asked.
I turned to the cabinet.
"The filing cabinet. Everyone who's worked for us or we've done business with is in there."
"Ah," she said walking over to the cabinet, "so everyone your family's done business with is in here."
I nodded, "yep, from my grandfather, father and now me."
"So, do you think that man would be in there?"
I looked up as the voice in my head started screaming. Alarms going off. I stood up and walked over to the cabinet. I slid open the draw flipping through the files.
"How are they organized?" she asked.
"Dates, I think."
I took the first five and placed them in Rose's arms. She groaned under the weight. She placed them on the desk as I took out the next five. I sat them next to the pile Rose had made on the desk, making sure they didn't get mixed up.
I went to the door and down the small hall to the stairs.
"Jenson!" I called. He appeared from the drawing room.
"Yes, sir!"
"Get up here, I need your help!"
An hour past as we had gone through all the files. I had finished the one I was looking at and through it on the desk in frustration.
"This is useless."
"We'll find him, Patrick," Rose said shutting the file she was looking at.
"What if we don't? What if that man gets away with killing my family?" I sat down on the chair tapping the nail of my thumb on my lip.
"Because we won't stop, Sir," Jenson said placing his file down as well, "something will come around."
"And what if it doesn't," I didn't mean to snap but he didn't look offended. I sighed feeling bad.
"Look, I need some air. I'll see you later," I said walking out of the room. They didn't stop me. As I made my way down the stairs that led to the East Wing, my eyes landed on the painting of my parents.
My eyes landing on my father's face. He was so strong, so proud. How could I ever fill his shoes? Everyone I spoke to was trying to see my father. Expecting me to do business like he did. But how could I when I barely remember what he had taught me.
I headed up the stairs to the West Wing, but instead of going straight ahead, I turned to the gallery. I looked down at the void as I made my way to the end door to the right. I opened it and sighed when I smelled my mother's perfume.
A four-poster bed took up most of the room with curtains tied to the dark wooden poles. Mother's dresser was by the wall and the curtains still covered the French doors that led to the balcony. I sat on the bed half in the dark as sunlight creeped through the thick curtains. The smell of roses filled my noise reminding me of Mother. Her smell, her voice.
I sighed and flopped back on the bed. How did my life get so messed up? Why did it have to be my family that got so messed up? I tried to get angry at my father again, but it just didn't seem worth it. What was the point? What's done, is done. Can't be change
I sat up and walked over to Mother's dresser. I ignored the man looking back at me through the mirror and opened the tiny little draws. Her smell covered the smell of mould and dust making me feel comforted. I dropped my hand on the table top hearing the echo thud.
I frowned. An echo? I knocked again hearing the echo. I bent over to see that it wasn't just a flat table top. I crawled underneath it and turned on my back to look up. I knocked it again hearing the echo.  I looked at the poor binding and the different colour wood. This wasn't a part of the dresser. There was a gap about one and a half centimetres wide between the two parts of wood. I forced four of my fingers in the gap feeling paper. A lot of paper. I groaned as I tried to grip the paper.
"Come on, come on," I grunted finally getting the grip. The paper crumbled as I forced it from its hole. A pile of dust came out with it making me cough as I crawled back out. I crawled up on to the bed and peered down at what I held in my hands. A file? A piece of paper was stuck to it, covered in dust. I wiped off the dust and recognized my father's writing straight away.

To my dearest Rebecca.
I pray that you will never have to find this note but if I've made the horrible decision not to sell I fear that that the old lady that I had met in the streets twelve years ago was right. I had limited time. Anyway, this file is of a man I had business with a couple of months ago. I was a fool and had gambled away a lot of money. Enough to send us broke. A man name Jeremy Fisher had offered to pay my debt. I took the easy road out and took his offer. But a month ago he wanted the money back. He also offered another deal. To give him half the share of Pinecone Manner. The Girls' share. I've made the decision not to sell. In a couple of days I will see if I have made the decision. If you have found this letter, it means my worst fear has happened. Jeremey has killed me or sent someone to kill me. I pray that you, Patrick and the girls will be okay if this is how it ends. I must tell you that I have loved you with everything I have and I am sorry that our time was cut short because of my proudness, arrogance and stubbornness.
Love your late husband, John.

I felt breathless. I now know the whole story and the man behind the hit man. Jeremey Fisher. That doesn't sound like someone who would send hit men. This was my proof.
I opened the file and saw newspaper articles of crimes similar to my families' murder.
RICH FAMILY SHOT

LORD KILLED WALKING IN THE STREETS OF LONDON

EARL OF CARL STABBED TO DEATH

HEIR BASHED TO DEATH AT NIGHT CLUB

Father knew what this man was capable of but didn't back down. Because of the girls' share. He didn't want the girls to go without. I knew I should be angry but all I felt was proudness. Yes my father was stubborn and arrogant and had too much pride.  And even though he didn't realize that this guy would kill the girls and Mother as well, it wasn't in vain.
"Jenson, Rose, I think I found something!"