"Well, that's true enough, but there's more to it than that."
Nathaniel glanced at him, and the solicitor went on, "It appears that your brother has borrowed immense sums of money during the last few years. Nearly everything he has is mortgaged." Finch shook his head. "I don't understand it."
"I do. I know my brother very well. He probably didn't use the money he borrowed to make improvements or develop new products. I saw the new mansion in Mayfair. Quite impressive. I'd say it must have cost him a pretty penny."
Nathaniel leaned back against the wall. "You see, Adrian's greedy. He doesn't want to give up anything, even to save his business. Appearance is everything, if you know what I mean. He'd have to be on his knees in the gutter before he'd admit he can't afford silk cravats and lavish parties. Perhaps not even then."
"He does like to live well," Finch agreed. "He has an extensive household staff, a home in Mayfair, an estate in Devon, a villa at Brighton, an impressive art collection, membership in several clubs..."
Nathaniel nodded. "Exactly. The problem is that he's in now in a downward spiral. Sales keep falling, revenue declines until suddenly he's losing money instead of making it. So he cuts his costs by using poor quality materials and sales fall even further."
"But what caused this downward spiral? When you sold your share to him and went to America, Chase was doing very well. Ten years later, it's nearly insolvent. What happened?"
"Adrian never had any ability to manage the company. I told you, he's greedy and impatient. He wants instant profit, and he's never reinvested those profits back in the business." Another thought struck him. "If my brother is in trouble and his creditors called his loans, he'd be ruined."
Finch shook his head. "That isn't likely to happen. He's engaged to be married. Wealthy American heiress with a substantial fortune."
"Honoria Montrose. Yes, I know."
"If Lord Leyland is genuinely in trouble, his creditors will be waiting to see what happens. If he marries Honoria Montrose as planned, his problems will be solved. If the marriage is called off for any reason, his creditors will probably come after him like attacking sharks."
"If Adrian's in such trouble, she'd be bound to know about it."
Finch shrugged. "No doubt her solicitors would have investigated him, but she may have ignored their advice. It's reported to be a love match."
Nathaniel's sound of contempt left the other man in no doubt what he thought of that. "Adrian has charm, I suppose," he conceded. "But I can guarantee you he doesn't love her. He loves her money. If she lost it all tomorrow, it makes my head spin to think how quickly he'd call off their engagement."
"Perhaps, but Honoria Montrose is no fool. Leyland may be marrying her for her money, but she's probably marrying him for the title. It's seems to be quite the thing these days for wealthy American women to marry titled, impoverished Englishmen."
"Have you learned anything else?"
"Yes."
Nathaniel turned to look at him. "What?"
"Why didn't you tell me that you started a toy company in St. Louis and that it failed?"
Nathaniel sighed. He didn't want to discuss his past defeats. "I prefer not to talk of it."
"I believe you had a hard time finding suppliers willing to provide materials on credit, and you didn't have the cash to pay for them up front, so your output was low. You also had problems having supplies delivered on time."
Nathaniel shot him a wry glance. "I don't need a summation, thank you. I remember perfectly well what happened. And I don't recall asking you to investigate me."
"And then, you went bankrupt," Finch went on, ignoring Nathaniel's words.
Nathaniel scowled at the solicitor, but Finch did not back down. He simply stared back at him, waiting, his gaze mildly curious.
Nathaniel closed his eyes. "Yes, I went bankrupt. I just didn't have the desire to start over." He paused, then added, "Until I met James."
"I understand," Finch replied. "James had the ability to make people believe in themselves, to believe that anything they wanted was achievable. You have that ability as well, my friend."
Nathaniel shook his head and opened his eyes. "Please don't make any comparisons between James and myself. I would never abandon my wife and daughter."
Finch sighed. "Well, James was never what you'd call responsible. He loved his family as far as he was capable, but he resented being tied down to anything for long. He was the sort of man who probably never should have married at all." He paused, looking at Nathaniel and asked, "Are you planning to tell Mara about your failed business?"
He couldn't. It would serve no purpose, and it would endanger the tentative trust he'd gained from her. "No."
"Don't you think she has the right to know? She is your partner."
"Mara doesn't have anything to do with it. It's in the past. It's over." He straightened away from the wall. "Why rake it all up again? All it would do is make her worry, and she has enough to worry about."
"It will worry her a great deal more if she learns about this from someone else."
"Are you planning to be that someone?"
"No. I was hoping you would tell her yourself." He studied Nathaniel's set expression and sighed. "I know you feel you should protect her, but the truth has a way of coming out whether we like it or not. How do you think she'll feel when she learns you've kept this from her?"
Nathaniel didn't answer. He turned away and started down the alley toward the door into the factory, but he paused and glanced over his shoulder when Finch spoke again.
"Nathaniel, you're not only dealing with your own future, you're dealing with hers, too. Remember that. Don't hurt her."
"I don't intend to."
Finch gave a slight cough. "Yes, well, you know what the road to hell is paved with."
Nathaniel walked through the door and slammed it shut behind him. Yes, he knew, better than anyone.
