Chapter Seventeen
Verity was unaware that her fragrance was haunting a gentleman, although she’d probably have indulged in a private chuckle at the thought.
Heaven knew it was difficult to focus on anything when almost every time she closed her eyes, she could see him, almost feel his warmth, so she certainly couldn’t throw stones if he was suffering the same way.
He was, she admitted to herself, the most unusual man she’d ever met. The combination of intellect, personality and looks had pretty much knocked her from her pedestal. The one she didn’t realise she’d been on—until she fell off it.
Heated thoughts chased her into sleep, invaded her dreams, and sometimes left her heavy-eyed in the morning, wishing she had another hour to languish in bed.
But she could not put her life on hold for such personal things; too many others were depending on her.
There were several trips that had to be made; she’d set aside a couple of hours each week for them, and if her schedule slipped too much, there might well be comments and questions.
The less people knew about Lucas Ashcombe, the happier she’d be.
And so would he, come to think of it, since he was about the most private person she’d ever met.
And to think she’d worried about being reclusive. Hah.
“Which gown today, m’Lady?” Sprocket stood at the ready, armed with pins, ribbons, a hat or two set aside, and a small glass perfume bottle carefully held in one claw.
Distracted by the perfume, Verity paused for a moment...her focus drifting back...
“Lady Verity...”
“Oh, yes of course. My mind was elsewhere. Sorry Sprocket.”
“Not at all, my Lady. I was wondering if you’d prefer the grey or the blue gown today?”
“Refresh my mind. What’s my schedule?”
“First thing this morning you’re to visit the Yardley House to see how the renovations are going. I believe Mr Tippick, your choice for the roofing repairs, will be there. You’ll be wanting to talk to him, of course.”
“Definitely.” Verity thoughtfully ran a brush through her hair. “I need to see what he thinks about skylights.”
“Ah.” Sprocket blinked. “After Yardley House, you’re to meet Mrs Monroe at the Hotpot Coffee house. She has estimated that will be around eleven o’clock. At that time, the two of you will discuss charity matters, and possibly decide to visit one or two of them for a spot check.”
Verity sighed. “A busy morning indeed.”
“And one you usually look forward to, with a great deal of enthusiasm, m’Lady. If you’ll forgive me for saying so.”
“I know. I’m just a little off my pace this morning, Sprocket.”
“Goodness.” The tickerkin opened her eyes wide. “I wonder what could be causing that? It couldn’t possibly be anything as simple as one certain gentleman, could it?”
Verity’s took a breath, ready to scold the cheeky thing. But then she blew it out in a gust from between pursed lips.
“I don’t know, dammit. I honestly don’t know.”
“He’s different, isn’t he? Nothing like any of the other gentlemen who have expressed an interest in you, my Lady.”
“You’re right there,” chuckled Verity. “He’s unique.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then maybe he’s worthy of you.”
“Why, Sprocket...” Verity stared at her, stunned. “That is the nicest compliment I think I’ve ever received.”
“Glad to hear it. Now could we please get back to getting you dressed for the day?”
“Of course.”
“About time,” muttered Sprocket.
After some discussion and collaboration, Verity decided on a pale grey gown trimmed with crimson ribbons.
It wasn’t the height of fashion, nor was it striking enough to attract attention in a crowd.
But it was the one ensemble that bestowed upon her a certain amount of self-confidence.
And she liked the way the colour emphasized her eyes.
With that decision made, and a light breakfast consumed, it was time for her to gather her papers and prepare for the business end of the day’s schedule.
At her desk, with a cup of tea to one side, Verity pulled papers from the drawers, the ones she would need for her scheduled visits.
The Yardley House roof had a solid budget now, so she was in a good position to negotiate a fair price with her roofer, a man who had worked on buildings for her before. He’d do good work and not overcharge her.
Tabby would bring some of her own paperwork, and they’d share a pot of coffee and some intense conversation and possibly dunk a ringcake or two. Not the healthiest of lunches, but always a treat.
Thinking of Tabby brought finances to Verity’s mind, and she once again looked at the figures they’d discussed previously. The ones that didn’t sound right.
“Sprocket, I think I’m going to visit our bank on the way to Yardley House. I need to make sure all the funds have cleared and that our balance is what it’s supposed to be.”
Sprocket looked at her. “You’re worried, my Lady. Is something wrong with the accounts?”
“You’re astute, Sprocket.”
“I’ve known you since before you were in petticoats, my Lady,” she said with all the familiarity allowed to a tickerkin who had indeed been part of Verity’s life almost since birth.
“Yes, you have,” she sighed. “And yes, I am a bit concerned about the accounts, but I’m sure it’s something as simple as a misplaced deposit.” She rose. “Anyway, when I stop by the bank, I’ll make sure all is as it should be.”
“Very good, m’Lady.” Sprocket cleared the last of the breakfast things from Verity’s desk. “If you should happen to run into Sir Lucas, do give him my regards.”
Verity rolled her eyes, gathered her belongings and departed.
Cheeky tickerkin.
Her first stop was the bank, and her request for balance information was readily completed.
“There you are, Lady Yardley.”
“Thank you,” she smiled. “I’m seeing a roofer today. Had to be sure I could pay him when he’s done.”
