Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“If this is about the copper, allow me to tell you that you’ve been pitched gammon,” Joseph said. “It’s a lie.”
He stood in the gravel drive before his own home, as helpless as a prisoner at the gallows.
Treen sat in the cart, Inez as his hostage.
The gun barrel no longer sprouted from her side like some horrific appendage but lay in Treen’s lap underneath the leather bag he wore across his body.
Yet Joseph knew the gun was there, and Inez knew the gun was there, and both of them were submitting to Treen’s demands for the moment because of it.
As much as he wanted to leap at the man and sink his teeth into him, Joseph couldn’t take the risk that he would harm Inez.
“As to that,” Treen replied. “I believe Mr. Hoskyn has some information that, sadly, can be of little use to you now, since you will be signing over your property to me, as we agreed. Hoskyn, you might as well tell him.”
The solicitor stood within the open double doors, blinking out at them from the gloom of the house. Joseph supposed Treen had invited him to the house to give his signature to the contract Treen meant to force Joseph to sign.
“Er,” Hoskyn said. “Won’t you come inside to discuss this matter, Mr. Treen? Sir Joseph,” he added respectfully.
“We are all very comfortable here. The report, Hoskyn, if you please,” Treen commanded.
Joseph faced the solicitor, wondering how he might communicate the danger they all were in.
“That copper vein will have been mined out years ago,” he said.
“There’s been no workings on Penwellen in the century since my great-grandfathers were granted this land.
Any ore here was exhausted by the time of the first Charles. ”
Hoskyn cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the man I brought out to assay the area, at your suggestion, came to a quite different conclusion. He believes there are rich deposits here yet underground. The rock formations and his samples are similar to what has been found elsewhere in the area, where the mines are yielding well.”
“An open cast mine, then,” Joseph said. “We can construct one with relative ease. But the available ore will be taken up quickly, I would bet on that, and I don’t have the capital to construct an engine that can drill deep and drain the water to do it all properly.”
“You don’t deserve those acres,” Treen said shortly.
“Reuben intended to sign it over to me. The contract was as good as made, and fool that he was, he had no idea what could be made of that piece of land. I did and do, and so I should be the one to carry the prize away. He made me a promise, and you need to make good on it, Illingworth.”
“You will address him as Sir Joseph,” Inez muttered.
“I owe you nothing, Treen. You have trespassed on my property, you have threatened my person, you have threatened the person of my intended wife—”
“Wife!” Treen recoiled. “You would make a common trull your bride? How your cousin must be spinning in his grave.”
“I hope if Reuben has an unquiet rest, it is due to his own trespasses, and not mine,” Joseph snapped.
“Ahem.” The solicitor turned the brim of his hat in his hands, unsure whether he ought to clap it upon his head to shield him from the elements or keep his head bare out of deference.
“Unless there is explicit direction in the last will and testament of the previous baronet leaving direction as to the disposal of his property or alienation of his assets, there is no encumbrance on the property that can direct the current baronet’s use of it. ”
“There was a verbal contract!” Treen snapped. “We made a gentleman’s agreement.”
“You would have to be a gentleman, Treen, to make such an agreement.” Joseph glared at the man.
“And you prove yourself less than a gentleman by not honoring it.” Treen glared back.
In the standoff that followed, Inez stifled a moan and shifted on the bench of the cart. Arthur stamped his feet, ears flicking in all directions as he picked up the tension in the air.
And the sound of another horse approaching. Iron wheels crunched on gravel, accompanied by the clop of shod hooves, and an open carriage came into view, carrying three ladies within it.
“Mother!” Treen barked as the conveyance rolled to a stop. “What in Hades are you doing here?”
“You said you meant to call on the baronet to discuss that matter of his land.” His mother flipped up the lace veil hanging from her bonnet, protecting her face from the dirt and sun, and surveyed her son with some astonishment. “Melwin, what are you doing with the housekeeper?”
Inez made another inarticulate, angry sound. Joseph curled his hands into fists. “He is kidnapping her, madame. The future Lady Illingworth.”
“Melwin, what can he be saying?” Mrs. Treen cried.
“You are not one of those fast rogues of London to carry off women.” Here she sent a glare toward Joseph.
“Sir Joseph, surely you cannot mean to marry such a woman? A man of taste and breeding like yourself? It is one thing to appreciate the beautiful and exotic, as does my Melwin, but to make such a woman your lady— It simply isn’t done. ”
“And yet I will be doing exactly that, madame, as soon as your husband releases my bride.”
