Chapter Twenty-One
Reuben read through the express that he had just received from the agent whom he had sent to Liverpool to find out more above the evasive Mrs Armstrong. He frowned as he absorbed its contents.
‘That bad?’ Ezra asked, sitting across from Reuben and yawning expansively behind his hand.
‘See for yourself.’ He tossed the report at Ezra. ‘Seems we are in the right of it. The Armstrong name is known and feared across Liverpool and beyond. Outstanding loans are aggressively chased, with no excuses tolerated.’
‘As attested by one debtor who had his arm broken.’ Ezra tutted. ‘Nice people we’re dealing with – except that Armstrong’s dead, so …’
‘He’s been dead for two years, and his widow has stepped into his shoes – always assuming she wasn’t running their empire from behind the scenes in the first place.’
Ezra raised a brow. ‘Is that actually possible?’
‘She’s a member of the weaker sex, at least physically, but never underestimate the power of the feminine mind. The female of the species can definitely be more conniving.’
‘Duly noted.’
‘And it seems that Mrs Armstrong employs even more ruthless collection methods than her late and probably unlamented husband.’
‘Why is she here in Hampshire then, if she has a business to oversee in Liverpool?’
‘A very good question,’ Reuben replied, frowning. ‘And I’d wager my fortune that it has to do with Dalton. She implied to Farrah yesterday that she knows where he is, so she obviously has some sort of connection to him.’
‘Good heavens! Is she laying a claim to the handsome dog? A married handsome dog, I might add. I thought you said she was intelligent.’
‘Perhaps she hankers after a titled lover. Who knows?’ Reuben shrugged. ‘When it comes to affairs of the heart all bets are off.’
‘Word in the Black Sheep is that the lady has taken a lease on the Houghton place,’ Ezra remarked. ‘Sounds like she intends to settle here – at least for now – instead of keeping a watchful eye over her empire.’
‘I doubt if she goes around coshing debtors over the head herself.’
‘Even so.’ Ezra jerked upright. ‘Perhaps Dalton sees to that side of things on her behalf.’
‘I doubt it. Why would he?’
Ezra rubbed the tips of his forefinger and thumb together. ‘Those with pockets to let can’t afford to be choosy,’ he pointed out.
‘True.’ Reuben took the report back from his brother and threw it into a drawer. ‘I have to go out,’ he said, whistling to Percival.
‘Right-ho.’ Ezra yawned again, closed his eyes and was half asleep by the time Reuben left his library.
Reuben waited for Brandon to be saddled and then rode swiftly to the cottage where he had agreed to meet with Farrah, worried that he might have kept her waiting.
She was not there when he arrived, though.
Had she given up on him and left? He extracted his half-hunter from his waistcoat pocket and discovered that he was only a few minutes late.
There was no indication that she had arrived before him.
Absolutely nothing had been disturbed and the door to the cottage remained firmly closed.
It was heavy and inclined to stick, and she could not have opened it alone.
There were no fresh footprints in the boarded veranda either, and an air of stillness pervaded the entire place.
Besides, if she had left then he would have encountered her on the one path leading to the cottage.
Percival ran around in circles, alternately chasing his tail and then dashing off in pursuit of only he knew what, returning with his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth and his tail wagging.
‘Where is she, boy?’
Reuben stood outside the cottage, tapping his foot impatiently. He was unaccustomed to being kept waiting but accepted that Farrah might have had difficulty escaping her familial responsibilities.
Half an hour elapsed, after which he was obliged to accept that she was not going to keep their engagement.
He knew how important it was to her to agree strategy and doubted that anything her mother had said would have kept her away for this long.
He could not call at Dalton House and ask for her; that was out of the question.
Nor could he visit the stables and ask if she had gone out somewhere and perhaps lost track of time.
The Dalton coachman could not be trusted.
Besides, a duke simply did not enquire after an unmarried lady and would definitely not pose such questions to a groom.
Such an enquiry would not remain confidential for long, and would create speculation and no end of problems for them both.
‘Lady Bartholomew!’ he said aloud, snapping his fingers, causing Percival to cock his head to one side. ‘I’ll wager that is where she has gone.’
Reuben leapt onto Brandon’s back and rode home at breakneck speed.
