Chapter Fifteen
After his guests had departed Pembroke Hill, Alastair was left with a number of papers, and a hell of a lot more questions than answers.
The morning’s discussion had certainly borne valuable fruit; they now knew the how of the incidents, which would definitely be helpful as their investigations moved forward.
They did not, however, yet understand the why.
Locating the who, of course, would most likely reveal the why, but any chance of either of those two events happening at the present moment?
A hope so thin it would barely cast a shadow.
He tidied up his table, smiling a little at the delight he’d felt when he’d seen the two Ashcombe brothers together again, and equally pleased to see Verity—a woman he considered to be vastly more intelligent than any other woman he’d ever met—hold her own at his table.
She’d matched idea for idea with the gentlemen quite effortlessly.
He’d not missed the subtle but consistent looks cast at her by Lucas Ashcombe, either.
And while she’d not looked at him as much.
..when she did? There was something in those lovely grey eyes he hadn’t seen before.
As if a smile lurked in their depths. They’d be a good match, and he wished them well, but he’d learned that interfering in such matters most often did no good whatsoever.
So he would let nature take its course and turn his mind back to the problem at hand.
Unbeknownst to the others, Alastair had seen one or two clues.
Mere hints not really formed well enough to be called officially “clues”, and certainly nothing that pointed him to anyone in particular, nor anything he’d felt like discussing at this point.
It would have been lovely, he sighed, if the hint had said something like “You might talk to the retired accountants who live on the Second Level of Arcvale, 1419 Slide Lane. They know things.”
But, being a realist—and also an indefatigable reader of murder mysteries—he knew that seldom was there ever a clue obvious enough to reveal the perpetrators. It would have been too much to hope for, even with all the focussed brain power he’d had around his table this morning.
What really irritated him was the fact that this was the second event. And he’d only realised that as he’d pursued clues to their current situation.
Was there a way to go even deeper into the earlier records? Would any of them be easier to interpret than the ones they were currently working with?
It was, he believed, a valid question, and one he might just look into if he had time.
But since Julian had promised to drop by sometime in the afternoon, he decided that digging around in that area could wait. It had waited, after all, for several generations.
To keep his mind active, he seated himself down at his little antiquated mirror-engine. Yes, it was hopelessly behind the times, but he would have parted with his right foot before putting it out to pasture.
He entered numbers, smiled at the familiar sound of wheels, cogs, and gears smoothly interacting with each other.
A tick-tock-clack-tock that still enchanted him, silly old fool that he was.
The question of how far back to go was a valid one.
Lucas’s PBIC had only been instituted a decade or so ago.
Thus, following that thought, anything he found prior to that time might offer more substantial information.
For the next hour or so he delved into Arcvale’s financial history, hoping that Arcvale never found out. He refused lunch since he really wasn’t hungry, and to stop in the middle of something like this inevitably fractured his concentration. And that was a lesson learned at considerable cost.
Thus when Giles silently opened the door and peered in, Alastair frowned.
“Air Commodore Pembroke is here, sir. Should I show him in?”
“Ah, yes, Giles. Yes indeed.” Alastair relaxed back in his chair. “Just the man I need.”
“If I had a crown for every time a woman said that to me...” His son grinned.
His father laughed and shook his head. “I’m glad to see you, lad. I’ve been looking at numbers for several hours now and my eyes are starting to spin like loose gears.”
Julian pulled out a chair and sat at the table, next to his father. “It’s gone three o’clock...not too early for a glass of wine, is it?”
“You know, that sounds perfect. Giles?”
“Sir?” The door opened instantly, and Giles rumbled in.
“We’ll have that Pinot Noir Lady Fortmason brought me. Two glasses, and you can leave the bottle.”
“Very good, sir.” He rumbled out.
“Lady Fortmason, hmm? Ladies bringing you wine, Papa? Should I be keeping a closer eye on you?”
Alastair sighed. “I’m afraid your lurid imagination is running amok, Julian. She’s got ten years on me, and wears spectacles so thick, I worry they’ll start a fire if the sun shines in the wrong direction.”
Julian burst out laughing. “I can see it now.”
After the wine had arrived, been poured and tasted, and announced to be ideal, Alastair and his son relaxed in their chairs. “So tell me, Papa. What’s going on with all these numbers?”
Alastair took a few moments to think. Everything he and his friends had investigated—it was highly confidential. But then he looked at his son. If he couldn’t trust one of the highest-ranking officers in the Air Brigade, then who could he trust?
So he leaned forward and began the story that had brought him and his friends together.
Julian listened quietly, asking one or two questions, pertinent ones, that reassured his father that the entire matter was becoming clear. At the end of his recitation, Alastair sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Well,” said Julian. “This is quite a mystery indeed.” He pursed his lips in thought. “How far back did you manage to go?”
“About fifty years or so.”
Julian whistled through his teeth. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He paused. “No one can track your investigations, can they?
Alastair raised an eyebrow.
“I had to ask, Papa,” Julian chuckled. Then he, too, leaned back. “You know...this business...there’s something...”
“What?”
He held up a finger, thinking for a minute or two.
“It seems to me that I heard about something not dissimilar. Years ago when I first joined the Air Brigade. Just rumours for the most part, but apparently, a dozen years or so before that, there’d been a bit of a kerfuffle in the Brigade Comptroller’s division.
Something like clerical drift? Or market noise? ”
“Really.” Alastair barely breathed the word.
“Yes. It died down, of course. But I don’t think it was ever fully explained.”
