Chapter Ten
Apparently, Cicero was right. Virtue was its own reward. Umberton was waiting for her at the office. She would have missed him if she’d gone to White’s. He was lounging on the divan and dangling a tumbler from his hand with the casual nonchalance of one who felt at home in his surroundings. He rose when she entered.
‘How was your meeting with Cowden?’
‘Cowden has offered support for our legislation when it’s ready. That’s good news.’ But her original excitement over that was diminished by practicalities. Mainly, she wasn’t sure how she felt about him being here as if he could come and go at will when she had no way to find him on her own. ‘How did you know that’s where I was?’
‘Your clerk told me. He let me in.’ Umberton looked well rested for one who’d danced the night away. ‘It’s good news about Cowden. He’ll be a formidable ally.’ He waved his tumbler to indicate the room at large. ‘I hope you don’t mind me waiting in here?’ he enquired with such sincerity she nearly forgave him for the inconvenience of his lack of address.
‘I don’t mind too much, but I do mind the inability to reach you. I realised this afternoon that I couldn’t even send you a note to tell you about Cowden.’ She slid him a meaningful look. ‘I do not think I like you having all the power to guide when and how often we interact.’
She went to her desk, her point made, and gathered together all the loose sheets she’d left out, wondering if he’d looked at them and if it mattered. What would he have seen? Would it have meant anything to him? She hated the suspicion that had taken root since her meeting with Cowden. She looked across the room at him. He wore a blue jacket and buff trousers today, with a striped-blue waistcoat beneath, his jaw clean shaven, eyes clear, wavy hair in its usual state of tousled decadence. He looked handsome and harmless.
No, not harmless. He would never be harmless. Inviting was the word she was looking for. Those eyes, that smile, invited a woman to reveal her secrets, to lay those secrets and perhaps her head on those broad shoulders. He was a safe place for a woman to land. She’d taken advantage of that last night. She hoped she hadn’t been wrong. Well, the only way she’d know was if she voiced her concerns. She’d never shied away from difficult conversations. She wasn’t going to start now.
‘I want to talk to you.’ She sat behind her desk, letting the big piece of furniture be her source of power and protection. She needed distance for this conversation. She could not have it sitting side by side on the sofa where’d they kissed yesterday, where she’d be reminded of his touch, of the clean scent of him, of all the things that had led her to seduce him last night. She would not mince words with herself. She had seduced him.
‘Is this about last night? If so—’ he said, but she interrupted.
‘No, it’s not about last night. It’s about the enquiry on the dam.’ She drew a breath and counted to three. She wanted to deliver this next sentence with even tones, with no hint of anger. ‘I want the truth from you.’ She fixed him with a hard stare and watched him stiffen in alertness.
‘Of course, always.’ But he was wary.
‘Have you deliberately refocused my attention away from it by pushing the legislative end of things and by...’ it was hard to say the last bit ‘...by conflating business with pleasure?’
His eyes went wide. ‘You mean by seducing you?’ He gave loud chuckle. ‘I believe you were seducing me last night. And our kiss yesterday afternoon seemed fairly mutual to me. So, I think you’ll have some difficulty selling that argument.’
‘I think you are having difficulty answering the question,’ Fleur said firmly. She would not let him distract her with talk of romance and who had seduced whom.
‘Why are you asking? Are you having trouble coming to grips with last night? Perhaps you’re looking for a scapegoat and would like to blame me?’ He rose from the sofa, pacing his corner of the room. ‘What is this about, Fleur?’ His use of her given name threw her for a moment. ‘I would think after last night we could at least call each other by our given names,’ he said, reading her hesitation, ‘My name is Jasper, by the way.’
Like the stone, she thought. The name suited him. Jasper, the stone of protection, of strength. She tried not to think about other things his comment pointed out, like the fact that she’d engaged with him so intimately without knowing his name, only his title. After her protest to Cowden this morning, there was some irony in that.
‘Did you use our attraction to manipulate my agenda? You made no secret at Verrey’s as to how much you disliked the idea of re-opening the investigation.’ The idea that he had prevaricated in the past and was prevaricating now seemed to affirm her alarm was not unwarranted.
‘Do you think I am that sort of man?’ he shot back. ‘This conversation does not paint me in a favourable light. But I’d be very careful about what I was asking if I were you, Fleur. If you think to pillory me for using sex as a tool, you’d best look in the mirror first.’
‘What exactly are you suggesting?’ She’d not wanted to talk about last night, but somehow the conversation had gone that direction anyway.
‘If anyone was using anyone for sex, it was you using me.’
She met his gaze evenly. Was that a reprimand she heard in his voice? ‘You were not unaware. I told you exactly what I wanted.’ She’d wanted him and an escape from the loneliness that had driven her from the ballroom. He’d managed to give her both. ‘It seemed to me that you enjoyed it last night. So, I am mystified as to the source of your irritation today.’