Upon arrival he ordered up his travelling chaise since it was his fastest means of transport.
Brandon was a sprinter who was not built for longer journeys, and the travelling chaise was sleek and swift.
He tapped his foot as he waited impatiently for his team to be harnessed.
He arrived at Lady Bartholomew’s estate within the hour with Percival sitting regally beside him on the box seat. As expected, he found the gates closed and draped with a black wreath. The porter emerged from his lodge to explain that Lady Bartholomew was not receiving.
‘Has a young woman called to see her this morning?’ Reuben asked in an authoritative tone.
‘Aye, she has that, your grace. Her niece, Lady Farrah Dalton. Her ladyship gave instructions that she was to be admitted if she called, but I’m afraid, begging your pardon, your grace, that I can’t let no one else in at this time. I’m sure you understand.’
‘Indeed I do.’ Reuben reached into his coat and produced his card, which the porter accepted. ‘Please send my condolences to your mistress.’
‘That I will, your grace.’
‘When did Lady Farrah leave?’ Reuben crossed his gloved fingers, hoping to be told that she was still with her aunt.
‘A half hour or more ago. She were driving that rattletrap of a gig of hers, pulled by an old cob. Lady Bartholomew offered her the use of a carriage for the return drive, being worried about her travelling alone in that old thing, but the young lady insisted.’
‘I have no doubt,’ Reuben replied with a grimace.
He turned his conveyance and headed away, aware that Farrah had not taken the direct route home. He would have passed her on the road if that had been the case, so he was easily able to deduce where she must have gone instead.
‘Of all the reckless, headstrong, infuriating females,’ he muttered, turning his conveyance in the direction of the Houghton residence.
Freeman tutted when a report reached him that the duke had been seen lurking around the cottage on the deserted part of the estate.
He had set a lad to watch it and report any activity back to him.
He hadn’t expected either the duke or the interfering Lady Farrah to frequent the area again, but better safe than sorry.
Presumably the duke had been waiting for Lady Farrah to join him but had been disappointed.
Freeman knew for a fact that she had gone off in the gig at an early hour and had not yet returned.
‘What can it mean?’ John Coachman asked when Freeman relayed the news.
‘God alone knows, but we can be fairly sure that they will not return to the area today, which is something. We are free to continue with our plans.’
John scratched his head. ‘I ain’t so sure about that. There ain’t supposed to be any risk in this business for us.’
‘There’s a risk involved in crossing the road.
Don’t lose your courage now, man. You’re in this just as deep as I am and we are both enjoying the rewards.
Besides, the business is settled for tonight.
You might be willing to let our paymasters down and face the consequences, but I have a much stronger sense of survival. ’
John grunted. ‘That’s all well and good but I like my freedom too much.’
‘You probably like breathing an’ all but that situation won’t last for long if we let these people down. You know that.’
‘Wish I’d never got involved. Working for the Daltons ain’t so bad. It’s an easy ticket, in fact.’
‘Except they keep forgetting to pay you. Me an’ all. Which is why we had to take matters into our own hands, or have you forgotten that just because things have got a bit tricky?’
John grunted. ‘What do I need to do?’ he asked.
Farrah drove the cob onto the Houghton property, a moderately sized manor house with neatly maintained flower borders flanking the gravel drive.
She was already having second thoughts about the wisdom of her visit.
What could she hope to achieve from it? Was she playing directly into the hands of a manipulative woman who wanted something from her?
Despite her nervous reservations, instinct and determination made it impossible for her to turn back.
She was not afraid of Mrs Armstrong. She had to find out where her father had gone to and why, and suspected that the woman would be able to enlighten her if she felt so inclined.
Whether or not she would, Farrah was about to find out.
Mrs Armstrong wanted to see her alone, Farrah guessed, or she would not have dropped so many tantalising hints, personal things about her family that only her father could have told her, the previous day.
No groom came running to take the gig, so Farrah alighted and left the cob standing on the gravelled driveway. He ambled across to a patch of lawn and started munching, but he was a docile creature, and she knew he would not wander much further.
Straightening her attire and her shoulders simultaneously, Farrah walked the short distance to the front door and wielded the knocker. Her summons was answered by a uniformed maid, who abruptly asked her to state her business.