“It was investigated?”
“I’m damn sure of that,” Julian glanced at his father. “This is the Air Brigade, Papa. They have their finances straight down to the last farthing.”
“And no answer was ever found?”
“Not to my knowledge, no. There was a rumour, if I recall correctly...someone said they thought it might be more than one person, since the locations varied. But apparently nothing came of that. And then it stopped, the Comptrollers heaved a sigh of relief, and returned to counting their sovereigns.”
“That is interesting,” murmured Alastair, storing up every word his son had spoken.
“But long past now,” offered Julian. “And far too long ago to be happening again.” He sighed. “Besides, we have a few other things to worry about.”
Alastair blinked. “Is all well, Julian?”
“Of course. Well, maybe. At least I think so.” He reached for his wine and finished the glass. “Damn it, Papa. Something is making the back of my neck itch.”
“Like what?”
“Shifts in readiness drills. Odd silence where there should be conversation. It’s as if everyone’s listening for something, but nobody knows what.”
“Your Brigade has been idle for a while, yes?”
“Yes. And I think you put your finger on it, Papa. It’s probably nothing at all, but these things can feel damned ominous if you stare at them too long.”
Alastair, glancing at the papers he’d been working on all morning, had to agree. Some patterns only revealed themselves when they were already in motion.
*~~*~~*
Verity stood in front of the tall glass in her bedroom, fastening her corset.
“Need any help?”
Lucas’s voice sounded cheerful, and she could hear the laugh beneath as he came up behind her. Which, given that it was Lucas, the prince of pithy and abrupt conversation, was sheer delight.
“No, but thanks anyway. I’ve been doing this myself for so long, I could fasten it in my sleep.”
“Why on earth do you women encase yourselves in those things? Worse than a suit of armour, I’ll wager.”
She turned around as he looped his cravat around his neck.
“Silly question. We wear them for you gentlemen. Here, let me do that...” Reaching up to his neck, she swiftly looped and tucked the silk into an elegant style.
“There. The Afternoon Gentleman, I think? Or maybe the Sunset Fold. I never understood those names.”
“I’ll forgive you the names, if you’ll promise to take that corset off again for me. Soon...”
“Lucas,” Verity sighed. “How do I say this? Don’t think...please don’t think...that I’m one of those women who immediately assume...”
She got no further as he put his finger on her lips to silence her. “Verity. I’m not assuming anything of the sort. I am assuming, however, that this is just the beginning for us.”
She sighed and leaned into him, resting her head for a moment or two just beneath his cravat.
“You can’t know how those words have made me feel.
I’ve been an independent widow for so long, that I got used to being alone.
You’ve changed that, Lucas.” She eased back and met his gaze. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
“You won’t be. Ever.” His arms went around her, pulling her close. “That’s a promise.”. He sealed the vow with a kiss.
For a few moments the only sounds in the room came from the birds outside in Verity’s garden. Then Lucas drew back. “I must go.”
“I know.” Verity nodded. “Lucas,” she began. “I feel we should probably try and keep all this to ourselves for a while? At least until you’ve discovered what’s going on...”
“Until we’ve discovered, Verity. You are as much a part of this as anyone.”
She gulped down the lump in her throat, at a loss for words. He was saying something she’d never imagined she’d ever hear. “Thank you,” she managed.
“Besides,” he continued. “We’re going to have to look at all the possibilities, and we know one of your charities is involved. Your knowledge of everyone who has...”
“Lucas!” She pulled away, outrage creeping up from her toes. “If you’re thinking that anyone within my little circle of friends and co-workers could possibly be involved in this sort of bank fraud, in any way, then allow me to correct you.”
“I...”
“Mrs Tabitha Monroe has been by my side for several years now. She has two children and lost her husband when they were still toddlers. I needed help at that time. I knew what I wanted to do, and pretty much how to do it, but I simply couldn’t manage alone.
I met Tabby at one charity meeting, and instantly we knew we were thinking along the same lines.
She is invaluable, her children are now in school and doing well, and they live in one of the apartments we refurbished early on.
She’s as trustworthy as they come, would never think of filtering off money for herself, and above all. ..she’s my friend.”
“I...”
Astounded to find that her hands were gripping Lucas’s lapels, she released him.
“Then there’s Lady Beatrice. We met last year, and she and her husband have been extremely helpful at just about every event I’ve held since.
They ask for no financial remuneration, in fact they usually provide all the flowers gratis.
I value their contributions enormously.”
“Verity.” He finally managed to get a word in edgewise. “I was not accusing anyone. If you’d let me finish, I would have added that the first place we would look at is your charity accounts, and who at the bank might be managing them.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Um...”
He shook his head, grinned, and kissed her. Hard. “I must go. But I will, most probably, see you later.”
Shivering from that kiss, and with her heart beating a little too fast, all she could do was nod.
Five minutes after he left, there was a knock at her door.
“My Lady, you have guests. Mrs Monroe and Lady Beatrice Lockwood are inquiring whether you have a moment? I believe the subject of Mr de Montclair’s art exhibition will be the topic of their conversation.” Her tickerkin stood quietly by the door.
Verity took a deep breath, adjusted her corset, and nodded. “Show them in, Sprocket. Wait...” She glanced in the mirror. “Do I look all right? Normal? I mean...”
Sprocket’s eyes twinkled. “You are, if I may be allowed to say so, glowing, my Lady.”
“Oh dear.” Verity closed her eyes for a moment and gave her body strict instructions to stop glowing.