by Joan Smith
“Hardy, at the shipyard, is the largest employer, but he pays his men in coin. There are the shops and inns and some large estates, but I cannot think any of them are quite large enough.”
“The bank, then, is the likeliest place.”
She hesitated. “It is hard to believe Mr. Fairmont would do such a thing. He is a pillar of the community.”
Ravencroft strolled to the long table in the center of the room where a wine decanter and glasses rested on a silver tray. “May I?” he asked.
She nodded. “Sorry. I should have offered.”
He poured two glasses and handed her one. “Do you know, Miss Bratty, that is the first civil speech you have ever made to me?” He gazed at her a moment, looking past the outré hat and dirty face to the intelligent green eyes that studied him intently. “If we are to work together, we must try to overcome any aversion that has, unfortunately, sprung up between us.”
She accepted the glass, “A toast, then? To the Cougar and the Wolf?” she suggested.
“No, to the Wolf and the Cougar’s successor. The Wolf and the – Cat. No wonder we came to cuffs upon first meeting, wild cat and primitive dog.”
She considered this a moment for hidden insult, then said, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you insist on putting yourself first in this partnership.”
“You don’t miss much. Did you notice that at least I refrained from calling you a kitten?”
“And I refrained from either whelp, cur or pup.”
He made a mocking bow. “At this rate of progress in our rapprochement we shall be bosom bows in no time. Now back to business. Your Mr. Fairmont – a family man, I take it? Law abiding, doer of good, pew near the front of the church?”
“Yes, and no notable expenditures recently.”
“He’d be too cagy for that. If the money is being dispensed locally, I daresay it is going through the bank. Fairmont himself might not be the perpetrator, however. He would have employees.”
“Our bank hardly handles enough money to be a threat to the whole country, though.”
“I see Bransom didn’t explain the pattern of distribution to you. The first notes we heard of – thanks to you – cropped up in Easton. Last week, a flood of them appeared in London and other large cities. Fitz thinks the first ones came in here as a sort of trial run. The local man received the phony bills, which he passed on to – well, customers, whatever.”
“And now the money is coming in at various points?”
“No. Fitz has men working on it day and night. There is no concentration of it on the coast anywhere else but Easton. It has showed up in the larger inland cities – Bath, Cambridge, Manchester, and so on. The money is referred to in criminal circles as “Easton money”. He thinks it all comes in here for distribution. I fancy a couple of those boxes we didn’t follow tonight held forged notes. Miss More’s load was innocent. Our mistake was to follow the wrong trail. Next time, we have men to follow any and all crates.”
“But there might not be any more until the next dark of the moon!”
“I know. So we shall concentrate on finding – or following – tonight’s load. And this time, I shall keep the Cat informed. Agreed?”
She could not quite suppress a gloating smile as she nodded her acquiescence, “Oh certainly. And I shall keep the Wolf informed of anything I learn.”
Ravencroft had hoped Amy would not work on her own if he offered to keep her informed, which he might or might not do, depending on what he learned. He had grave misgivings as to what this headstrong lady might do next.
In an effort to head her off, he said, “What I meant was, I shall keep you informed of what I intend to do, and I trust you will pay me the same courtesy.”
This was even more pleasing to her. “Agreed.” she said. “Mind I take you at your word as a gentleman! So, what do you plan to do?”
“I believe in looking before I leap. I shall think about it tonight and be in touch with you tomorrow.”
“When and where?” she asked eagerly.
“I know where to find you.” He set his glass aside and rose.
“I shall keep my eyes open tomorrow when I go to the bank to withdraw a small sum. I mean to buy some of that new silk.”
“That will be a pleasant change, to see you in a gown that does you justice.”
Strangely, this speech did not raise her hackles. The half smile on his lips would not be taken for flirtation in any other gentleman, but a certain something in his eyes as he gazed at her suggested it.
“I have never subscribed to the theory that clothes make the man – or woman.” The words were sarcastic, but spoken in a playful way, with a dismissing glance at Ravencroft’s exquisite jacket and stylish cravat.
