Chapter 18
The room was in darkness. Robert knew his way, though.
He’d spent countless hours in this room, first as a child playing at his father’s feet while he worked, and then as a young man trying to make sense of running an estate after his parents’ untimely deaths.
He knew the room, yet it felt strange and unwelcoming to him.
No doubt that was Gisborn’s influence. Greenwood had faded since Robert was last here.
He could not see any specific changes his would-be successor made, but the pure lack of attention left the house feeling dusty and abandoned.
This room—the office—was especially marked.
Gisborn’s vileness permeated the air, the walls, the floors, and the books.
This would, no doubt, be the first room Robert purged once he was back in control.
He would remove any trace of Gisborn’s time here, his cruel thoughts and his manipulation.
“I’m finding nothing,” Will complained from the other side of the room.
“Same here,” Robert confessed. “I know the man does business here, I can find his ledgers and correspondence, but nothing that would speak to what we are looking for.”
They’d crept in through a window. Robert had known for years the lock did not work, but he’d never had trouble with burglars. It was his damned steward he should have been worried about. Fortunately, Gisborn was so incompetent that he had not noticed the problem with the window.
Robert had slid the window open easily and he and Will hoisted themselves inside. The other men were outside, keeping watch at various points. Alan instructed them in a series of bird calls to indicate warning, should someone come their way.
“I’ve searched these cabinets, that desk, and everything stacked on this table,” Will declared. “Nothing even remotely illicit.”
“That’s what I’ve found over here. If one didn’t know better, one might think Mr. Gisborn is an exemplary fellow.”
“One would be wrong,” Will said. “He’s a blackguard. We simply have to find the documents to prove it. Where else might he hide something like that?”
“Most of the house is shut up,” Robert said. “It appears he’s gone to great lengths to let everything go, to give the appearance that Greenwood is failing. I can’t understand why, but it must be to hide what he’s doing with my money.”
“But how can making you out as a pauper help him in any way? Isn’t he dependent on you?”
“As long as I’m alive he is dependent on me,” Robert said, pausing to stare around the room and try to put all the pieces tighter. “But he’s told everyone I’m dead.”
“Which, again, makes no sense to me. Why kill you, old chum, when that would only let somebody else inherit the place?”
“That’s what I’m wondering. Then again, if the estate is in disrepair and Gisborn has hidden my funds—it would hardly seem valuable.
And with a mortgage hanging over it, I wonder if my distant relatives would even want the place?
They’d be saddled with debt on an estate they had no use for. Would you want to inherit that?”
“I certainly wouldn’t, not if you put it that way. I’d try to push it onto anyone who would take off my hands.”
“Then perhaps that’s what Gisborn is planning. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“It’s rather clever, actually. He ruins your estate, hides all your money, takes out a mortgage, then hires someone to kill you. Your heirs think they’ve been stuck with a mortgaged hovel on worthless land, so they sell it to him for a song.”
“A badly written song. I just wonder how he has convinced St. John to go along with it. If I am gone and St. John holds the mortgage, then he’s the one who has claim to the estate. He must know the estate is not as diminished as Gisborn pretends. What hold does Gisborn have over him?”
“That’s a good question,” Will said. “Perhaps Gisborn is not so clever after all?”
“Or perhaps we’re still missing something. Either way, my steward is not going to like it when he finds I’m alive. We need to have the documentation in our hands to prove what he’s done before he knows that we’re after him.”
“But we’ve looked the place over, Rob. It just isn’t here.”
“It’s in this house somewhere; I know it.”
“Maybe he keeps it closer to him, in a more intimate place.”
“His bedchamber, perhaps?”
“You know where that might be?” Will asked.
“He’s supposed to live in a cottage I supplied him nearby. Balford confirmed that he’s been living here since my sad demise, though. I assume he will have taken over one of the better bedrooms. Why don’t you go to the end of the hallway and check the library? I’ll go upstairs.”
