Chapter Twenty-Six
AS CLARK PRODUCED a set of cuffs from the depths of his coat, Lando looked away, shielding himself from his lover’s wounded gaze and horrified disbelief. A coward’s response, and he hated himself for it, hated himself for deceiving Kit so publicly, so humiliatingly. Sick to his stomach, every fibre of his being screamed at him to run to his mate. But he couldn’t; they’d come too far to ruin it now. Gartside’s disgrace was within their grasp. If Lando lost himself for only a second in the dark pools of those hurting hazel eyes, he feared he’d blurt the truth.
“I’ll be damned,” swore Tommy from his front row seat.
“What the devil?” Gartside blustered. “Who…what…”
“W-w-what is this n-nonsense? Rossingley?” For once, Sir Richard and Gartside were in accord, both speechless.
Only his lover’s voice failed to break the stunned silence. Framed against the late autumn sky, docile as a lamb, Kit held out his wrists. His penetrating gaze never wavered; Lando’s skin prickled with the heat of it. Sucking in a shaky breath, he steeled himself to play his part as well as Tommy was playing his. Kit, too, if only he knew it. With a thumping heart, Lando dragged his regard back to where Kit stood, as lifeless as a statue, and affected a mask of noble distaste.
“I am at a loss to explain,” he declared.
A metallic snap sliced through the air, signifying the cold, unyielding embrace of iron meeting flesh as the handcuffs snugly encircled Kit’s wrists. After a mechanical click, Clark pocketed the keys. The room seemed to hold its breath.
“Right, sir ,” he pronounced, wrapping his meaty fist around Kit’s arm. “You’re coming with me. And don’t try any funny stuff unless you want me knuckles in yer face.”
Surprisingly, Sir Richard was the first to find his voice. “S-S-stop a moment.” He held up his hand. “Of S-S-Sindell Street? Here in L-London? I unders-s-stood Mr Angel to h-hail from M-M-Manchester.”
“On the corner of Canon Row and Sindell, to be precise, my lord,” confirmed Clark. “Though I don’t expect you ’ave much cause to travel that way. Big boarding house. Can’t miss it. Took me a while to track ’im there, mind.” He gave Kit’s arm an unnecessary tug, and Lando’s bile rose.
“S-s-so…” Sir Richard’s clever mind flew ahead of his mouth, his brow wrinkling in puzzlement. “So h-he’s n-not…”
“Goodness, are you quite all right, Gartside?” Lando interrupted. If Sir Richard gleaned much more information from Clark, it might ruin everything. “You look quite green, as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
All eyes turned to where Gartside had staggered to the fireplace, gripping the marble mantel as if his life depended on it. His usually ruddy features had taken on a corpselike hue. Even his lips were barely there as if all the blood in his head had sunk to his boots.
“This man…” Weakly, he pointed at Kit. “He’s…he’s…”
“’E’s a common thief, my lord, that’s what ’e is.” Clark’s strong fingers twisted into Kit’s arm. “Pinched your pocket well and good, ain’t he?” With a curt nod, the runner addressed Lando. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I’ll be on my way. There’s a pretty reception awaiting this one.”
With a click of his heels and a vague, mocking bow in Lando’s direction, Clark was gone, dragging Kit with him. The four men left behind stared at one another in bewilderment. Well, two of them, anyhow; the other two deliberately avoided each other’s eye.
“I-I-I don’t…I’m d-damned confused,” admitted Sir Richard, sinking back in his chair.
“I’m afraid that makes two of us,” said Lando. “I’m…at a loss to explain what on earth is happening. Mr Angel is…”
“What else is in that note?” interjected Tommy. “The note the runner handed you. It must have more on it than the magistrate’s stamp. More details, surely. Read it out.”
“I…I…yes. Certainly.” Lando looked down at the now crumpled paper. Tommy had hit his cue perfectly. “I…gosh, this is all dreadfully absurd.”
With the eyes of the others on him, Lando unfolded the sheet once more, his trembling hands nothing to do with his acting skills. On a deep inhale, he pretended to read it again, then clapped a hand across his mouth.
“Oh my.”
“What?” Gartside, sweating profusely, wiped an arm across his sodden brow. “What is it, Rossingley. Dammit, man!”
“It’s…” He dropped the letter face down in his lap then picked it up again. Really, Pritchard would have been most proud of him; they’d practised this dramatic gesture several times. “It says that an arrest warrant has been issued for a Mr Christopher Angel of Sindell Street, London.” At this, he glanced at Sir Richard. “For gross larceny and for—” He swallowed and blew out a breath. “—for masquerading as a senior member of His Majesty’s Customs and using this exalted position to extort and bribe moneys from unsuspecting gentlemen by means of promising them…by promising them favourable business deals.”
