“You see, Richard took great delight in being just a little cleverer than the rest of us,” Ashmun went on. “He was extraordinarily gifted in mathematics. And at times he used that talent to his advantage.”
She quelled the urge to press her palms over her ears.
“You are sure that you want me to go on?” Ashmun’s face was wreathed in concern.
“Yes,” answered Arianna. Was there really a choice?
The earl rose and went to pour a fresh glass of brandy. He placed it in her hands before resuming his place by the fire. “If it makes your story any easier, Lady Arianna already has reason to suspect that her father may have been involved in some questionable business dealings.”
Ashmun looked relieved. “Then what I have to say will not come as a complete shock.” He puffed out his cheeks. “I do not know the specifics of the deal—it happened twenty years ago—but Richard had some sort of partnership with a group of gentlemen he knew from one of his gaming clubs. Concord, Ham—”
“Yes, I know the names by heart,” interrupted Arianna.
“Then I shall not pain you by constantly repeating them,” said Ashmun softly. “Suffice it to say, Richard had become their friend . . . he enjoyed the camaraderie of his fellow peers, and was flattered that a set of young, fast gentlemen courted his company. He found it easy to fit into the group.”
Like a chameleon, thought Arianna. No wonder she found it so effortless to change her skin. If one simply shrugged off all questions of right or wrong when it suited one’s purpose, the transformation was quite simple.
And apparently she had learned from a man who had mastered the art of amorality.
Looking up, she found the earl watching her intently, his dark eyes like daggers against her flesh.
“Yes, Papa enjoyed being the life of the party.” She summoned a cool smile, though her insides were twisting in a painful knot. “The center of attention.”
“Even when he had to cut corners to get there,” murmured the earl.
“That is a good way of putting it, I suppose. Richard didn’t see the harm in shaving a bit off the rules. I . . . but first, I should finish my story.” Ashmun crooked a tiny grimace. “In any case, he recounted to me how he had created a complex mathematical billing model for a company that his friends had invested in, one that allowed him to manipulate the numbers. Don’t ask me to explain it, but the formula created an extra profit for the company while shipping fewer goods than contracted for. So it proved extremely clever on both ends. And extremely lucrative for the investors. He was quite proud of himself for figuring it out.”
“I assume he was rewarded for his brilliance,” said Saybrook.
“Yes. A share in the partnership,” answered Ashmun. “But for a man who was a genius with numbers, Richard seemed to have no concept of money. He spent freely . . . or, rather, flagrantly. While his wife was alive, she managed to control his wilder impulses. But after her death . . .” He lifted his shoulders. “God knows, I tried to counsel him on the dangers of . . . of . . .”
“Of cheating?” suggested Arianna. “Of consorting with criminals?”
“Your father saw things far more abstractly,” replied Ashmun. “It is deucedly hard to explain, but Richard had great trouble seeing the connection between his actions and the consequences of them. He meant no harm—his calculations were simply an intellectual challenge, and he took boyish delight in solving them. It wasn’t until later . . .”
Ashmun paused for a swallow of brandy. “But before I digress, let me finish with this part of the tale. To make a long story short, your father’s cleverness went a touch too far, for you see, he couldn’t help but add an extra equation that skimmed off a little extra for himself.”
“In other words,” said Saybrook, “he cheated the cheaters at their own game.”
“Precisely,” answered the baron. “It took them a year or so to discover it, and to be honest, I’m not quite sure how it came to light. Perhaps Richard admitted the joke one night when he was in his cups. That would be the sort of thing he would do—ha, ha, ha, no hard feelings, eh?”
“Ha, ha, ha,” echoed Arianna.
“However, his friends did not find it amusing and so decided to take revenge. They, too, were very clever men. Ruthlessly so, as you have good reason to know, my dear.”
“So they concocted the accusation of cheating at cards,” murmured Arianna.
“Which forced Lord Morse to leave the country,” finished Saybrook.
“Aye.” Ashmun blotted his brow with his handkerchief and finished his brandy. “I believe that in the meantime, your father had constructed a few other ventures for them, and I suppose they felt they didn’t need him anymore.”
“And he couldn’t very well reveal their wrongdoings,” mused the earl. “For to do so would have ruined his own name as well.”
“Correct. My understanding is that they gave him a sum to leave quietly. Richard was in financial straits at the time and, well, he really had no choice but to accept his punishment. To have been publicly branded a cheat at cards would have been a fate worse than death. He would have been ostracized from Society and all the convivial company he so craved. In Jamaica, at least, he could pretend that he was still part of that world.”
The world of illusions?
“I can see that.” Arianna lifted her glass and set the amber liquid into a slow, spinning swirl. “But what I don’t understand is why they should want to have him murdered. They had taken their revenge—in spades, I might add. Papa’s sun had long since sunk into an ocean of rum. He posed no threat to them.” Her fingers tightened. “I am, of course, assuming that his death wasn’t a random robbery. Having inherited a little of his knack for numbers, I would say the odds of that are virtually nil.”
“Lady Arianna,” began Saybrook.
“However,” she said quickly, ignoring his interruption. “When I add two and two together, it becomes clear that you did not journey all the way to the West Indies simply to share a glass of planter’s punch with an old friend.”
“Unfortunately, your arithmetic is correct,” said Ashmun with a doleful sigh. “I was never close with Richard’s new set of friends. I was living in Scotland at the time of your father’s first foray into partnership with them, else I would have tried to steer him away from any involvement. Even then, they had a reputation as being dangerous men to deal with. However, I have enough contacts within the world of commerce to have gotten wind of some disquieting information in the summer of ’05. I heard that one of the group—I am not sure who—had approached a senior clerk at Richardson, Overend and Company, which, by the by, specialized in handling discount bills of exchange for a number of banks, both here in England and abroad.”
“What are bills of exchange?” asked Arianna.
“They are the grease that keeps the wheels of commerce turning.” It was Saybrook who answered her question. “They facilitate the exchange of money for goods, especially over great distances or across borders.”
Curious, she pressed for further information. “How so?”
“Let us say the owner of a sugar plantation in Jamaica sells his crop to a merchant in Liverpool. He may go to a bank in Kingston and draw a bill of exchange against the value of the shipment, which he verifies with a bill of lading and a certificate of insurance stating the goods are indemnified against loss. In other words, he is advanced the money for the sugar cane, minus certain fees and interest, and the bank retains the bill of exchange, which is redeemed when the merchant pays on delivery of the sugar cane.”
“I see,” she said slowly.
“The Kingston bank may then resell the bill of exchange, or use it for collateral against other loans. The rate of exchange is where profits can be made or lost. It’s a complex variable, which depends on distance, the scarcity of goods, and a number of other factors.” The earl looked to Ashmun. “Isn’t that right?”