Stranger at the Manor by Mary Kingswood

24: A Matter Of Business

Captain Edgerton and his trusty comrades bustled about the village, asking everyone with whom they could gain an audience where they were on the second day of January at dusk.

“Are you having much luck?” Phyllida enquired, when it was her turn to be interviewed.

“None at all,” the captain said gloomily. “Hardly a soul knows where they were, and if they do, there is no one who can vouch for them. How about you, Mrs Winslade? Please tell me that you were safely at home, bottling gooseberries in the still room with the kitchen maid.”

“Gooseberries in January?” she said. “Not very likely. I am afraid I must disappoint you, Captain, for I have not the least idea where I was at dusk. Thinking about dressing for dinner, I expect, or in the kitchen trying to ensure there was a dinner to dress for. I can tell you precisely where I was when I heard the news, however. I was just leaving the house with Roland to attend the Gages’ card party. We were a little late — there had been some crisis in the kitchen, I forget what, but it was after eight before we left. We were just at the gate when Mr Timothy Rycroft and one of the grooms ran up at full pelt. ‘Dr Beasley! Dr Beasley! Accident,’ Mr Rycroft shouted to us. ‘Lord Saxby and Miles, just down the Astley Cloverstone road.’ Roland said, ‘Is it bad?’ and Mr Rycroft said, ‘As bad as it could be.’ I shall never forget those words. They seemed to vibrate inside me, in the most horrible way. So accurate! Roland went inside again to fetch his bag of medical equipment, Mr Rycroft ran on to the Hall and I went to the Grove to let them know there. But that does not help you, does it?”

“No, but everyone else is the same. Even Miss Viola Gage, who keeps a comprehensive diary of daily events, cannot be precise about her movements from one hour to the next. We have, however, been able to eliminate two people who were very much on our list of possibilities.”

“You mean the Rycroft brothers,” she said at once. “They might easily have borne some resentment against their stepfather, but although they grumbled about him sometimes, I never felt there was any malice in either of them.”

“Nor I,” said the captain, “and I am relieved to discover that they were both with other people all afternoon, so no suspicion may be harboured against them, at least. Well, I shall move on, Mrs Winslade, but we shall meet again this evening. Mr Willerton-Forbes and I are also invited to Lady Saxby’s dinner in honour of your marriage. I am very curious to observe Lord Silberry’s manner towards her ladyship. Shall they make a match of it, do you suppose?”

“I long ago gave up trying to guess how these things will work themselves out,” she said, smiling. “It is impossible to predict.”