He flopped back in his chair, laying a palm across his forehead. “Bribes? Extortion? Gentlemen, I do believe we have…I do believe we have been taken in by a scoundrel.”
“Good lord,” exclaimed Sir Richard. “Good l-l-lord. The man’s an imp-p-oster!”
“Well, knock me down with a feather.” Tommy slapped his thigh. “Masquerading as a government official? I’ll be damned.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Lando peeked across at Gartside, instantly regretting that Kit wasn’t alongside him to bear witness. The man was a picture of anguish. Distraught, he stared into the fire, seeing nothing except perhaps his own crumbling future. Sweat poured from him. Unashamedly he wrenched apart the knot of his cravat.
“I…I’m at a loss for words,” said Lando. A blatant lie; he knew exactly what he would say next. He and Tommy had the script memorised to perfection. “Why, I was actually growing fond of the fellow! And to think this imposter has been living as an esteemed guest under my roof.”
“D-d-done a lot of p-p-preparation too.” Sir Richard sounded almost impressed. “He kn-knew his s-s-stuff. Man’s w-w-wasted as a c-c-con man.”
“As far as I see it, we’ve all had a damned lucky escape,” agreed Lando. “Gosh. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“If the bloodhounds of the law hadn’t been on his tracks,” pointed out Tommy, “the devil might have scarpered with a king’s fortune! Who knows? You might have handed hundreds, nay, thousands over. Maybe some fellows already have.” He raised an eyebrow in the direction of Gartside, who appeared on the brink of casting up his accounts.
“Absolutely.” Lando wrung his hands together. “Not to mention the dreadful shame of it.” His wretched anxiety for poor Kit aside, he was quite enjoying himself. “If Angel had succeeded in his dastardly plan, one would never be brave enough to show one’s face in society again for fear of being made a laughingstock. One’s reputation as a man of intellectual soundness would be ruined.”
A pained whimper interrupted his flow.
“Are you sure you’re quite all right, Gartside?” he queried. “You’re still dreadfully pale. Is it something I said?”
“I…” Gartside shook his head. “The…”
Sir Richard’s brow pinched, his mind clearly whirring. Lando couldn’t have chosen a better unwitting accomplice. “W-why d-d-does the arrest m-m-mention you?” His lips thinned. “Sp-sp-specifically. The runner s-singled you out. Y-you…”
Breaking off, his cousin pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb as if trying to drag the information from inside his skull. The man was so close, practically doing Lando’s delicate task for him. He held his breath.
“May I offer up a suggestion, my lord?” A glint of mischief danced in Tommy’s eyes. “I’m but a simple gentleman from across the pond, so I don’t have much care for the rules of your damned society. But it looks to me, and correct me if I’m wrong, but Sir Ambrose is doing a damned fine impression of a man with something to hide.”
“Goodness, Mr Hamilton,” began Lando in mock outrage. “Whether you are familiar with society or not, that is an awfully bold accusation. As my privileged guest here at White’s, I must warn you that gentlemen of the ton don’t take lightly to—”
“You…you’ve already g-g-given him some money, haven’t you?” cried Sir Richard. “You…you b-bribed him, didn’t you? To s-s-secure the deal.” He laughed, scarcely believing what he’d just dared say, but knowing it to be true. “You…you swine!”
Even if Lando and Tommy hadn’t been abreast of the truth, there would have been no escaping it, writ large across Gartside’s waxy face. On the cusp of finishing his accusation, Tommy clamped his mouth shut. Clever Sir Richard had done it for him.
“Good heavens, no.” Lando endeavoured to appear aghast. He turned to his cousin. “That is an…no, Sir Richard. I beg you to retract. That is simply…well, it’s—”
“It’s the truth. Isn’t it, Gartside? As t-t-true as I-I’m sitting here!”
Gartside’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes. I gave the swine two hundred pounds.”
A dense hush followed as the enormity of what he’d done sank a little deeper. Lando counted a minute under his breath, and then another, trying to prevent a faint smile touching the corners of his lips. After a suitable interval, he sat up a little straighter, patiently waiting for all eyes once again to return to him. As he once again took command of the room, a frosty hauteur swept across his still features. It never hurt to remind everyone of his senior rank as the eleventh Earl of Rossingley. When his silvery gaze pierced Gartside, even Sir Richard seemed cowed.
