Chapter Eight
It had been an awkward, sometimes painful half hour. Thirty minutes of time to catch up on nearly a decade and share details of two completely different lives.
Yet now, sitting across the table in Silas’s office, Lucas felt as if he’d slid back in time.
His brother hadn’t changed in some ways and was a different man in others.
He smiled, broadly, leaving no doubt of the delight behind it.
He gestured, praised, laughed, and promised Lucas a detailed tour of all the Forge industries.
It was a good thing they’d ended up in Silas’s house, since halfway through their initial conversation by the Forge, a massive man appeared and stood watching them with his hands on his hips.
“You’d be the long-lost brother, then,” he said. “Been wondering about you. And I reckon half the Forge is now doing the same thing.”
Silas shook his head and sighed. “Lucas, this is Hiram Fowler. A man I’d trust with my life, a friend, and the one person who knows more about the Forge than I do. Although I like to think that the gap between us is lessening.”
Rising to his feet, Lucas held out his hand, seeing curiosity in the other man’s eyes, and a dash of reservation.
“A pleasure, Mr Fowler. If you know more about the Forge than my brother? Well, you should definitely write your own encyclopaedia, since I’m sure there are a lot of people who’d love to read about it, not get hours-long lectures from the Forge Master.”
Hiram laughed, as did Silas. “Yep,” he replied. “You’re an Ashcombe, all right. Good to meet you, sir.” He turned to his friend. “Has he met Lady Ashcombe yet?”
“Not yet. She’s got a project going a couple of levels up, and she’s there this morning.” Silas glanced at Lucas. “My wife happens to have a gift for mechanicals.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Wait a minute, didn’t I hear she was a Renslow?”
“That’s right. She was a Renslow. Now, she’s an Ashcombe.”
“And a bloody marvel at fixing things,” added Hiram. “Why, only last Christmas...”
Silas held up a hand to halt the reminiscence. “We’ll talk of that later.” He looked at his brother. “We have a lot of tales to share. Nearly ten years to catch up on. But...” he paused for a second or two, “I would like to know why you’re here, and we haven’t had chance yet to talk about it.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll be off then.”
Lucas looked at Silas. “A question. Is Mr Fowler privy to everything about the Forge? Even the financial end?”
“He is.”
“Not that I understand much of the banking business, Sir Lucas. I’m more of a hands-on man, myself.”
“I ask because I need to talk to you, Silas, about something that is seriously troubling me. And if I’m right, it will affect the Forge first.”
Silas paused, looking at his brother, and Lucas couldn’t help wishing he knew what was going on in the man’s head. The air was filled with the sounds of the working Forge, but there was an odd stillness to this moment, as if something momentous was brewing somewhere.
Silas rose. “Right then. Hiram, Lucas and I are going to my house. If you can get someone to cover the mixing process on the far line, come join us.”
“As you wish. Shouldn’t take me more than five or ten minutes.” He nodded at Lucas. “And you can call me Hiram as well, lad. Forge is family, I say...” He strode away.
“A good man?” Lucas watched him loom above the other workers.
“The best. The closest to a brother I’ve ever had.” Silas turned his gaze to Lucas. “Until now.”
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out before Lucas realised what he was saying.
“Don’t be. The past is the past. We’ve both grown as men, and now we will grow as brothers once more.” He took a breath. “I didn’t know how much I missed you until I saw you across the Forge, Lucas. It was as if something inside me that was broken, suddenly mended.”
“I tried to hate you,” Lucas replied quietly. “I couldn’t. I made a life for myself, a good life, but there was indeed something missing. And now I know who it was.”
In that moment, the brothers finally sealed the rift that had kept them apart for so long, and they smiled at each other across the table.
“Right then.” Silas rose. “I live down here, as you’ve probably found out. Thea and I go up to Ashcombe Place when we have to, formal functions, business matters, stuff that we can’t do from down here, even with our PCE.”
“I’m in the Cottage,” nodded Lucas.
“Don’t tell me. Edgar’s still there? I never thought to look.” He sighed. “Actually, I couldn’t. Too many memories.”
“I understand. When I walked in they flooded my mind.” Laughing, he shook his head. “Edgar gave me a good lecture and then asked if I wanted something to eat.”
“Bless him. I was always a little jealous that he was yours. That beak...those eyes.”
“Don’t let Nelson hear that, brother. You do still have Nelson, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’d be lost without him. Although I’ve noticed that since my wedding, he seems more in tune with Thea than me.”
“I’m really looking forward to meeting her, Silas. She must be quite extraordinary, because how any woman could willingly offer to put up with you for the rest of her life is quite beyond me.”
The ensuing burst of male laughter brought smiles to the two forge workers walking past the door.
“In a good mood, then, ain’t he?”
“Rumour ‘as it ‘is brother’s back.”
“Back? Where’s ‘e been, then?”
“Long story, mate. I’ll tell yer over a Red Rivet ale after shift’s done.”
*~~*~~*
While the Ashcombe brothers spent the rest of the day together at Lucas’s underground residence, Verity Turner-Yardley was looking forward to a relaxing evening with a good book. Something to clear her mind of all the business matters she’d handled today.
It wasn’t unusual, since the days after donations had been received were always—for Verity anyway—busy ones, devoted to managing the money.
Many times she’d been scolded for doing it herself.
Some of her acquaintances thought it ‘un-womanly’, others just could not understand why she didn’t have an accountant (male), or banker (also male), to take care of such matters for her.