Will nodded, holding his lantern and adjusting the shutter. They both carried a light, but they’d been keeping them as dim as possible. It made searching more difficult, but it was safer that way. They did not need to alert anyone to their presence.
He’d sent word to Balford, of course, to let him know what they were about.
But Balford still was not sure all the staff could be trusted.
He warned Robert that he would not make it widely known in the servants’ quarters that their true master was back.
If Robert was detected, there was a risk the staff would think it their duty to alert Gisborn.
Glancing out into the corridor, Robert confirmed this wing of the house was deserted.
Will ducked out of the office and turned to the left, heading for the library.
It would be an odd place to hide papers, but Gisborn would know it was a room seldom used by servants and there certainly were plenty of hiding places there.
Robert turned to the right and moved silently toward the main section of the house. After several yards, this corridor opened into a wide hall. This had, at one time, been the entrance hall, but a new facade had been built over the years and an even grander entrance was now used.
There was a staircase here, though, and Robert felt secure that he could dash up it undetected.
Gisborn’s dinner would be well under way, so that should keep him and his guests well occupied in the newer, grander areas of the house.
No doubt he was, even now, impressing his guests with his faux splendor.
What were those guests doing, Robert wondered?
He thought of Marianne, all dressed in her finest gown, her flaming hair radient as the candlelight flickered off of it.
Were her eyes shining with excitement? Was her smile dazzling her host?
Was she, in fact, pleased with the flattery Gisborn probably heaped on her?
The thought of that man making pleasantries with her, perhaps putting his hands on her—touching her knee under the table, brushing her as he walked by, holding her for an impromptu dance—infuriated Robert. Surely Marianne would never allow such advances. She’d put Gisborn off, wouldn’t she?
No, she would not. Of course, she would not.
Robert had specifically asked her to hold the man’s attention, to keep him occupied.
She had promised to do exactly that. One thing he knew for certain about Marianne Maidland: if she indicated she would do something, nothing would stop her.
Whatever liberties Gisborn chose to take, Marianne would endure them as part of her duty.
She was here to be a distraction for Gisborn, and Robert knew she was more than up to the challenge.
As much as it nauseated him to think of it, if Gisborn showed interest in her, she would do all that she could to make herself agreeable tonight.
Robert wanted to smash the nearest vase on a table. He’d sent her to the man, asked her to waltz into the wolf’s den and make a pet of him! He could kick himself.
Gisborn did not deserve the time of day from Miss Maidland. She was too good for him, by far. She was too good for all of them. Robert would give a thrashing to any man who so much as looked at her in a too-familiar way.
His step faltered. He’d been about to climb the stairs, but he froze, his hand gripping the rail. He may not have found anything to confirm his suspicions about Gisborn, but he’d certainly confirmed something about himself.
He cared a great deal for Miss Maidland! The thought of her with any other man, of her in any sort of danger, made him nearly crazy. It was all he could think of!
What was Gisborn doing with her at this moment? Was he treating her fairly or did he suspect she knew more than she indicated? Was he making her regret her promise to aid Robert tonight?
He had to know what was happening to her.
Abandoning his plan to go upstairs, he crossed to the corridor on the other side of the hall.
It would take him to the newer part of the house, the areas that Gisborn was likely using for his party.
Robert would just catch a glimpse, just reassure himself that Marianne was fine.
Then he would be able to continue his search.
If he did not need to give Gisborn a thrashing first.
Marianne’s face hurt from pretending to smile. The dinner was tedious, to say the least. Mr. Gisborn was disgusting, to say the most. He took every opportunity to glower at her, to lick his lips and smile slyly at her. What could she do but smile back?
Her stomach felt sick and she wanted to go home and bathe.
But she was doing this for Robert. Even now, he was probably in this house, digging through Mr. Gisborn’s things and finding what he would need to be able to finally come out of the shadows and make Mr. Gisborn pay for his duplicitous behavior.
She could hardly wait to see the smugness drain from Mr. Gisborn’s face, the heat fade from his eyes as he realized all his efforts had failed.