“How jolly…unsporting of you.” Like icicles, his words crystallised in the air, each one clear and precise. “How…ungentlemanly. Your dear father, rest his soul, would be appalled.”
Tilting his head to one side, Lando studied the stunned, broken creature in front of him. Waiting for him to respond, he counted to ten once more. Would he sob like a baby or lash out like a cornered animal? Under Lando’s instruction, there were footmen positioned outside the door.
Eagerly, Tommy leaned forward in his seat. “Hey, do you fellas still duel?”
Lando’s gaze never left Gartside’s. “No longer to the death. More’s the pity.”
Reeling wildly, Gartside took in all three seated men. “Angel’s made fools of you too.” Spittle flew from his lips as his arms flailed. “Have you thought of that? We’ll all of us be destroyed if word of this gets out.”
Tommy laughed. “Not me.” He rubbed his hands in glee. “All I’ve got is a fine old tale to tell back home, even if I can’t add a duel to it.”
“N-n-not me either. I d-d-didn’t give the m-m-man money, d-did I?”
“And nor did I,” added Lando, twisting the knife. “Therefore, just one of us will be ruined, it seems. I believe Lady Butterworth is hosting the first ball of the season tomorrow evening. Were you hoping to attend, Gartside?”
“I…yes, damn you!” Gartside clutched at his hair. “All this is your fault, Rossingley! You and your blasted mills. Should never have listened to you. Any of you.”
“Or you could have simply bid for the venture in the conventional way,” suggested Lando. “Like a gentleman. And then, imposter or not, all of us would have walked away with our finances and our honour intact.”
As pleasant as observing Gartside’s world crashing around his ears was, Lando was very keen to move things along. Somewhere out there, his poor Kit must be at his wits’ end. And more than anything, if he could help it, Lando didn’t want to spend another hour apart from him.
“I suggest you avoid Lady Butterworth’s.” He flicked his eyes up to Sir Richard, struggling to hide his glee. “In fact, I suggest you avoid the ton altogether for the time being. Your continued presence will…well, it will not end happily for you.”
“Are you threatening me?” Gartside’s eyes had a menacing unruliness to them.
“No. I’m merely pointing out the truth. In a word, your character is besmirched. Beyond repair. And that’s before Cobham discovers tonight’s goings on. You know how he likes to tattle. And he’s not terribly fond of you to begin with, is he?” Lando straightened his cuffs and stood. “I think it’s time I rang for a footman to show you out, don’t you?”
Lando’s hand hovered over the bell. Gartside shook his head, knowing he was beaten. “I will see myself out. Good day.”
Everyone watched him walk to the door with much less alacrity than he’d entered. Lando almost felt sorry for the man until he remembered Kit’s poor sister and the tales of his hungry by-blows sleeping in draughty barns.
“One s-s-second.” Sir Richard leaped from his chair, halting Gartside in his tracks. “You forgot something, Ambrose.” He marched up to where Gartside stood, eyeing him coldly.
“Did I? What?”
“This.”
Before Gartside saw it coming or had time to duck, Sir Richard swung his arm back, clenched his fist, and socked him on the jaw. It was a blow so masterful they could probably feel its aftereffects all the way to Piccadilly. Looking for all the world as though he might do it again, Sir Richard rubbed his knuckles with satisfaction.
“That’s f-f-for Eton. You bastard.”
Not much shocked Tommy Squire. Sir Richard, however, had succeeded, Lando observed. As Gartside staggered from the room, Tommy rose to his feet.
“I do believe I’ve had enough excitement for one evening, gentlemen. It’s been…well…” He extended a bracing handshake to Sir Richard. “Here’s to hoping I never find myself on your bad side, my good sir.”
Turning to Lando, Tommy threw him a private wink, then swept a low bow. “I’m heading back across the pond first thing in the morning. So, I’ll wish you both a very good evening, gentlemen. Lord Rossingley? It will be a pleasure to continue doing business with you.”
After he’d gone, Lando poured himself and Sir Richard a thimble of port, then collapsed back in his chair, no longer trusting his legs. “All those afternoons at Jackson’s have paid off, Richard.” With a quick grin, he downed his drink in one gulp then blew out a sigh of relief. “My, oh, my. It’s been quite the afternoon.”
“Y-y-you’re up t-t-to something, aren’t y-you?” Sir Richard said.
