Smith didn’t appear overjoyed, more pragmatic. “I don’t intend to change my life,” he warned John.
He’d been so sure an heir existed, but had left it to Roker to discover the details. Having at first assumed the man had too much on his plate, rather than a deliberate muddying of the truth, John had allowed his personal creed to slide. John preferred to have a finger in every pie, to keep track on everything that concerned him.
While he left details to trusted staff, he rarely allowed anyone to promulgate anything in his name without checking first. He’d developed his reputation for reliability that way.
When it came to the earldom, he’d never thought of it as his. He hadn’t earned it, nor had he made it. But faced with the reality of the situation, he had to accept it as his. Something he needed to take seriously and permanently.
Like Faith, he’d toyed with the idea of disappearing. After all, he’d done it once before. His memory had returned faster than he’d let anyone know after Waterloo, and now it was complete.
Absolutely complete.
Another thread. Did everything devolve to the same man? Had Roker promulgated the deceits and the attempts on his life, or was Roker interested only in himself and what he could skim from the proceeds? It could be Carlisle. Maybe both. It frustrated John that he didn’t know for sure, but he would.
Standing in the office of Smith’s solicitor, with red-sealed document containers on floor-to-ceiling shelves, John recalled his background. “The Dalkington-Smythes broke into my happy childhood every year to teach me estate management. If I invite you and your family to stay, be assured it will be purely for the pleasure of your company. I joined the army partly to escape the sadness when my parents died, and partly to elude the Dalkington-Smythes.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Edward replied. “My parents have died, also, but I lost my mother last year and my father ten years ago. I had them for my formative years.”
John envied him. “I’m telling you because of the reason I felt I had to get away.” He picked up the glass of excellent port Edward had handed him. He glanced at the man of business, who seemed a solid man. He had a more mundane practice than Roker, but John liked him and would definitely have him investigated with a view to employing him at a future date.
If Roker was cheating him in any way, John would not hesitate to take the business of the earldom away, which would mean he’d need another agent. Pilkington couldn’t handle it all, nor would John wish him to. Besides, Thomas was more in the nature of a partner these days.
They left the offices in good accord, and after bidding Thomas farewell, John decided to accompany Edward to his lodgings before going home. The walk would give him time to think.
He would strive to keep the businesses separate as much as he could. Earldoms meant entails, bequests, pensions, dowries and other costs that should rightly draw from the estate, not the business he’d carefully constructed to perform an entirely different task.
He grimaced. He was procrastinating and he knew why. His detestation of the events he was about to describe. “From the age of seven, every summer I went to Graywood Abbey and underwent training. I was heir to the heir to the estate but both boys were healthy, so nobody expected me to inherit. However, I studied and worked hard, learned the Graywood estate and its wealth. Not until I turned thirteen did I learn why they wanted me to do this.”
Smith nodded. “Did you enjoy these lessons?”
“By no means.” The part he hated admitting to. “I thought the boys considered me their equal, but they spent a lot of time away from the Abbey. I had a room in the guest wing. Only later did I learn the room was usually occupied by valets and servants who needed to be close to their masters. That subtly showed me my place as under-steward to David Carlisle, the son of the current occupant of the position. The Carlisles were as set in their position as the earls, almost as difficult to displace. They made me subservient to a boy who treated me as worse than the dirt on his shoes. I thought he despised me for my stupidity, for at the time I was a shy boy, not truly comfortable in company.” The army had soon knocked that out of him. “I fought David Carlisle, though, when he would have bullied me.” A slow smile crept over his mouth. “I found a little compensation. However, I paid for it in the long run, for I believe he despises me still.” He shrugged. “I don’t have the best opinion of the man, I confess. Nor did anyone do anything about it when I told them. Not that the earl or his family were in residence often.”
“Is he a clever fellow?”
He knew exactly why Edward asked that. “He has a good degree of intelligence, although he resists learning new ways. He thinks to patronise me still, but while two years as a boy is yawning chasm, now it is nothing at all. Less than that.”
When he invited Smith to the planned ball, John admitted that the company might not become the fashionable squeeze of legend.
“The dowager has done enough to ensure reasonable attendance.”
“You are a military man, sir. Could you not call on your acquaintances?”
John stopped dead in the middle of the street and smacked his hand against his forehead to knock some sense back into it. A passing chair-mended, burdened with a tool kit and a few bits of wood cursed at him. John ignored him. “I’m an idiot. A complete fool.” He could only put his omission down to his concern with the estate and the way it was losing money hand over fist.
Abruptly, he changed direction. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have a call to make.”
Chapter Fifteen
After finding his first quarry not at home, John left his card and went after more prey. After so much prevaricating, he’d had enough and he would take the action for himself. Although he hadn’t visited London for some time, he doubted the areas he wanted to visit had changed a great deal. The rookeries.
Going into the rookeries meant death for interlopers. He knew that, too. Warrens of alleys, buildings about to tumble down, deliberately mined with holes in the road and carefully placed debris. Some of the houses were rigged to collapse when required, filled with people who officially didn’t exist; whores, cutpurses, pickpockets, riff raff of the lowest kind. A whore earning a living wouldn’t choose to live in St. Giles or Seven Dials, just as a successful thief would set up house elsewhere.
Frustrated in one ambition, to discover who was bilking the estate, he would not remain bedevilled in the other.
Hovering on the edge of St. Giles, he watched and waited. He wouldn’t go in unescorted, although he’d made a detour to his house to collect the weapons and assistance he required. Pistols and a sword, not usually worn in London these days, but his army sabre not only acted as a deterrent, he felt better with it on. More himself, more the man in control of his own fate. The footman standing in the hall actually widened his eyes when he saw the arsenal his master was arming himself with, but he didn’t comment. By the time he did, if he did, the items would return to their spaces.
Not that he cared for the opinions of one footman. Except the man was standing behind him now, his fancy livery abandoned in favour of a plain street coat, similar to John’s own.
He reconnoitred the territory, marked it with an eye to retreat and attack and chose a likely spot for his station. The change from respectable to disreputable happened within the space of a few streets, and where they stood wasn’t the most salubrious area. Not the most insalubrious either. But he’d tired of waiting for a result and rather than see Faith threatened again, he’d take the chance.
John had seen the lookouts in the alleys beyond. He waited until someone passed by, clearly headed for the internal part of the rookery. While the man’s coat was torn and filthy, John had still recognised it as army issue. The lower orders tended to wear their uniforms most of the time, as they had little else, and after they left, they kept the habit.