Thus far, she had been completely unable to make them understand how much she actually loved this part of her life.
They stared at her in horror when she spoke of shifting the allocation of assets, or moving some of the funding into a sheltered account for greater growth.
Thus Verity had given up trying to explain, completely stopped even mentioning such matters to anyone at all, and kept her most important questions and concerns for the one person who listened intently.
Alastair Pembroke.
A gentle man in the truest sense of the word, Alastair had seen past the public surface of Lady Verity Turner-Yardley the moment they’d met at some evening event, before she was widowed.
And he’d been kind enough to listen to her casual questions about an estate matter that her husband had no interest in dealing with.
A strong friendship had grown from that pleasant conversation over wine and lobster patties, one that deepened as the years passed.
On becoming a widow, she had immediately contacted Alastair, and he’d spent time with her, reviewing the will, the estate, and all the associated business that comes with such a life-changing event.
As a result, together they ensured Verity’s future, and established the basis for her charitable work.
The two of them had passed many happy hours poring over sheets full of numbers, various reports on this or that fund, and sometimes simply discussing the world in which they had immersed themselves.
She had learned of the rough patch Arcvale had survived a few generations ago, when war had been one step away. Thankfully, it had been avoided, but the financial world had changed because of it.
Stories like that fascinated her, and of course she’d been equally fascinated when the Ashcombe system had been installed in Arcvale’s banks.
Her husband had been very ill by then, so between that and taking over the reins of the Yardley portfolio, she’d had little spare time to devote to seeing what was happening with the PBIC system.
Once a widow, and expected to enter deep mourning for at least six months, she followed tradition with alacrity. Nobody realised that this time for her was a joy, a respite from sadness, and a chance to immerse herself in the new and updated financial processes now running in Arcvale banks.
It had been a considerable time from that period of seclusion to where she found herself today.
An acknowledged patron of several worthwhile charities, the instigator of events during which she could pry donations out of the hands of those who had more money than they knew what to do with, and now—she realised—an experienced financial expert.
One who was more than ready for a glass of wine.
And of course, at that moment, the doorbell rang.
Rolling her eyes at herself, Verity moved to the hall just in time to hear Sprocket welcoming her friend.
“Good evening, Mrs Monroe. A pleasure to see you.”
“Hello Sprocket. Is Lady Verity receiving? I know it’s rather late...”
“Come in, Tabby.” Verity called from the other end of the hall. “There’s a fire in here. We’ll share a glass of wine.”
“I could use one,” Tabitha sighed.
“If you’ll allow me to take your coat, I shall see to another glass,” said Sprocket, trundling out of the hall.
“Oh, the library.” Tabby sighed with delight as she joined Verity. “One of my favourite rooms in this house, although most all of them are lovely.”
“I like to think so.” Verity gestured to one of the large chairs next to the hearth. “Now sit, Tabby, and tell me what brings you here? You should be home with the family, should you not?”
“Your wine, Mrs Monroe.” Sprocket rolled in with another wineglass, put it on the table next to Tabitha and filled it from the decanter already there.
“Thank you, Sprocket. This is just lovely.” She raised her glass. “To your health, you and Verity. I have no idea what I’d do without you both.”
Verity grinned as Sprocket, unused to compliments, nearly rolled over her tail as she left.
“Right then, Tabby. What’s brought you from your own fireplace to mine?” She settled in her chair and watched her friend’s brows meet in a frown.
“I had a...an issue, Verity.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. At the Arcvale Bank.”
Verity straightened. “Really?” She watched her friend. “What sort of issue? Are you all right?”
“Oh yes, I’m fine. And all the transactions went well. I deposited the donations from a couple of nights ago and wrote up the tally sheet documenting the totals.”
“And that’s your normal process, correct?”
“Absolutely, yes. Good heavens, we’ve had so many events I could probably do it in my sleep.”
“Please don’t,” grinned Verity. “But go on...tell me about tonight...”
“You’ll probably tell me I’m bothering you for nothing, but...” she took a breath, “after the process had completed, something strange happened.”
“What?”
“The acknowledgement receipt I always get when I make these deposits? It has the correct total and says that the funds are accounted for. But the transaction is...pending!”
“Pending? What on earth...”
“I know. It surprised me too. I have the receipt here, so you can look for yourself.”
Verity was out of her chair before Tabby had finished speaking and reading the paper immediately. She bit her lip, frowning over the clearly visible words—words that should never have appeared together.
“You’re right, Tabby. These are the right amounts. I recall them quite clearly. But...this ‘pending’ notification? Very unusual.”
The other woman relaxed and finished her wine. “Thank goodness you agree.”
“I am so glad you brought this straight here, my dear girl. I really appreciate it, because now I can do a quick evaluation of my records and our files, and see if there are any discrepancies or issues.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll leave you to it.” She stood. “Unless you need me to help?”
Verity smiled and hugged her. “No, no. You need to go home, my dear. Relax, enjoy your evening with the family. And don’t worry too much about this. I’m sure it’ll work out very shortly.”
Half an hour later, alone now, with Sprocket busy elsewhere, Verity sat at her desk in her office, a concerned expression on her face. Tabby’s deposits were correct and in the right accounts.
But why were they ‘pending’?
Of course systems act strangely at times. But this was a PBIC system. Lucas’s system. It had never done this before, and Verity wasn’t comfortable with that thought.
Knowing it was too late to do anything about it at that moment, she gathered her papers together and put them all in one large envelope. Tomorrow she’d seek some expert advice.
From Alastair Pembroke.