Cocking his head, Lando regarded him, abstractedly running a finger around the rim of his glass. “How terribly perceptive of you.” He’d leave, too, in a moment, once his legs stopped shaking. “And quite correct. I apologise for embroiling you in the whole affair, but I needed another potential business partner, one I could safely spill the beans to if things became desperate.”
“A-and d-did they? Become d-d-desperate?”
Lando made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Strangely, he felt rather choked. “Yes, they did, as a matter of fact. But not now. Now, I hope things will turn out rather wonderfully.”
“G-G-Gartside is r-r-ruined.” Sir Richard held out his glass for a victorious clink against Lando’s. “That’s w-w-wonderful enough for me. So whatever else y-y-you are up to, I d-d-don’t care. But I’m s-s-sorry about M-Mr Angel. I l-l-liked him and d-didn’t s-s-suspect a thing.”
A warm feeling settled in Lando’s chest. He scrunched up the note, still in his lap, and tossed it onto the fire. “I liked him too. Very much.”
As the strong liquor permeated his veins, Lando finally loosened his own cravat. A wave of weariness swept through him and a desire to crawl into his bed and sleep for days. And he would, as soon as he was able. God willing, he wouldn’t be alone.
“My dear fellow,” Lando said, examining his cousin fondly. “We really should see more of each other. The fault is all mine. I have been rather a glum hermit of late.”
“I d-d-don’t get out m-much either.”
“I’d like to invite you to Rossingley very soon,” Lando pressed on. “And once there, I will regale you with this whole tale from start to finish. I am confident it will be to your liking. And then, when we are suitably reacquainted, I propose you go on to pay a visit to my sister at Horton. She has a young governess staying with her at present. A scholarly, quiet young lady—the niece of my very good friend Captain Charles Prosser. Do you remember him? Excellent fellow. I think you and she will find each other’s company most satisfactory.”
*
IN THE GLOOM of an overcast evening, Sir Ambrose Gartside’s Belgravia residence stood dismal and unlit, evidence suggesting the master was not home. Lando, however, knew differently. Pritchard had (with poor grace, naturally) shadowed the baronet there after his rapid departure from White’s. Now, the valet was seated alongside Lando in the phaeton, eyeing the building with distaste.
“I suspect it may be many years before this property opens its doors again to the ton ,” Pritchard commented as Lando alighted. He followed this pronouncement with an exaggerated shiver. “If you are too long inside, I’ll be frigid as an icicle on your return.”
Lando shot him a long-suffering look. “Darling, it’s the middle of a mild October. And this shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
“My lord, will you—at risk of sounding as if I truly cared—will you be quite all right in there?” Pritchard jerked his chin in the direction of the house. “He’ll be as cross as two sticks and desperate to pin the blame on someone. And you are not a large man.”
Lando gave his valet’s arm an affectionate pat. Gartside lacked intelligence, to be sure, but he wasn’t an utter fool. “Whilst I applaud your cheap attempt to invite yourself into the warmth, I’ll be fine. Ambrose Gartside is an odious bully, nothing more, nothing less.” He smiled thinly. “And I am no victim. It is my experience that if you grip a bully by his cravat, you will invariably find it comes off in your hand.”
He peered up at the forbidding grey stone house. “I’m not convinced there’s much warmth inside, anyhow.”
*
GARTSIDE’S BUTLER LED Lando into a dim parlour with the air of a man counting down the hours until he secured a position elsewhere. Slumped in front of a parsimonious fire, his employer made no effort to rise and greet his guest.
“You’re an odd fish, Rossingley.” Gartside threw him an ugly look, not aided by the purple bruise blossoming on the left side of his jaw. “And you have some gall showing your face here. Your blasted mills are the reason I’m in this hellish mess.”
“In addition to your own underhand behaviour,” Lando felt obliged to point out.
“That damned weaselly bastard made a fool of me.”
“He made fools of us all, Gartside.”
“And you seem uncommonly cheerful about it.”
“Do I?” Lando smiled amiably. “Perhaps that’s what comes of a clear conscience.”
He gazed around the room. It had been a few years since he’d visited—a raucous card evening if he remembered, many years ago, ending with him much richer and Gartside and his cronies poorer. And, goodness knew, Lando was no card player; he’d simply been able to resist the lure of showing off. More paintings had hung from the walls then. He recalled a small Canaletto catching his eye. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, a very fine inlaid Hepplewhite table had sat near the mantel. “So, you’ve taken my suggestion not to stay in town?”
Gartside harrumphed. “What do you think? I don’t have a lot of choice, do I? Sir Richard will be first through the door at White’s come tomorrow, hunting down Cobham. Unless you beat him to it.”
