by Diane Gaston
‘Mrs Peet absolutely sang his praises, and the maid we took with us agreed with her.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I cannot help but feel Sally is fortunate. Indeed, we are all fortunate he is here.’
‘Yes.’ It seemed he turned distant again. ‘Fortunate.’
She had to speak. ‘What is it, Edmund?’ She leaned toward him. ‘Something is troubling you. Can you tell me what it is?’
‘A problem I need to sort out,’ he said. ‘I cannot speak of it yet.’
It must involve her in some way. Why else not tell her? ‘I—I am sorry for my ill temper lately.’
He reached over and clasped her hand. ‘It is not that. I will work through this problem, I promise.’
‘Is it with the farm?’ she asked.
‘Not with the farm precisely, but do not ask me more. It is too soon for me to talk of it.’
In other words, it was a secret.
‘What will you do today?’ she asked.
‘I need to meet with Reid,’ was all he said.
* * *
Edmund found Reid in the sheep pens.
‘Good morning, Summerfield!’ Reid looked particularly cheerful this morning. And why wouldn’t he? He’d become betrothed. ‘We are preparing for the tupping—the mating—that is next on the schedule. There is always something.’
‘I need to speak with you, Reid,’ Edmund said. ‘Alone.’
Reid’s happy mood fell, Edmund could tell, but he tried to cover it over with a false cheer. ‘Aye! As you wish. Give me a moment.’ He gave some instruction to the men in the sheep pen and climbed over the fence. ‘Shall we go in my office?’
Reid kept up the light pretence as they walked to the building where he kept his office. In the sunlight Edmund could see the dark circles under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead.
Once there, Reid asked, ‘Would you care for tea? I can build a fire and put the pot on.’
‘Do not go to the trouble.’
‘Will you sit at least?’ A hint of testiness entered Reid’s voice.
‘I’ll stand.’ Edmund knew from the army that a man had more authority when he stood.
Reid rested against his desk. ‘What is it?’ he asked in a serious tone.
‘I think you know,’ Edmund said, watching the man carefully.
Reid laughed drily. ‘I do not know. I have no idea.’ He paused, then asked. ‘Unless it has something to do with Miss Brown? I assure you my intentions are honourable towards her. I want to marry her, and she has agreed to have me.’
‘My wife told me,’ Edmund responded. ‘This does not concern Miss Brown.’ Although it would seriously affect her.
‘What is it then?’ Reid could not quite pull off a guileless expression.
‘It is about the money you are embezzling from my wife’s father.’
Reid tried to appear outraged. ‘Embezzling? That is absurd.’
‘You pay less for the sheep than the receipts state and you sell sheep for more than you record. Those profits go into your pocket.’
Reid straightened. ‘I told you yesterday that you were mistaken. You heard wrong is all.’
‘No,’ Edmund said. ‘I know what I saw, what I heard. The figures in the ledger do not fit with what the other breeders told me about last year’s prices. Yours were consistent. You sold high and bought low. Every time. Do me the honour of not taking me for a fool.’
‘I deliver a profit from the farm,’ Reid said. ‘Lord Northdon makes good money from it every year, and each year we do better.’
‘You also steal profit from the farm, do you not?’
Reid glared at him. ‘You saw the books. Before I came the farm was making a pittance. One bad year and it would have gone under. Now it makes him money.’
‘Explain what I saw, then. Those are profits you are not recording.’ This was a card he hated to play. ‘If you do not explain this, Reid, I will have to let you go.’
‘Before the tupping?’ Reid’s voice rose. ‘I need to be here!’
‘Then explain about the money.’ Edmund insisted. ‘Or leave today.’
Reid turned away and waited so long to speak that Edmund thought he would actually leave.
He finally turned back. ‘When I came here the farm was a shambles. It was in danger of failing. Worse, its workers were living in deplorable conditions. Roofs leaked. Fuel was scarce. In winter their children were getting sick from the cold. Grain stores were infested with vermin. Deplorable conditions!’ He shook his head. ‘If the farm failed the effects would stretch further than the farm. The village depends on us. The other farms on the estate depend on us. There would be a lot of people put in dire circumstances. So the farm had to prosper.’
‘How does this lead to embezzlement?’ Edmund demanded.
‘Do me the courtesy of letting me explain in my own way,’ Reid snapped.
Edmund inclined his head. ‘Go on, then.’
‘I applied to Lord Northdon several times for the funds to put things on a solid footing. I sent all the details. Every time I was refused.’
‘Lord Northdon refused you?’ Northdon did not seem to lack generosity or good sense.
‘So his man of business, Mr Frye, said. It was he who proposed this plan—’
‘The man of business devised the plan?’ Could this be true?
‘Aye,’ Reid said. ‘It was not the solution I thought best. Mr Frye said to skim off the top in all transactions. He said he could keep Lord Northdon from knowing about it for the price of forty pounds per year.’
‘You went along with this, though,’ Edmund accused.