He broke from his pacing and approached the desk, leaning over it, palms flat on its polished surface. His eyes glittered with dangerous warning. She should not find that arousing. But she did. Or maybe it was the fight she found arousing. She hadn’t had a good fight for a long time. Not since... No. She put a full stop to her thoughts. ‘You talk about the mutuality of our “activity” last night, but you were not there with me in the end. That’s not fair.’
Oh. So that’s what this was about. She was surprised he had even noticed. She doubted many men would care enough at that point, too lost in reaching for their own release to note their partner’s. ‘I told you I wanted obliteration. It’s not a state of togetherness. You gave me exactly what I asked for.’ But he’d wanted something else, been searching for something else and he’d not found it. It was something of a revelation.
‘You were lonely, too,’ she said softly, the tension between them gentling with the realisation. But they’d used different means to assuage that loneliness. She’d sought obliteration and he’d sought togetherness. Both of them temporary variations for the real thing.
He fingered the heavy glass paperweight on the desk. ‘A lord is always lonely, especially when he’s expected to marry. Perhaps that is when he’s at his loneliest, knowing that everyone is circling, waiting for him to commit, to give in and choose someone.’
Something in his voice touched her and she reached for his hand out of an innate need to offer comfort. ‘You make it sound like surrender, capitulation. A defeat.’ Those were not characteristics she’d come to associate with this man.
His gaze held hers, sharp and all-seeing but his voice was soft in its reflectiveness. ‘My father once took me to Scotland for hunting. We tracked a herd of elk for miles. There was an older stag with them and our hounds culled him from the herd, separated him from the others until he was alone. The first shot missed and, by missed, I mean it wasn’t fatal. It merely slowed him down. We followed him until our hounds surrounded him. He was on his knees in a clearing when we took him.’
He sighed and gave a shake of his head. ‘I didn’t like it. I suppose it’s not manly to admit such a thing. My father assured me it was all part of the circle of life.’
‘You were close to your father?’ She ventured the personal question. ‘Whenever you talk of him or your mother, it sounds as if your family was close.’ Was that quite the right word? ‘I mean, “is” close. Your mother is still alive.’
‘My father was a good man. He taught me about honour and what it means to be a good man. I try to live up to his standards. I loved him and I miss him every day.’ He smiled and something warm fluttered in her stomach. ‘I love my mother, too, despite her list.’ He gave a wry laugh. ‘But I think of that story every time my mother drags the list out.’
He chuckled, but it wasn’t an entirely happy sound. ‘I’m like that bull elk. Each year, all the matchmaking mamas separate those of us who should marry from the herd and do their best to bring us to our knees.’ There was another sigh. ‘It is an illusion that a man goes courting, that he somehow is in pursuit. I think it’s the mamas who are in pursuit. We poor bachelors are all stags on the run.’
She completed the thought for him. ‘While the mamas circle and wait to pounce and bring your carcass home for their daughters.’
‘Yes. Am I terrible to think that? Nobody puts that in their love poems.’
‘No, they don’t. It’s all roses and blushes. Virgins and unicorns. No one seems to understand that the unicorn horn in the virgin’s lap is a symbolic penis.’
‘Is it?’ He looked astonished. ‘I didn’t realise...’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, that certainly puts a different take on things.’ He furrowed his brow. ‘I studied Classics at Oxford and I don’t think that’s quite right. The unicorn is a symbol of purity in Raphael’s The Virgin and the Unicorn and I am sure the unicorn was used in the Renaissance to depict chastity.’ He paused. ‘Are you laughing at me?’
‘Laughing with you. I was quite enjoying the lecture, Professor.’ Fleur came around the desk. ‘I like my version better. It took your mind off things, didn’t it?’
‘Yes. My apologies. I was being maudlin.’ They made their way to the divan and sat, but Fleur had not entirely forgotten the roots of their quarrel.
She hesitated to revisit the topic of that disagreement after such a nice moment. It had been quietly intoxicating to listen to his story, to know he was sharing something deeply personal and simultaneously troubling to him. But she needed her answers. Perhaps she’d do better with sugar than vinegar. She’d been bold and confrontational earlier and that had resulted in a quarrel. Maybe if she was less direct she’d get a better response. Part of her was very much aware that on at least two occasions they’d meant to talk business and had ended up not discussing anything resembling business. She could not keep letting those opportunities slip away or it would be August and another summer would have come and gone with nothing done.
‘If I ring for tea, will you let me show you something? And will you listen with an open mind? I want to share with you the case I have against Lord Orion Bexley.’ It would be the ultimate litmus test for him. It was time for him to prove his worthiness.
He did not want to hear it. His damned brother had messed up a lot in his life and now he was going to mess this up, too, whatever ‘this’ was that sparked between him and Fleur Griffiths.
‘Fleur, you know how I feel about that,’ he reminded her in an attempt to dissuade her from showing him.
‘Yes, I know exactly how you feel and because of that, is it any wonder I feel derailed any time the subject comes up? I want legislation but I also want this: justice for those who died.’