“Very true, but you must own they do make an impression.”
“On the impressionable, no doubt,” she riposted.
Just as she rose to accompany him to the door, the door opened and George stepped in. “Lord Ravencroft!” he exclaimed. “Did you find the wagon?”
“I fear not, George. I have explained my failure to your mistress. Goodnight.” He nodded to George, bowed to Amy, and said with a twinkle in his eye, “You will recall I recommended the green. The scarlet you were thinking of buying to spite me would clash dreadfully with that red hair.”
Amy felt a rush of heat rise from her chest to her throat. It was the way Ravencroft looked at her, as if he were envisioning her in the green gown, and liking what he saw. “My hair is auburn,” she said.
An echo of laughter trailed behind him as he walked out and was swallowed up in the shadows.
“What was that about?” George asked.
“Nothing. It was just Ravencroft being hateful. You will lock up here, eh George? It is late and I am fagged. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
As she lay in bed later, she decided that Ravencroft was neither so stupid nor so toplofty as she had first imagined. He had discovered that Kirby was involved, he had found out where the money was coming in, and he had rescued her when she was in danger. He admitted now that she was capable of this sort of work. She looked forward to enjoyable doings in the near future.
Ravencroft was also satisfied with the rapprochement. He would occasionally tell Miss Bratty a few unimportant details of the case. Perhaps even give her some small assignment. He would encourage her to keep an eye open for Bransom’s watch, for instance, to let her feel she was helping. And in the worst case, if she took some harebrained scheme that put her life at risk, she would notify him first. He had no doubt of his ability to get around her. He was known for his way with ladies. But then, he admitted with a little pang, he had never before encountered a lady quite like Amy Bratty.
Chapter Fifteen
Felix was feeling guilty about the hours he had deprived Amy of his company while he was with Blanche. To atone for it, he rose early the next morning and took breakfast with Amy.
“Well, are you looking forward to the assembly this evening, Cuz?” he asked. “I am certainly looking forward to taking you. You will give me the first dance and the last, I hope?”
“You don’t think those two dances might compromise us, Felix?” she replied.
“Heh, heh. What a little jokesmith you are. Compromise indeed, when we are practically engaged.”
“I have not accepted your offer.”
“Dash it, you know it is what your papa wants. How can you refuse when he is on his deathbed?”
Amy did not feel obliged to honor that particular wish of her papa’s. What she feared was that Felix would play ducks and drakes with the family fortune when he inherited it, if he hadn’t a strong guiding hand. The problem was that she didn’t know any lady who could provide that guidance so well as herself.
Instead of replying to his question, she said, “I shall be going into Easton this morning. Mrs. More thinks she will have the silk by today.” Felix could always be diverted by trivialities.
“I shall take you in my rig.”
She had hoped to
meet Ravencroft there. “Perhaps I should take Papa’s carriage. I have to go to the bank as well.”
“Mrs. More will give you credit.”
“I shan’t pay until the gown is finished. I just like to have some cash on hand to avoid running up bills,” she said with a pointed look. “Bills have a way of piling up, Felix. You should try spending only the money you actually have.”
“Dash it, I never have any!”
“Papa gives you a good allowance, along with what your own father left you.”
He batted his hand. “You’ve no idea what it costs to keep up an appearance in London.”
“Then perhaps you should rusticate until your accounts are in order. “
He first looked offended, then managed to find a compliment lurking in her stricture. “Minx. I see what you are up to. You are just trying to keep me here with you at Bratty Hall. Anyhow, I don’t mind your doing a few errands while we’re in town. I’ll help you pick out the silk.”
This, at least, pleased her. She could blame the purchase of the green silk on Felix’s insistence. They left shortly after breakfast. It was a cool, raw day, not actually raining but the sort of weather that left a mist on the hair and clothing.
When Amy didn’t spot Ravencroft on the High Street, she asked Felix to drive along to Mrs. More’s shop. She found the modiste alone at this early hour.
