Chapter 11 #2
He invited Silas into the dining room, which had only two places set.
The meal might have easily fed Frederick, Drake, and Fairchild, as well.
Silas made a mental note not to convey this information to them, for he happened to know that they would be dining on what was left over from the prior evening’s dinner, for the kitchen staff had been given the evening off.
Bence had a brandy and wine collection to complement his fine lodgings, and he insisted on providing a bottle of each for the meal.
He lost no time in bringing up the topic of investment. Bence had a varied portfolio, including landholdings, canal construction, overseas trade, and even investment in the newfangled railways that were under construction.
Silas liked Bence. He was reasonable but intelligent and seemed to favor a balance of steady investments and riskier ventures. There was a thread of principle that shone through as he spoke.
“What of you?” Bence asked. “What sort of investments do you and your father seek?”
“We are open to ideas,” Silas replied, cutting into the lamb on his plate. “We have a particular interest in textiles, though.”
“Ah,” Bence said.
Silas hesitated for a moment, taking note of the bland, one-word response. “Would you discourage us in that? I value your opinion, so I pray you will give it to me frankly.”
Bence frowned and took a drink from his glass before responding. “Discourage? No. I simply have a bitter taste in my mouth after a poor experience.”
“I quite understand. May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“I was given the name of someone with connections in the textile trade—someone I was told might be able to direct me to valuable investments. Perhaps you are familiar with him if you have had dealings in textiles.”
“It is reasonably likely.” Bence cut into the leg of lamb on his plate. “What is his name?”
Silas paused a moment. Bence’s response would tell him a great deal. “Lord Drayton.”
Bence’s cutting stopped, and his eyes flew to Silas’s. His jaw tightened as he responded, “I am familiar with him.”
Silas held his gaze but waited before speaking. “I gather you would not recommend him to me.”
“I would not.”
Silas nodded but did not press him. What happened next would determine whether Silas chose to test the waters further.
Bence took another sip from his glass, then sat back, his expression growing pensive. “I am not wont to speak ill of people, Mr. Hayes, but I happen to like you, and I would hate to see you taken in as I was.”
Silas’s brow cocked. “As you were?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I was in business with Drayton for quite some time—years, in fact. He has a good head for business. Too good, one might say.”
Silas smiled slightly. “I did not know that was possible.”
“Oh, it is. If business and money are one’s sole focus, you see, one can rationalize almost anything. Conscience and friendships take second place to loyalty to money. Atrocities and greed so readily go hand in hand.”
“Atrocities?” Silas couldn’t help himself. He had to know if Bence was aware of just how far Drayton had gone.
Bence nodded, slow and definitive, his gaze fixed on Silas.
“You mean the betrayal of friendship and conscience you mentioned?”
“Beyond that, even.” He seemed reluctant to give voice to precisely what he accused Drayton of doing.
“That is certainly unnerving to hear,” Silas asked. “Can he not be stopped?”
Bence smiled, but there was a bitter quality to it. “Stop Drayton? He has lured enough people into his schemes or managed to find unsavory information about so many that no one dares.”
Silas leaned forward, his heart beating more quickly. “What if someone did?”
Bence’s brow knit.
“What if someone dared to stop him?”
“They would have to be mad. Drayton’s influence amongst the aristocracy is not to be underestimated, Hayes.”
“But if what you say is true, surely there are a number of men who would gladly be given the opportunity to come out from under his thumb?”
Bence squared him with an evaluatory look. “I confess I am befuddled, Hayes. You speak as though you have some idea of how to bring about Drayton’s downfall. Or perhaps I am misunderstanding you.”
“You are not misunderstanding.” Silas could barely hear over the sound of his heart beating in his ears.
Bence’s gaze grew intent. “Do you have evidence against him?”
“Nothing but my own word yet.” He shifted in his seat, drawing nearer to the table and resting his elbows upon it.
“You have been frank with me, Bence. I wish to return the favor. I believe I may trust you, but if I am wrong about that, what I have to say has the power to put me in the gravest danger.”
“You are not wrong,” Bence said. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
Silas stared at him. It might be folly to trust Bence, but what other option did he have? Bence was the person with the most experience with Drayton. If anyone could help Silas, it would be him. “My name is not Hayes.”
A flicker of confusion passed over Bence’s brow, but he did not otherwise react.
“Are you familiar with Drayton’s dealings with the Yorke family?”
Bence scrutinized Silas, his gaze growing more intent. “Why do you ask me such a question?”
“Because what occurred between Drayton and the Yorkes concerns me.”
There was a pause. “Concerns you how nearly?”
Now was the moment of truth. The moment for truth. “As nearly as it concerns anyone, save the man Drayton murdered.”
Bence’s wide eyes expanded.
“I am the only witness to that murder.” Silas’s eyes never left Bence’s. “I am Silas Yorke.”