“But amusing to try, do you not think?” he said, with a conspiratorial grin.

~~~~~

There were twenty sat down to dinner at the Hall that evening, so they ate in the chamber known as the Music Room, although it had never been used for that purpose that Phyllida could recall. There were two new faces amongst the guests, a Mrs Brasnell and her daughter, acquaintances of the squire’s from Bath.

The squire bore rather a panicked expression. “I told them they were welcome to visit at any time they happened to be in Shropshire, but I never expected them to do it!” he whispered to Phyllida. “We had to leave Bath to escape the widow Brasnell’s toils, and thought we had seen the last of them. What am I to do, Phyllida? I would be happy enough to take Charlotte off her hands, for she is the sweetest little creature alive, but the mother! Whatever am I to do?”

Fortunately Lord Silberry’s perfect manners drew him to converse with the lady, and she was seated a safe distance from the squire at dinner, but Phyllida was rather amused. When the ladies withdrew, she made a point of sitting beside Mrs Brasnell.

“You met the squire in Bath, I understand?” she began.

“Oh yes, and vastly charming we found him, didn’t we, Charlotte? So affable and such delightful manners. He went out of his way to show us all the sights of Bath, for we was never there before in our lives, and he knows all the places to see. He even took us to the Lansdown Fair and that was a lovely day out, wasn’t it, Charlotte? So lovely to meet a man who is so generous with his time and money, if you know what I mean. What a lovely house he has, and he must have a very good income, I should suppose. Five thousand a year at least, I am sure.”

“I would not think so,” Phyllida said.

“Oh. Not so much? But he must be very well set up, and so well dressed. Very stylish. We was so taken with his air of fashion the very first time we saw him in the Pump Room, wasn’t we, Charlotte? And he was taken with us, too. Asked to be introduced at once, and made a big show of talking to Charlotte, but I flatter myself I was not entirely unnoticed by him. Ha ha ha! No, not entirely unnoticed. After that, we met him and Mr Henry every day at the Pump Rooms, and they both stood up with Charlotte at the Assembly Rooms. Mr Henry danced every set, but Mr Winslade only danced with Charlotte. He don’t dance much any more, he told her, but he felt obliged to honour her great beauty. Is that not the most charming compliment? Is it not, Charlotte? I should have danced with him too, for I am not so old as to have settled onto the chaperons’ benches permanently, you know, but I daresay he did not think to ask me, ha ha ha! Gentlemen never think to dance with a married woman, do they, and especially one with a grown daughter, although I flatter myself I have worn quite well, ha ha ha! Indeed, I am constantly mistaken for Charlotte’s sister, and Lord, how surprised people are when they find out. ‘Mother and daughter? Never!’ they say to me. ‘Quite impossible!’ Ha ha ha! I daresay you cannot guess my age, can you, Mrs Winslade?”

“Well—”

“I am only four and thirty. Married at sixteen, I was, so Charlotte is quite a little slow top, for she is seventeen, almost eighteen, already. Are you not, Charlotte? She has had offers, but she is taking her time to choose, although I tell her she had better get going or she will be quite an ape-leader, ha ha ha! Why Miss Phillips — Charlotte and her were such bosom friends in Bath, nothing could be like it! — she is twenty already. I should be ashamed not be married at twenty.”

Phyllida was too occupied in trying not to laugh to be offended at these comments to the guest of honour, a bride who was clearly far beyond the age of twenty.

Fortunately, the gentlemen began to enter at that moment, and Phyllida was rescued by Peter, her head spinning.

“Poor John!” she whispered, as Lord Silberry good-naturedly took Phyllida’s place beside the widow. “She is a bit much.”

“I can see why he prefers the daughter,” Peter said. “Does the child speak at all? I do not believe I have heard her voice once. But then the mother speaks enough for both of them. I do not know how John will get rid of them now. If he is not careful, Mrs Brasnell will have John and the chit will have Henry, and he will be stuck with the pair of them.”

“It might help if she finds out that he is deep in debt,” Phyllida said. “Her interest in him is largely pecuniary, so if she thinks him a poor deal, she will move on swiftly enough.”

“Ah. That gives me some ideas,” Peter said with a little smile.

There was a little musical interlude, where Agnes played rather well and Flora rather badly, and Miss Brasnell was revealed to have a voice which her well-wishers would advise her not to raise in song.

“Oh dear,” Phyllida murmured to Peter.

“It is precisely the sound chalk sometimes makes on a slate,” he said, wincing. “Fortunately, her mother almost drowns her out. Does she ever stop talking? What was her father, do you suppose? A pie-seller, I suspect, to have endowed his daughter with such dulcet tones.”

“Hush,” she whispered. “You are very wicked. I am sure her father was perfectly respectable.”

“I have it! A costermonger. Oh, thank God, the card tables at last.”

Captain Edgerton and his wife scooped them up to make a four for whist. “I cannot make out Silberry at all,” the captain said, as he expertly shuffled the cards. “Is he courting Lady Saxby or no? Luce thinks he is just biding his time, but my money is on him decamping back to the north very soon. What is your opinion, Winslade?”

“Lord Silberry is very correct,” Peter said. “He will not embarrass the lady by open pursuit, and he will want to take his time to get to know her but I have reason to believe he is minded to marry again.”

“There you are, Michael,” Mrs Edgerton said. “You may have an excellent eye for murder and thievery, but when it comes to matters of the heart, ladies are more perceptive. Do you not agree, Mrs Winslade?”

“I think it is not a matter of one sex being more perceptive than the other,” Phyllida said, “but that some persons are more observant than others. There are those who can see their friends every day and have not the least idea what is in their hearts, and others who can read the signs in a stranger’s eye from across the room. For myself, I lay no claim to any extraordinary degree of insight, but I believe Captain Edgerton excels in that regard.”

“Ha! You see, Luce?” the captain said triumphantly.

“Nonsense,” his wife said robustly. “You know nothing about it, Michael. Keep working on your list of murder suspects, and leave the romantic questions to the experts.”

“I imagine the list of suspects must be rather long by now,” Phyllida said.

“It is certainly longer than I would like,” the captain said ruefully. “Two or three people with a genuine grudge and a reputation for violence, that is what we need right now, not a score or more of people who grumbled about his lordship over their ale at the Boar’s Head or the Cross Keys. Which reminds me… Winslade, as someone who was not here in January when Lord Saxby met his untimely demise, I should like your advice on a matter. Can you come to the Dower House… on Saturday, say, at noon?”

“Of course, although I am not sure that I am qualified to advise on questions of murder. Would you care to talk about interest rates on a loan, or an investment of some sort? Insurance, perhaps? I might have some pertinent points to make on such subjects.”

Captain Edgerton merely grinned. “Saturday at noon, Winslade?”