“Did the silk come in, Mrs. More?” she asked.
“Indeed it did. A lovely order, Miss Bratty. I’ve already had the Fairmonts here making their selection. I’ll have no trouble getting rid of this lot.” She looked around for spies before continuing in a whisper, “Come in the back room. I don’t keep it on the shelf in case the Revenueman should drop in.”
She led Amy and Felix into a little cubbyhole where the familiar bolts of silk sat on shelves.
“By Jove!” Felix exclaimed, fingering the scarlet. “This one is something like, eh Amy? This would liven you up.”
Mrs. More and Amy exchanged a pained smile. “Not with Miss Bratty’s coloring,” Mrs. More said. “I thought either the bronze or the green would go well with your hair, Miss Bratty.”
Amy made a show of pondering, but her mind was already made up. “Which do you think, Felix?”
He looked at them and shrugged. “Of those two, the green is brighter.”
“And I already have a bronze gown,” Amy said. “I’ll take the green, as Felix suggests.”
Mrs. More served them a cup of tea while they perused the pattern books. While they drank, Amy led Felix to realize that he preferred the pattern she had selected.
Mrs. More said, “Your measurements haven’t changed, Miss Bratty?”
“No, I think not. I don’t have to be measured. When shall I come for a fitting?”
“I should have it basted up for you in three days.” She saw them out with many good wishes and compliments on Miss Bratty’s choices.
“Now the bank,” Amy said. She wanted to get rid of Felix for this stop as she intended to do more than withdraw a little cash. She had brought with her from the Hall the keys to the family safety box at the bank. It was in her father’s and her joint names. Since his illness, she was the one who usually visited it.
She suggested that Felix take a stroll around the green while she did her business. Felix, spotting Miss Kell and her aunt, agreed with no trouble. Miss Kell was ineligible, but a pretty little thing.
Amy went into the bank and withdrew five pounds. It was Mr. Fairmont’s habit to greet his well inlaid customers in person. When he came out to welcome her, she studied him as a possible criminal. On the surface, it seemed ridiculous to think this rabbit of a man was responsible for upsetting the currency of all of England.
He was a small, obsequious man with sunken eyes and gray hair fast receding to the rear of his skull. He grew the sides long and espaliered them across his scalp to give an illusion of a full crop. His right hand made frequent trips across his scalp to ensure the long hair was doing its job. He wore a provincial jacket and a rather clumsily tied cravat.
He inquired, as he always did, for the health of Lord Ashworth and reminded her, “If there is any way I can be of assistance to you, you have only to say the word.”
“As a matter of fact, there is, Mr. Fairmont. I would like to visit the family safety box this morning.”
“Then I take it you will be attending the little assembly this evening, Miss Bratty’?” he asked archly.
“Oh certainly. Mr. Bratty is visiting, you know, and he always enjoys an assembly.”
He led her to a long room at the side of the building adjacent to his office and unlocked the door. A rack of locked boxes was built into the wall adjoining his office. She knew from former visits that what was said in Fairmont’s office could be overheard in this room when her box was open. From here she had been shocked to learn that Mr. Spencer was overdue on his mortgage, and other matters of less note. Amy knew it was a long shot, but her hope was that she might overhear something of interest being said about the forged currency.
All she heard when she had opened her compartment, however, was one of the clerks telling him that the window cleaner had come for his money, and was it all right to pay him. She dawdled over the family jewels, not really planning to take any of them out for the assembly. She would wear her mama’s pearls, as she always did. On second thought, she took out a diamond ring, as it gave her an excuse to return it the next morning and listen again.
She was about to lock the box when she overheard a customer being shown into Fairmont’s office. “Mr. Ford to see you,” the clerk accompanying the customer announced. She knew Mr. Ford was a newcomer to town. She pitched her mind back, trying to remember when he had come to Easton, and what she knew of him. He was often seen riding through town on a showy bay mare. He seemed to have made a large acquaintance amongst the gentlemen in a short time. He had arrived not long before the forged money appeared. Now that was interesting.
