“I intend to have those letters if I can,” he said. “And I intend to find out the rest.” “The rest?” “What became of their child. What they concealed from us. I intend to know.” “It may lie concealed forever in the grave,” said Blackadder, raising his glass to the fierce and melancholy face across the table. “May I propose a toast? Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte. May they rest in peace.” Cropper raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that. But I shall find out.”