~~~~~

Peter resumed his work on the squire’s financial affairs, abandoned for the impetuous journey north. He spent two or three hours each morning at the Manor, tucked away in the study. It was not quite the joyous undertaking of earlier days, for Phyllida was not with him. She chose to spend the mornings with her brother, or doing mysterious domestic things in the basement. But by the time Peter returned to Great Maeswood, Roland had gone for his rest, the kitchen had fallen into harmony and Phyllida was at leisure to go for long, rambling walks with her husband or, more usually, to sit beside the fire in the parlour with her knitting while he read, or talked, or simply admired the softness of her cheek and the enticing curve of her mouth. Peter was besotted.

He could not neglect his cousin, however. He had a fair idea now of the state of his cousin’s difficulties and a depressingly long list of his debts. However, he also had a complete list of the tenancies and rents charged. A long discussion with Jackson, the land agent, had proved fruitful. Too many of the tenants pleaded poverty or a bad harvest, and the squire was too tender-hearted to enforce the due amounts. With but a little more firmness, Jackson believed that the rental income could be almost doubled, which would go some way towards alleviating the immediate problems.

“Is it very bad, sir?” Jackson said. “Squire’s been overspending himself for quite a few years now, and I hear tales of how much he owes the farrier and the coal merchant. Fella who does the clocks hasn’t been paid since the previous Mrs W died. He don’t mind, but still, a man’s got to eat, ain’t he?”

“It is quite bad,” Peter said pensively. “What is wanted is a capital inflow of… hmm, ten thousand would do it. Fifteen would be ideal to clear every debt and put in hand some essential repairs to the Manor. The roof leaks in half a dozen places, and the windows need attention, too.”

“Aye, Squire’s always put the tenants’ needs above his own,” Jackson said. “Manor could fall down round his ears, but the farm workers’ cottages are snug and warm. That’s just his way. But fifteen thousand? Tis a lot of money to find, sir.”

“It is, and I do not see how it can be done. The Bartwell paintings are not to be sold separately from the Manor itself, and none of the squire’s investments came to anything. I had hopes of the coal mine in Yorkshire, and perhaps there may still be something from that, but it will not be enough. Still, with the proper rents coming in, I can at least devise a plan to reduce the debts over time. That is the best I can do, I fear.”

One morning Binns came in. “Mr Dent to see you, sir.”

“Mr Dent? Has he a card?”

“No card, sir,” Binns said, in that special tone that butlers reserve for the sort of riff-raff who call upon gentlemen without offering a card.

“I see. Well, show him in, Binns.”

It was some time before the slow-moving Binns had shuffled his way to the Great Hall and back, but eventually he ushered in a familiar face.

“Mr Dent, sir.”

“Kent, actually. Erasmus Kent at your service.”

Peter waited until Binns had withdrawn before saying mildly, “Or Mr Smith, as you were the last time we met.”

Kent laughed easily. “Different names for different occasions, Mr Winslade.”

“You are a man of parts, Mr Kent,” Peter said. “What business draws you away from Market Clunbury today?”

Kent reached into a capacious pocket of his greatcoat and drew out a cloth bag. “This is the last quarter’s payment due to Mr John Winslade from the business at 17 Water Street.”

“The squire wishes to sell,” Peter said sharply.

“Indeed. I have received notification of that fact from his attorney. However, until such time as the sale is effected, the payments will continue.”

“Ah. Very well.” Peter accepted the bag, which was rather heavy. “How much this time?”

“Seven hundred and sixty two pounds, four shillings and sixpence.”

Peter dropped the bag onto the desk and sat down, picking up his pen. “I shall write you a receipt for that amount.”

“Will you not count it first?”

“I am sure it is all there, Mr Kent.”

“Well! Now you make me wish I had withheld a hundred or two.”

Peter laughed. “Since I have no possible manner of means to check what amount it ought to be, it hardly matters. You give me a sum of money and I accept it. I shall be very glad when the business is done, to be honest.”

“Is your cousin equally keen to dispose of so lucrative a source of income?” Kent said.

