Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Coutts Bank, The Strand
Mr Jefferson, Jacob’s personal banker, closed the ledger.
‘In summary, Dr Sandys, your private funds are in a healthy condition. You’ve not been drawing down on them, I notice.’ The man’s white whiskers bristled with pleasure at this evidence of praiseworthy parsimony. Like the dragon of Norse myth, the banker did not like to see gold leaving his hoard.
Jacob Sandys tapped his fingers on the arms of the visitor’s chair.
No expense was spared on the furniture of this office; the chair had Moroccan leather upholstery and the walls oak panelling.
Burgundy satin curtains swaggered at the windows.
Coutts only dealt with the aristocracy – tradesmen or East India Company Johnnies need not apply.
‘Happily, I’ve been earning money from my investigations. ’
‘Ah, yes.’ The sniff was not quite disapproval but approached it.
‘Your brother did mention something of the sort. Will you need funds to invest in your venture? He suggested you might consider employing investigators to do the work for you and you might be contemplating standing for a parliamentary seat.’
This had to be the latest plan coming from the viscount to drag his brother back into respectability. Was Arthur really spreading this rumour around town?
‘An interesting idea but not one I am pursuing at this time.’ See, thought Jacob, I can be diplomatic when required and not betray to one of London’s chief gossips that the Sandys brothers do not see eye-to-eye on Jacob’s future.
‘You were left additional properties under the terms of your father’s will,’ said Mr Jefferson, changing the subject.
Jacob’s grief for his father swept through him.
He’d received the news when staying at his cottage in the Lakes only three weeks ago, further pain added when he discovered his older brother had not sent for him to attend the deathbed for fear of Dora ‘polluting’ the family seat with her presence.
He was still smarting from that double blow.
‘I was. I have not yet had a chance to visit them but my brother’s steward is keeping a weather-eye on them until I have the time. If I need to draw on my investments to repair or improve them, I will in due course let you know.’
‘Naturally. We at Coutts are always ready to help in such matters. I can recommend people who have experience of land management, should that be required.’ The banker seemed happier to be on familiar ground. Estates were something they understood at Coutts.
‘Thank you.’ Jacob stood up to go. ‘What news on the financial markets?’ Gossips had their uses, particularly for anyone with investments in riskier ventures.
Jefferson rose to conduct him to the door. ‘There isn’t much happening over the summer, as you might imagine. There are troublesome delays in the Indiamen coming back to port – storms in the Atlantic, they say at Lloyds.’
Jacob had stakes in some shipping companies. ‘Any losses?’
‘None confirmed. Also, the bank of Austen, Maunde wagons pulled out of Covent Garden at the end of the morning’s fruit and vegetable trade, rumbling back to the market gardens on the fringes of London; pedestrians jostled for a place on the pavement, beggars holding out empty palms on the corners, pickpockets weaving between legs looking for an unsecured purse or handkerchief.
Flipping a shilling to a wounded veteran (or so the man’s sign claimed – one had to be cynical about these things), Jacob turned in the direction of the Haymarket, cutting through a backstreet so he could avoid the congestion at Charing Cross.
London was a flourishing city that hadn’t kept up with the number of people and vehicles swarming into it, feeling somewhat like a hive about to burst. It made him miss his quiet cottage in the Lakes.
Not so quiet, he reminded himself. Dora and he had returned from there a few days ago after a busy week solving the murder of a magistrate and a string of violent attacks on young men.
His brother the viscount had been shot in the business and come to town to consult his doctors.
Jacob really should send a note to see if his recovery was progressing satisfactorily.
Striding over a pile of horse droppings, he crossed the road to Piccadilly.
He tapped his hat brim to several acquaintances heading for the gentlemen’s clubs of St James.
He’d ceased frequenting his club since setting up the business with Dora, preferring to spend time with her, but he should probably make himself go back to Brooks as it was a fine place to gather intelligence.
He could ask around about that bank business.
If panic spread, contagion in the markets could bring many of the smaller banks to their knees.
No one would escape the financial ramifications.
A drink with old friends or a chance to see Dora? With a wry smile, he turned for Bruton Mews. Dora won every time.
He found Dora at the desk writing in their case notebook.
She looked up and smiled, her dark curly hair bronze-tinted by the sunlight that came in through the door with him.
Approaching the desk, he kissed her and ran a finger appreciatively over the warm brown smoothness of her cheek, feeling the tug in his belly of his attraction to her.
Dora’s mother had been a planter’s daughter in the West Indies, so her heritage imported a richer skin tone than was commonly found among the pallid ladies of the ton.
The sun in the Lakes had darkened it further as she didn’t hold with poke bonnets and parasols.
But he couldn’t act on that attraction now. He was a grown man, not a callow youth who thought of nothing but sex. True, he admitted privately, he thought of it, but he could move on to what they needed to do.
‘All well?’ he asked, taking a seat at the desk beside her.
‘I’ve been enjoying my new room.’ She turned the notebook so he could read the latest entry. ‘And we have a new client – that’s if you agree we should take him on.’
Jacob scanned the notes and felt that stir of excitement at the beginning of a new case.
Solving puzzles had become his new addiction, though it was proving as dangerous as his old reliance on opium.
‘How strange – I was only half an hour ago hearing rumours at Coutts that Austen, Maunde & Tilson were looking doubtful. It appears Henry Austen is apprised of the gossip and taking action to prevent a collapse.’
Dora grinned. ‘Then I suggest we get payment up front.’
He tweaked a ringlet. ‘Mercenary lass.’
‘We aren’t running a charity, Jacob.’ Tugging her hair free with a smile, she got up and walked to the cupboard where they kept copies of their contract, filled out by an expert copyist they’d hired for the purpose.
She flourished one at him. ‘Shall we? I’d like to meet this French wife of his. She sounds entertaining.’
Jacob added Henry’s details and put in their charging rate. ‘I don’t believe she is French. Eliza Austen, if memory serves, was born in India. Rumour has it that she was the love child of the then governor, Warren Hastings.’
‘India? Good lord: she’s even more exotic than French.’
‘Her mother was one of the fishing party ladies who went out there to find a husband.’
‘Sounds like she found both a husband and a lover.’
‘Don’t quote me on that. It is purely a rumour. Anyway, Eliza then married a Frenchman, was widowed, and came home to fascinate the Austen brothers, her cousins.’
‘How do you know all this? She’s not a former amour of yours, is she?’
‘Hardly.’ Jacob chuckled at her mock-scowl. ‘I don’t tangle with married ladies.’
‘Apart from Lady Tolworth.’ Dora flicked a glance to the house across the mews where his former lover resided.
‘Only when her late husband was already half dead. You’re distracting me.
’ He pulled her on to his knee. ‘Teasing me unmercifully for a past before you came into my life. You’re the only lady I tangle with now.
’ His fingers danced over the soft skin of her midriff, kept from him only by a summer-weight muslin dress and shift.
‘Then how do you know about Eliza Austen?’ She played with his cravat, pulling the ends from his shirt.
‘Henry’s brother Frank is a friend – one to whom I owe a great debt. He was full of his wonderful sister-in-law and the stories she could tell.’ He frowned. ‘Or was that his sister? I might be getting mixed up.’
Dora glanced at the contract and grimaced. ‘You know Frank, so that is why you are charging the friends and family rate for this task. I’ll have to teach you to be mercenary like me or we won’t turn a profit.’