Coward!His inner voice snapped. Let her show you. This was your whole plan all along, to earn her trust enough to learn what she has on Orion. This is what you came for, what you’d started this whole association for. You ought to be thrilled. You will finally have your answers, finally know how to protect Orion.
Yet, the only thought that came to the fore as Fleur called for tea and retrieved a file was that he ought to stand up and walk out of the office, that he didn’t want to know. Didn’t want her to tell him. He didn’t want to be reminded that this was business, and she was the enemy. That he’d shielded his identity from her in order to gain access to her world, that he’d misled her about the motives for his interest in her project.
If she knew, she would hate him for it. From her perspective, these were not the behaviours of a man of honour. Yet he could argue from his perspective—the perspective of a man who must protect his family and name—these behaviours were warranted. They were omissions only, none of them outright lies. He could hear his father in his head alongside his own inner voice.
Family first. Your mother, your brother, will need you when I’m gone. You will have hard choices to make.
She spread the papers from the file out on the low table. ‘The troubles begin in 1846 when the Holmes Reservoir Commissioners were found to be in a state of insolvency, having spent Parliament’s allotment for the reservoir project, but also owing several outstanding debts.’ She passed him a sheaf of papers. ‘This is the testimony of Charles Batty, who was the drawer for the commissioners, and these are copies of outstanding bills the commission owed. The Huddersfield Banking Company was owed two thousand pounds, money was owed to clerks who worked for the commission and monies were owed to companies who worked on the dam. These are no small sums and the fact that one of these bills ended up in Chancery speaks to the depth of dysfunction in the commission.’
Jasper fished his eyeglasses out of his inner coat pocket and studied the papers. ‘If I may play the devil’s advocate?’ he said after a careful perusal. ‘I feel as if this only affirms the original findings that no one person was culpable. There was unfortunate disarray up and down the line when it came to the Holmfirth Reservoirs Act. This notes only that Lord Orion Bexley was on the commission at the time.’
‘The debt is curious, is it not? Where did all the money go if the dam was never repaired? What this establishes is the insolvency and that the money set aside for repairs was gone. It allows us to ask—where did the money go? I propose it went into Lord Orion Bexley’s pockets by way of a very careful, very expert sleight of hand.’ She handed him another sheet of paper.
‘What is this?’
‘This was issued by the commission on August 26, 1846. It’s an order to improve the waste pit so that water could be safely processed and filtered through the dam.’ She summarised as he scanned the paper.
An opening should be made in the waste pit of the Bilberry Dam reservoir at the height of eighteen feet above the clough or shuttle and Mr Littlewood authorised to see the same forthwith carried into effect.
He looked up to meet her gaze, waiting for the blow to fall.
‘That repair was never made. In fact, although it was authorised, Mr Littlewood testified that he did not know about the request and, in fact, no engineer or construction manager on the project after that date reported knowing about the request or any later requests to carry out that work.’ She reached for another stack of papers. ‘This is the testimony of those men: Mr Littlewood, Mr Leather, Jonathon Crowther...the list goes on.’
Jasper scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘Why would the blame for this, the pocketing of the money, be laid at Lord Orion’s feet? Why not one of the other commission members?’
‘Two reasons. Because he was one of three men assigned specifically to the Bilberry Dam Reservoir. It was the commission’s practice that those members residing nearest a dam took over supervision of that dam. He was one of three who submitted the order.’ She paused and said with emphasis, ‘It was Bexley’s job to ensure that order was carried out.’
‘His job and that of the other two men with a particular interest in the Bilberry Dam.’ Jasper racked his brain to remember who those other two might have been.
She shook her head. ‘Those positions are reappointed every year. Those men left and new men took their places. Bexley is the only returning figure, the only one who could provide continuity. The only one who had knowledge of the order to work on the waste pit and he never acknowledges that it wasn’t acted on. He never calls attention to the fact that the work order—his work order—was placed and nothing occurred.
‘That waste pit and its inefficiencies were the cause of the fatal accident. Listen to Mr Leather’s testimony.’ She proceeded to read slowly and carefully aloud. ‘“My opinion as to the cause of the breaking of the embankment on the fifth of February is that it arose from overflowing and washing away the outer slope...if the waste pit had been seven or eight feet below the embankment, the inference is that the embankment would have stood...if the order of the Commissioners in 1846 had been carried out and a hole made... I think it very likely it would have prevented the accident. Had I been consulted I should have recommended such a course of action.”’
Jasper listened intently. He saw the argument she was making in his mind. Orion had submitted an order for repairs, pocketed the money for himself and the repair had never materialised. The lack of that particular repair bore full responsibility for the accident. Had Orion seen the work carried out, the accident would have been prevented despite all the other mismanagement by the commissioners. Fleur’s was not an implausible argument, and his worries began to rise. What had Orion done?
Fleur set aside her folder. ‘I know what you’re going to say—that I don’t have proof he siphoned the money. If I had access to his bank accounts, it would be the proof I need.’ She gave a little lift of her shoulders, a smile playing at her lips. ‘Adam always said to follow the money. Money never lies.’
Jasper was very much afraid of that.