Peter lifted his head sharply, eyes narrowing. “What makes you ask that?”

“Only that I have received instructions from his attorney acting on his behalf, but not directly from Mr Winslade himself.”

“Do you doubt my word, Mr Kent?”

“Not in the slightest, sir, I do assure you. However, I have had the honour of acquaintanceship with Mr Winslade for a number of years, and I can well imagine how it might be. You advised him to sell, he waved a hand and said, ‘Yes, yes, you deal with it all, Cousin,’ because he was thinking of his next meal or his horse or where his glass of brandy had got to. Tell me it is not so, Mr Winslade, for I am certain that something of the sort occurred. And one day he will turn up on my doorstep wondering where his three thousand pounds a year has gone. I should like to be assured that he fully understands all the implications of this transaction, that is all.”

Peter could not help laughing at such an accurate assessment of the squire. “You do indeed know him well, sir. So be it. I shall make sure he writes to you himself, confirming his wishes.”

“No, no, that will not do either, for you will draft a perfectly clear and detailed letter for him, and he will scrawl his name without even reading it. No, I must talk to him face to face. My conscience will not permit anything less.”

“I am relieved to hear that you have a conscience, at any rate,” Peter said, and Kent roared with laughter. “Let me see if he is to be found, for it would be best to get the matter settled once and for all.”

A footman was dispatched to search the Manor from top to bottom, a lengthy undertaking in so large a house. Peter poured Madeira for Kent and himself, and settled down to await his cousin’s arrival, or, as he feared, the news that he had already ridden out. He had supposed conversation might be rather an uphill task, but Kent was surprisingly easy to talk to, so easy that one might almost suppose him to be a gentleman.

They were in luck, for in no more than half an hour the squire had been found in the stables, on the point of departure. He entered the study in no very pleased state of mind, but his frown lifted when he saw Kent.

“Smith! My dear fellow! Never thought to see you again, now that I am selling out. Wait — is there some difficulty? A hitch with the sale?”

“Not at all, sir, but it is on that subject that I wished to speak with you. Your attorney has written to me to begin proceedings, but I should like to ascertain that you are quite sure you wish to sell both the property and your interest in the business.”

“Yes, yes! You can deal with Crossley, you know. I have authorised it.”

“Did Lord Saxby tell you about his involvement with the business?” Kent said. “Are you aware of how much effort he expended in developing his interests? Since he left it all to you, and you were his closest friend, I assumed he wanted you to continue in the same manner, but if you surrender your interest, it will not be possible to recover it. Are you quite sure you wish to divest yourself of all of this business?”

“Yes, Peter has persuaded me, for as a magistrate, I cannot be seen to have any involvement in such shady dealings. I do not know all that goes on there, apart from— well, the women, and as for the gaming, I have never seen anything underhand, you understand, but these profits… Peter assures me it cannot be legal, Smith, and while I do not interfere… I have not seen anything that would cause me to interfere, yet I do not wish to be involved myself. I must do what is right. Forgive me if this leaves you in a fix, but you will surely find another investor soon.”

Kent smiled. “You need not worry about that, Mr Winslade. I have another investor in mind already. I merely wished to assure myself that you fully appreciated the implications of your actions. Now that my mind is set at rest, I need not keep you from your ride. I am sure your cousin and I can come to terms as to the sale price of the house and your interest in the business.”

“Lord, yes, Peter will deal with all that. He has a much better head for money than I do. Well then, I shall bid you good day, Smith.”

He could not wait to leave the room. Peter sipped his Madeira thoughtfully, watching Kent’s expression. He was still smiling, but it was not a social smile, more one of triumph, such as one feels when one has pulled off a challenging deal against the odds. That was interesting.

Kent downed the rest of his Madeira in one gulp. “Twelve thousand,” he said, in the same pleasant tone he might use when talking about the weather.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Twelve thousand. Two thousand for the house and grounds, together with the ground lease. Ten thousand to terminate all connection between your cousin and my business.”

Peter made some quick calculations in his head. “Fifteen for the business would be—”

“Ten.” When Peter hesitated, Kent said, “Might I remind you of your own words, just a few minutes ago? You have no means to check the amount.”

“True. Very well, Mr Kent. Twelve thousand it is.”

“Excellent. I will have a banker’s draft made out to Mr Winslade.” He rose to his feet in one fluid motion. “A pleasure to do business with you, sir.”

Peter shook the proffered hand, remarking, “Why do I get the feeling you are giving me a bag of moonshine?”

Kent only laughed.