No one had connected Mr. Ford with it, however. Why had he come to Easton? Not for his health, like Mrs. More’s roomer. Mr. Ford was hale and hardy, with brindled hair, a ruddy face, a corpulent body and a loud voice.
She could hear him very well through the wall, Mr. Fairmont less well. She had to apply her ear to the compartment opening to make out the latter’s words.
“How did you do on the races at Canterbury, Ford?” Mr. Fairmont asked. She was surprised that Fairmont didn’t call the man Mr. Ford. He called most of his customers Mr.
“I won a monkey,” Ford boasted.
“Was there anything special you wanted to see me about?” was Fairmont’s next question.
Mr. Ford’s voice lowered a notch. “What do you make of this Stanford fellow, staying at the Greenman? You don’t think London sent him here?”
Amy stiffened. She applied her ear more closely to the opening and listened, every fibre of her body tense.
“There’s a rumor he’s looking for a house. It seems he has a yacht that needs a home,” Fairmont replied. “Why do you ask, Ford?”
“Kirby ran into a spot of trouble last night.”
“I heard about it. You think Stanford is involved?”
“Kirby didn’t recognize the fellow. He’d know the locals.”
“I doubt it was Stanford. He’s a friend of young Bratty. And any friend of his, you know, can’t have much salt in the bread pan. Still, you might keep an eye on him. It would be a pity to interrupt the silk business.”
“Aye, it would. Your ladies will be trotting along to snap up their silk today I fancy, before it’s picked over.”
“My daughter hauled Mrs. Fairmont from her bed at eight o’clock this morning. Now about this race tomorrow, Jack. What do you think of Warlock’s chances?”
“Don’t waste your blunt. I’m putting my money on a filly called Pretty Polly.”
“I’ll follow your lead. You picked right yesterday.” The conversation turned to betting. It sounded as if taking bets was Ford’s business. Amy w
as shocked at the sum Fairmont mentioned placing on Pretty Polly. She took the diamond ring, locked her box and slipped out of the bank before Mr. Ford should see her.
Her head was in a whirl. Was it possible Fairmont was the man who was ruining the economy of England? Why else had Ford come running to tell him about Kirby’s trouble last night? She noted, too, that Fairmont was already aware of it.
How did Ford know so soon? Was he part of the gang as well? If he had been running around town taking bets, he might have heard. News traveled fast in these close-knit communities. But again she came back to the question, how did Fairmont know? And he had spoken of it being a pity to interrupt the silk business. He must be involved in it. He might be Kirby’s silent partner, perhaps even unaware of what else was being smuggled in.
But no, the bank was the logical institution to disperse the money. The forged money had turned up at Easton first; Sir George thought it was all coming in here. If Fairmont was in debt from gambling, he might have agreed to disperse the first shipment, and not even know that it had grown into a nation-wide scheme.
Her head ached from trying to figure it out. She wished she could talk to Ravencroft. She looked up and down the High Street, hoping in vain for a glimpse of him. When Mr. Ford came out of the bank, she decided to follow him. He was not riding his bay mare today. When he stopped for a chat with Mr. Stevens, the solicitor, Amy stopped near them, using the milliner’s shop window as an excuse.
Mr. Ford didn’t dally long. Just long enough to inquire about a card game, then he tipped his hat and said he must be getting home. He walked two blocks and turned down Church Road. There were only three possible places he could be staying there. Miss Mossop took boarders, Mrs. Gavin had two small apartments on her upper floor, and the last time Amy had been down the road, the Everton’s house, at the farthest end of the road, had a “To Let” sign on it.
Any of the town gossips could tell her what she wanted to know. She headed for McGillicuddy’s Drapery Shop, where she met the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Ladd, thumbing over the cheap muslin used for dusting and cleaning. The usual “Good day’s” were exchanged. Mrs. Ladd inquired for Lord Ashworth, and Amy reciprocated by asking for Mrs. Ladd’s mama, who was known to be a martyr to the ague.