***
When Nathaniel entered the office, all thoughts of his brother vanished from his mind. Mara was kneeling on the floor in front of her husband's steamer trunk, her face buried in the folds of a blue dress. He heard her muffled sobs, and he came to an abrupt halt in the doorway.
"Mara?"
She straightened with a jerk, and he could see her struggle to regain control. She averted her head, wiping away tears with a hasty swipe of her hand.
She rose and tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. He bent his head to look into her face. "Mara, what is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said, but her tearstained cheeks made her a liar.
He glanced over her shoulder at the clothes that lay in neat piles within the trunk, the items she had set aside, and the empty cardboard box. His gaze moved to the frothy garment of silk and lace in her hands before he looked again at her downcast face. "What is that?" he asked gently.
"It's a gift from James," she said in a low, tight little voice. "A ball gown. He was always giving me silly, useless gifts. I assume he intended to bring it with him when he came back."
Nathaniel lifted one hand from her shoulder and tilted her chin upward. "It's a very pretty dress."
Her lip quivered, a muscle worked in the line of her jaw, and her eyes darkened to the tumultuous color of storm clouds. "It's a useless dress. A useless dress from a useless man who hadn't the sense God gave a rabbit. Where would I ever wear a dress like this?" she demanded, her voice quavering with the effort of controlling her emotions. "It probably cost the earth. Why couldn't he have just brought the money? That I could have made use of."
Nathaniel's thumb caressed her trembling chin, a touch he wished could soothe the hurt that lay beneath her anger. "He had dreams for you. Dreams of the life he wanted to give you."
"Dreams. Fantasies. Promises. What good are they?" Mara stepped back, holding up the dress between them like a wall. "What good is this?"
"You might wear it someday."
She bundled the dress
into one hand and gestured to their surroundings. "Oh, of course. I go to balls all the time. Invitations pour in every day, the maid brings them with my morning tea. Haven't you noticed?"
Her face puckered, her chin lowered, and the dress slid to the floor by her side. "I don't even know how to dance," she whispered as another tear fell from her eye and glistened on her cheek. "James always promised to teach me." She stared down at the dress on the floor and added, "He never did."
She stepped around him and ran out of the room. Nathaniel didn't try to stop her. He bent down and lifted the delicate dress from the floor, fingering the silken folds. He wished he could teach Mara to dance; he wished he could make her laugh again and wash away all her pain. Most of all, he wished he could make her realize that dreams were what made life worth living.
Chapter Fifteen
Adrian froze, the cup of tea raised halfway to his lips, and stared at the small man seated in the opposite chair of his study. "He's what?"
"He's bought into an electrical equipment company in Whitechapel," the other man replied. "It seems the company was in serious trouble and about to go bankrupt. Your brother purchased fifty-one percent of it."
"Electrical equipment?" Adrian frowned. "How odd. You're certain?"
Owen Rutherford, private detective, stiffened in his chair, clearly affronted.
"Sorry, I'm just surprised, Mr. Rutherford. I would have expected my brother to be involved in another toy company."
The detective relaxed slightly. He pulled a sheaf of papers from the dispatch case on his lap and scanned his notes. "Definitely not a toy company. Elliot Electrical Motors manufactures dynamos, searchlights, and other electrical equipment. No toys at all."
Adrian took another sip of tea. "Fifty-one percent," he murmured. "Who owns the other forty-nine percent?"
"A widow. Mrs. Mara Elliot."
"A woman?" Adrian's lip curled with contempt. Only Nathaniel would find himself saddled with a female partner, and it probably didn't even bother him.
"It seems the woman's husband—a Mr. James Elliot—owned the business. Something of a rake, by all accounts, with no money and plenty of debt. He died recently, and the bank holding the loan against the company foreclosed. Your brother purchased fifty-one percent for about five thousand pounds, paying off the loan against the company. He also moved into a lodging house next door."
"Where did he obtain five thousand pounds?"
"It seems that he sold patents on several inventions to raise the capital." Rutherford turned a page on his lap and once again scanned his notes. "There would have been enough to cover the loan, but not much more."
Adrian sat back, resting his head against the leather upholstery of his chair, and was silent for several moments. "Why?" he asked himself the question aloud. "Why would Nathaniel invest everything in an electrical equipment company? It isn't like him at all."
"His toy company failed. Maybe he decided to try something different."
"No." He knew Nathaniel would never choose to make dynamos for a living. "Toys are his obsession. This makes no sense."
Rutherford coughed. "Well, Lord Leyland, your brother seems to have a reputation for being rather odd."
Adrian was dissatisfied. He knew his brother too well to be fooled by appearances. Nathaniel might be bizarre, but he wasn't stupid, and Adrian knew that better than anyone. He had underestimated his younger brother once before, and it had nearly cost him half of Chase Toys. He would not make that mistake again. "There's more to this than eccentricity, Mr. Rutherford. Find out everything you can about what he's up to."
"Yes, my lord."
"Nathaniel's planning something. I can feel it, and I want to know what it is."
The detective put his notes back into his case and closed the lid. Then he departed, closing the study door behind him and leaving Adrian to his tea and private speculations.