The teller chuckled. “I doubt you need concern yourself with that, my Lady. Healthy as a grown Milling Tree, your account.”
Since a Milling Tree provided the hardest wood in Arcvale, that statement brought a sigh of relief. “Lovely. Thank you for your help.”
“No problem, my Lady. I hope your day goes well.”
With a brief smile, Verity walked calmly away from the bank, and down the street, toward the Hotpot Coffee house.
Arriving early, she nodded at the girls working there and went to her usual table.
There were a few customers already there and since Tabby was almost always on time, she only had about ten minutes to wait.
Settling herself, she put her paperwork beside her and idly thumbed through the first few sheets. They included the statement from the bank.
“Coggleblast,” she swore silently, checking the numbers again.
There was no mistake. This wasn’t a case of timing, or a delay in crediting the account. This was clearly wrong.
*~~*~~*
Lucas’s morning thus far had been uneventful, for which he was inordinately grateful. He needed to collect his thoughts and do what he did best—compartmentalise.
Of course that was a total failure, since certain thoughts crept into compartments where they did not belong. To add insult to injury, when they got there, they curled up comfortably and took a nap.
He sighed and elected to spend some time on his mirror engine. That, at least, might bring him some clarity.
The massive machine awaited him, still hidden behind the panel. But now the faintest hum might be detected, to those who were looking for it.
He had some papers on his desk, and an itch to get a few more. This problem they were discovering had no solid pattern that he could discern, although Alastair had more skill in that area. He was, at heart, a numbers man, and there he was at home.
So once again he pulled up a report that would be almost identical to the one he’d used at Alastair’s, with the addition of probably a few more deposits, and a few withdrawals.
As the engine worked, he spared a few minutes to give thanks for the information he already had.
And the assessment of it that Silas, Alastair, and Verity had given.
Lucas sat, knowing it would be a little while before the numbers started emerging, and staring at the control panel wouldn’t make it work any faster.
He closed his eyes and leaned back, wondering if he could get a better picture of the situation.
Alastair’s assumptions had been excellent.
He agreed there could be no other way for these strange errors to occur.
But there were so many unanswered questions, major amongst which was the “who” of it all.
If the kind of money Alastair had spoken of was truly involved, then he, or they, would be sitting on a massive fortune. And who, in their right mind, wouldn’t want to spend some of it?
He let his mind run over the prominent houses, the Arcvale upper crust.
Was it possible that a family like...well, like the Renslows, for example, had been feathering their nest with solid gold quills?
Thea probably wouldn’t have noticed, and he doubted that Silas had even asked to see the books.
There was no reason on earth for him to do that, and Thea had lived her whole life ignoring the fortune and pining for machines.
Which, thought Lucas, she now had in abundance, along with his brother, who managed an entire Forge full of the damn things.
So for the time being, he relegated the most notable Arcvale families to the bottom of the list.
And the more he thought about it...the culprit would not flash his ill-gotten gains around very much.
Although if this had been going on for some time, there must be an account somewhere that was filling, not so quickly as to attract notice, but steadily enough to account for the enormous sums that had been skimmed over the years.
Then again, nobody said it had to be only one account...
That thought was less than comforting. If these skimming episodes—which was the only way he could describe them—were spread over several accounts, their chance of rooting out the people who were doing it? Well, pretty damn low.
But then again, he’d often heard the saying “Two people can hold a secret, but only if one of them is dead.”
Lucas mulled over that for a bit, then heard the slow whine that told him the mirror engine was about ready to spit out information.
He stood, stretched a little, and walked over, watching as various information appeared, transferred itself to paper, and delicately slid over shiny brass rollers into a chute that could be opened via a key and an engraved brass knob.
He loved this machine. It was—to him—one of the times when form and function had gotten married and produced a true work of art. That also delivered when asked.
The hum quietened, the chute opened, and Lucas removed the papers, still a little warm from their encounter with mechanical magic.
Taking them to his desk, he spread them out in front of him to finish cooling and began to evaluate what the numbers would tell him.
Would they simply smile at him, wave, and settle back into their usual pattern?
If so, that would be a huge relief. It wouldn’t solve the problem, of course, but it also wouldn’t make it any worse.
There was always the chance that he’d see another “phantom” activity. That would be less pleasant, since it would mean that whoever was doing this, was still doing it.
A thought crossed his mind. If they were still doing it, then in all likelihood they did not know that they’d been discovered.
And that might give him—and his partners in this almost-unreal operation—a little more time to continue their investigations.
Would that matter significantly? He had no idea, since it might well have gone on over generations.
He frowned at that thought. It couldn’t have gone on that long.
Someone would have noticed the game, or the numbers, or the discrepancies.
Lucas wasn’t self-centred enough to assume his was the only intelligent mind to stumble over the issue.
Yes, he had his fair share of financial abilities, and yes, they were probably more than most. But still. ..
People like Alastair were few and far between, but there had to have been some.
Verity—a brilliant mind, capable of wandering through the financial forest, whistling and picking flowers here and there.
Unique to this time, as far as he knew. But that didn’t mean there hadn’t been other, earlier versions of someone with her gifts.
Pushing these reflections aside, he took a breath and turned to the papers. Less than an hour later, he had his answer.
And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.