A Christmas Visitor by Anne Perry

Lakes were there: clogs, slate, bobbins, iron goods, pottery, pencils. And every kind of food: oats, mutton, fresh fish, especially salmon, potatoes, Forty Shilling and Keswick Codling apples, and spices from the coast.
    Henry pushed his way through and eventually found himself at Judah’s offices again. It was a long, tedious task to trace the arrival of the deed and itsexact whereabouts from that time forward until it was taken to be shown to the specialist in Kendal.
    “Ah, yes,” the junior clerk said knowingly. “Very sad. Never suspected Mr. Dreghorn of anything like that, I must say. Goes to show.”
    Henry froze, anger built up inside him. “Goes to show what, Mr. Johnson?” he said coldly. “That memories are short and loyalty thin?” Then the instant he had said it he regretted his lack of self-control. He was making his own task harder.
    Johnson flushed scarlet. “I don’t believe them!” he protested. “You do me wrong to think I did, sir, and that’s a fact.”
    Henry shifted his own position, perhaps a little less than honestly. He had assumed the man was speaking for himself. There had been no outrage in his face. “I was referring to those who do, whoever they are,” he amended. “I trust that having known Mr. Dreghorn you would be the last to agree, and the first to defend him.”
    “Of course I would,” Johnson said with a sniff.
    Henry used his advantage. “Then I am sure you will be as eager as I am to clear it up beyond question. I need to follow the history of those deeds that were sworn to be forgeries. When did they come here? Who brought them and from where? Where were they kept? Who had access to them, and who took them to Kendal to show to … what is his name?”
    “Mr. Percival, sir.”
    “Yes. Good. If anyone did tamper with them, it was not Mr. Dreghorn.” He made it a statement that could not be argued with.
    “Of course it wasn’t!” Johnson agreed truculently.
    But it was a slower task than Henry had expected, and Johnson was, above all, protective of his own reputation. He now had a new master and was determined to appear in the right. Judah was gone and could be of no more help.
    Henry caught him in a couple of self-serving lies before he was certain beyond argument as to the history of the deeds. The matter had taken well over a week, and during that time no one had looked at them. Undeniably, Judah could have altered them,or replaced them with forgeries. But so could a number of other people with either access to the office, or to the messenger who had carried them to Kendal. And of course it still left the time they had been in Mr. Percival’s care, a further two weeks or more. All were unlikely, but none was impossible.
    Henry thanked Johnson, who was now a good deal more anxious, then returned to the stable where he had left his horse, and set out on the long ride back to the estate.
    He turned the problem over in his mind all the way. Who had had the time, the opportunity, and the skill to make the forgery? The paper had apparently been wrong, and the ink, so they were easy enough to come by. The old seals had been removed from the original deeds, and glued back on the new ones. Time seemed to be the major element. But they had been in Judah’s offices for a week, then transported to Kendal and in Percival’s office for another two weeks. For anyone familiar with the deeds, it would take only a day to take them, create the forgery, destroy the original, and put the forgery back.
    It might be more difficult to prove who had actually done it. Unfortunately Judah was the person with the best opportunity, apart from Mr. Percival, of course. But there was no reason to suppose he had any interest in the matter.
    Henry continued to think about it as he rode. He found the stark beauty of the winter landscape peculiarly comforting. Its clean lines, wind-scoured, had a kind of courage about it, as if it had endured all that the violence of nature could heap on it,