“I have no interest in malicious talk,” Lando replied. “Though I cannot vouch for the others. And I can’t deny Cobham may relish a sense of joie maligne .”
Abruptly, Gartside stood. Coatless and cravatless, he was a dishevelled mess. “Then my reputation is ruined.” He rubbed a hand across his bruised jaw. “I’m leaving for Scotland at first light. There’s nothing else for it.”
Lando could practically taste the panic.
“Short on blunt too.” Gartside’s eyes slid away from Lando on the admission. “Borrowed the two hundred pounds from my brother-in-law. I’ll have to bloody sell something to cleave that back.”
“How…” Lando hesitated as if uncertain how to phrase his delicate question. “If that is the case, then how were you planning on funding our joint business venture?”
Gartside huffed. “The estate bordering yours is unentailed. One of my old school chums was interested in buying it. Snuffy Pallister, now Duke of Beaminster. Rich as Croesus. His father died six months ago—Snuffy’s taken the title, but his land is all the way up in bloody Northumberland. He wanted something closer to town.” He barked a laugh. “Won’t want it now. If this gets out, I’ll wager he won’t even recollect my name by the end of the week.”
“Mmm.” Buying himself some time, Lando pretended to examine the heavy oil painting to the left of the fireplace. A fearsome, ugly woman stared back at him, her flabby breasts spilling from a too-tight corset, her mouth painted in a perpetual snarl. That she was one of Gartside’s ancestors left no room for doubt.
“Rossingley has had two poor harvests from the last five,” Lando began casually as if still admiring the portrait. “My man of business informs me barley yields have been particularly low across the whole of the south. Especially Spratt, if I’m not mistaken. All the signs are that next year will be equally dismal.”
He regretted not paying more attention to Robert’s ramblings; if Gartside asked him what those signs were, he’d come terribly unstuck.
“Never known such temperamental weather,” grumbled Gartside. “Or farmers. Blasted fellows more trouble than they’re worth. That land’s made a loss hand over fist ever since I took over the place. Not that I shared that with Pallister,” he added gloomily. “Too bloody late now, at any rate.”
Lando let his eyes flutter closed. Drawing stale air into his lungs, he let his shoulders drop, clearing his mind of everything except what he was about to do.
“I suppose I could always take that damned estate off your hands,” he offered in a languid drawl. “After all, we do abut. And I suppose if I hadn’t thought of you as an excellent potential business partner in the first place, this dreadful affair wouldn’t have happened, would it?”
He sauntered back to Gartside and arranged himself in a chair. “Mind, it would be a bit of a bore. I’m certainly not looking to expand Rossingley; there is quite enough to keep my heirs busy for many a good year. And, as you know only too well, I’m quite preoccupied with my ventures in the north.”
He let his offer dangle for a few seconds, then added, “But, to help out an old friend, perhaps I could be persuaded. And, seeing as we are such old chums—” The earl flicked at an invisible mote of dust on his lapel. “—I might be able to encourage Sir Richard to keep the scuttlebutt to himself. At least until you are safely ensconced in Scotland and a new scandal emerges.”
Selling the estate would wipe out all Gartside’s debts, as well as the one he owed his brother-in-law. Fascinated, Lando observed Gartside’s mental and facial contortions as he attempted not to leap at the idea too eagerly. Hungry babes in arms were more inscrutable. No wonder the man lost every time he took a seat at the card table.
Taking pity on him and because he was keen to be on his way, Lando added, “Shall I put you in touch with my man of business? You may take your time coming to a decision. I’m in no hurry, no hurry at all.”
“We can shake on it now,” blurted Gartside, holding out a hand. “The details can be thrashed out later. That way, I’ll be able to promise my brother-in-law his blunt.”
They shook, Gartside’s grasp clammy, the earl’s crisp and smooth.
“Do you want to discuss some loose terms?” Lando pulled a pained face. “Wearisome, I know. Or shall we leave it to our men?”
“Snuffy offered 18 000 pounds. You can relieve me of the damned place with half of that if we shake on it now.”
He really was horribly desperate. If Lando had offered to take the land off his hands in exchange for his oldest boots he had a feeling Gartside would have obliged.
“Excellent. Most satisfactory. Consider it done.” Lando pulled out his silver fob. “Dear me, it’s late. I must press on. I’m travelling to Rossingley at first light. I’ve been away far too long.”
He gave Gartside a clipped nod. “Look after yourself, Gartside. I expect it will be some time before our paths cross again. If indeed, ever. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”