Mrs. Treen stood in outrage, wobbling in the coach.
Her companions, the two other biddies with her, promptly pulled her back into her seat.
Inez had told Joseph about these three, Mrs. Treen, Mrs. Abbott, and Mrs. Daw.
The Three Furies, she had called them after her interview, and they were the tradesmen’s wives and widows who arbitrated what passed for Polite Society in Callington.
They would not easily share the mantle with a new baronet’s lady, Joseph guessed, knowing what he did about old biddies who dictated social circles. If they excluded Inez now, she would never be accepted by them.
A glance at his beloved’s face informed him that social acceptance by the Three Furies was currently last on Inez’s list of concerns.
She edged slowly away from Treen, gathering the ribbons.
Whatever she communicated to Arthur, the horse was growing restless.
If he bolted, Inez might fall, or Treen might fire his pistol.
“I am very curious about the grounds upon which you find me unacceptable,” Inez said to Mrs. Treen. “Is it because I am employed as his housekeeper, or because I grew up in Portugal?”
“You know very well it is your lack of morals I object to, young woman, and I would ask you not to be impudent to me. You should consider it a sign of distinction if my son did wish to kidnap you. He has such exquisite taste.”
“I would consider it a relief if he released me,” Inez retorted.
“Treen,” Joseph commanded, starting forward, “let her go.”
The bag on Treen’s lap moved, and Inez went ramrod-straight, her eyes flaring wide. Joseph had no doubt she felt the barrel of the pistol against her stays. Rage shook him.
“Mother, you have, as usual, imposed yourself at the least convenient time,” Treen said. “I am negotiating an exchange of property with Mr. Hoskyn and Mr. Illingworth. This is no place for a lady.”
“Then let Inez go,” Joseph said. At the same time, Inez turned a scathing stare on her captor and emphasized, “Sir Joseph.”
“Mr. Treen, this is all very irregular,” Hoskyn said. “I cannot accept nor put my signature to an agreement that is made under any conditions of compulsion or duress, against the full consent of all involved parties. It would appear— I say, you’re Henry Jock.”
Hoskyn’s expression turned to surprise, then admiration as Jock approached, a shotgun broken open over his knees, herding a rough-looking character on a Dartmoor pony before him.
“Thas ’een,” the villain said sullenly. “Thas the gent as hired me to shoot at ye.”
“Oh, I say,” Hoskyn said again. “This is a most distressing revelation.”
“Mark it, Hoskyn,” Joseph said. “I may need you to bear witness.”
Inez turned to face the mounted man, a day laborer by the looks of him, and one who had not seen good wages in some while. His hands were currently bound to the saddle before him, the ribbons to the bridle between his fingers. “Why?”
“Why’d I put me own head in the noose? Ain’t doin’ me any good where it is now, ’tain’t.”
“But why kill Joseph?” Inez’s worried eyes went to him.
Joseph shrugged. “A better chance of negotiating with the next owner, or buying pieces if the estate has no heirs. And in the meantime, Treen would be porting off as much copper as he can carry.” He sized up the man who had shot at him. “You ruined my hat.”
The other’s eyes went wide. “Aye, proper job, that! Didna mean to come as close as yer whiskers, beggin’ yer pardon, sir. Meant to spook himself and the lady. Doan want murder on me soul, I doan.”
“It was Treen’s goal to finish me.” Joseph nodded.
“These are vile accusations, and I won’t stand for them,” Mrs. Treen yelped. “Melwin, how can you stand for this? Do something.”
“Your precious son,” Joseph snapped in irritation, “is at this moment holding my bride at gunpoint. I’ll thank you not to intervene on his behalf.”
Mrs. Treen’s eyes widened, and her companions gasped and tittered in the register of disapproving old hens. “My Melwin would never—”
“Give over,” Jock said, nudging his horse toward the cart. The shotgun was empty, yet the weapon on his lap bore a menace of its own. He laid a hand on Arthur’s bridle, and the horse immediately stilled, ears flicking forward. “Better yet,” Jock said to Treen, “give the pistol to the lady.”
Treen looked around the group, his eyes round as a hare’s on a hunt. “You’re all against me,” he said. “Not a one of you is going to do what is right and give me what I am owed.”
“Melwin!” Mrs. Treen yelped as the barrel of the gun emerged. “Your father’s travelling pistol?”