What were Nathaniel's real intentions? Perhaps he had some new invention and was planning to manufacture it. But what?
His hand tightened around his cup. Nathaniel was always cropping up like a bad penny, making things difficult. He’d been doing that ever since he’d learned to walk.
"Whitechapel," he muttered. It was just like his brother to have an address in the East End, to live in a lodging house like a common dustman. Nathaniel had never cared about his reputation, his station in life, or what people thought of him.
Adrian swallowed the last drop of tea and set the delicate Dresden cup and saucer aside. It was time to pay his little brother a visit.
***
Mara walked, with no conscious thought of her direction. She simply moved one foot in front of the other, her strides carrying her farther and farther away from the factory, away from the man who thought wishes came true.
Her husband had always believed the same thing. Mara tried to recall a single promise kept, a single wish come true, a single dream realized, and she could think of none. James had never stayed around long enough to keep his promises, only long enough to make her believe them.
How long would Nathaniel stay before the dream lost its fascination, before a new and brighter dream lured him away?
A picture of him formed in her mind, a picture of eyes like the sea and hair like the sun. She recalled his words about trust and partnership, and the feel of her hand in his. She thought of that night on the roof, of how tempted she'd been to lean against him, rely on his strength and confidence.
Mara came to a halt on the sidewalk, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing as the realization hit her. She was doing it again, listening to dreams and promises and believing them. She was being taken in by beguiling talk and charming smiles. She was a fool.
She glanced around. Shadows of twilight darkened the narrow street. A gust of wind stirred the rubbish nestled against soot-covered brick buildings and whipped the ragged skirts of the two girls playing on the sidewalk. This was Whitechapel, for heaven's sake. The streets weren't paved with gold and opportunity had never knocked on these doors.
It was growing late, and Mara knew she shouldn't be wandering the neighborhood after dark. She had to go back. Reluctantly, she turned around, retracing her steps, trying not to think about what would happen when Nathaniel's dream became tarnished and he went off to seek a brighter one. She didn't want to think about being alone again.
***
Nathaniel stared out the window, watching the street and waiting for Mara, growing more worried as time went by and she did not return. He'd let her go this afternoon, knowing how upset she was, but now he wished he hadn't.
He knew she hadn't gone home. He'd paid Mrs. O'Brien half a crown to let him know if she returned to the lodging house. Night had fallen, and he had no idea where she was.
When he turned away from the window, the glimmer of silk under the gaslight caught his eye. He walked over and lifted the dress from the floor. For a few moments, his fingertips traced the watermarks of tears, then he laid the dress neatly in the trunk atop James's other belongings, closed the lid, and pushed the trunk into an out-of-the-way corner.
Mara had lived with years of broken promises. Nathaniel knew he couldn't fulfill all the promises James had made to her, but he could fulfill at least one. He looked at the stacks of crates against the wall and wondered which one contained his gramophone. Rolling up his sleeves, he set to work. When he was done, he went back to the lodging house, changed his shirt, and left a note for Mara with Mrs. O'Brien. Then he went back to the factory and waited.
***
By the time Mara arrived home, it was dark. She stepped into the dim interior of the lodging house and started for the stairs, but she'd only taken two steps before Mrs. O'Brien's shadow fell across the wall and banister.
"Mrs. Elliot?"
Mara turned to her landlady. The woman was standing in the doorway to her parlor, the light from within outlining her silhouette. "Yes?"
She stepped forward, holding out a folded sheet of paper sealed with wax. "Mr. Chase asked me t
o give this to ye."
Mara took the note and broke the seal, turning away as Mrs. O'Brien leaned forward, obviously hoping for a peek. Mara unfolded the note and held it up to the light from the parlor.
Where toys are made and dreams come true,
A friend stands by and waits for you.
Promises were broken, and so you wept.
But promises made are sometimes kept.
Mara smiled. Another riddle. He was obviously waiting for her in the factory, but what was he up to?
"Thank you, Mrs. O'Brien," Mara said over one shoulder as she turned and left the lodging house.
She walked back to the factory, feeling a mixture of curiosity and anticipation as she wondered what Nathaniel was planning. She quickened her steps as she entered the building and ascended the stairs, but when she walked into the office, her steps faltered at the sight of him.
Nathaniel had moved the table and chairs to one side of the room, and he was bent over the table, tinkering with a wooden box of some sort. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps. "You received my note."
"Yes, I did. Mrs. O'Brien gave it to me," she answered in a rush, out of breath and trying not to sound it. "But I don't understand what it means." Feeling awkward, she glanced away and added, "I'm not very good at riddles."
"You don't have to be. It's enough that you came." He bent back over the table, turned a handle on the side of the wooden box, and music suddenly began to play, issuing from a sort of horn on the opposite side. It was the lilting melody of a Strauss waltz.
Mara stared at the contraption with a mixture of skepticism and awe. "What is it?"
Straightening, he began to walk toward her. "It's a gramophone. An invention of Mr. Edison. He sent it to me about a year ago."
"How does it do that?"
To Dream Again Page 18