Reid threw up his hands. ‘What choice did I have? I knew if we poured more money into the farm and its tenants and workers, we would reap the rewards of it. And I knew if the farm prospered, the village would prosper and the other farms would not be hurt. I knew in the long run Lord Northdon would make more money.’
‘But it is embezzlement just the same, Reid,’ Edmund said.
Reid made a sweeping motion with his arm. ‘But look what we’ve done. Everything on the farm is in good repair. The workers’ needs have been attended to. As a result they work hard. Everyone goes along with this, because they know everyone benefits. How could I not do this?’
Edmund sank down in a chair. This was even worse than he thought. If he exposed the scheme, many people would be hurt.
Reid looked down at him. ‘I can prove to you that I kept none of it for myself. I have another set of ledgers that show where every penny has gone, all back into the farm or to the workers when the need was legitimate.’
‘How many people know about this?’ Edmund asked.
‘Everyone,’ Reid said. ‘That is why you received such a cool welcome, you know. We all expected you had come to cause trouble. To change things. To go back to the way it was when everyone struggled. But then you didn’t do anything. Nothing but work and that put you in good stead. When Mrs Summerfield helped harvest the hay, that was even better. We thought we were safe.’
Edmund rubbed his face. ‘What is to be done now?’
Reid sat, as well. ‘Might we not merely go on as before?’
Edmund looked at him. ‘I do not see how. The money belongs to my wife’s father. How can I turn a blind eye to it?’ And how could he allow that man of business to extort money from a scheme he’d devised?
‘You must find a way, or these people will suffer.’ Reid looked defeated.
What was Edmund to do? He did not exactly have any clout with Amelie’s father. In fact, he was quite sure his father-in-law would do the opposite of whatever Edmund recommended.
Edmund stood. ‘Let me think about this. Go back to the sheep. Do what needs to be done. I will tell you first what I decide.’
Reid nodded and rose
to his feet. The two men walked back to the sheep pens, but there Edmund left him and continued to the house.
What was he to say to Amelie about this? He could not put her in a position that required her to act against her father.
* * *
From her bedchamber window Amelie watched her husband and Mr Reid walk from the direction of the sheep pens to the building where Reid had his office. Even from this distance she could tell something was wrong. There was tension in both their gaits, and they were not speaking.
Her guess was the tension had something to do with whatever had upset Edmund the night before and preoccupied him this morning.
That he would not tell her bothered her. It must have to do with the sheep or the sale or perhaps with Mr Reid himself. Edmund had avoided answering her when she’d asked if it was about Mr Reid.
Amelie watched them until they disappeared into the farm building. She rubbed her forehead and turned around quickly to stride into Edmund’s room. Even though one of the footman acted as his valet, she liked to straighten his room and fold his clothes.
She heard a sound from outside and glanced out the window. A carriage passed through the gate and was making its way towards the house. She watched it come closer, and as it went around a curve in the road she gasped.
The crest on the side looked like her father’s.
She took off her apron and dropped it on one of the chairs. Her father would not like her looking like one of the chambermaids. She ran down the stairs to the hall, where the new footman sat, waiting for something to do.
‘There is a coach coming!’ she said.
He stood. ‘A coach? What do I do?’
‘Come outside with me to meet whoever it is.’ She opened the front door herself, and he followed her outside.
‘It is my father’s carriage, I think, but I don’t know why he would send it.’
‘Your father?’ the footman said. ‘The lord that owns the farm?’
‘Yes.’
The carriage pulled up, driven by the same two coachmen who had brought Amelie and Edmund here only a few weeks ago. She could see that the passengers were men, but she could not tell who they were.
The footman glanced at Amelie, looking uncertain.
‘Put the steps down, open the door and assist the passengers,’ she told him. ‘You will do splendidly.’
He nodded.
The first man out of the carriage was her father’s valet. Her father must be one of the passengers, then. The valet glanced at the house and shivered with disgust. He sighed, looked heavenward and waited to assist her father.
The next man was Mr Frye, her father’s man of business, a short, portly man who always creaked when he walked from the stays he wore under his clothes. He spied her and bowed.
‘Miss Glenville,’ he said with a flourish.
She curtsied. ‘Mrs Summerfield, sir, as well you know.’ The man was more pompous than the highest society matron. She’d never liked him.
Last came her father. Amelie ran up to him and he gave her a big hug. ‘Amelie, my dear,’ was all he said.
‘Why are you here, Papa?’ she cried. ‘Did something happen to Maman? Or Marc or Tess?’
‘Nothing like that.’ Her father patted her hand.
The footman was looking disoriented again. She stepped closer to him. ‘Gather their baggage and carry it in.’
He nodded.
She spoke to the coachman holding the horses. ‘You remember where the stables are, do you not?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the man said.
‘The stablemen should see to your needs nicely.’ She hurried over to her father and the other two men. ‘Come in, please. The footman will see to your bags.’
She led her father and Mr Frye into the drawing room. ‘Please sit, Papa. I’ll see to refreshments.’
She stepped back into the hall, where the valet was looking around disdainfully.
The footman came through the door juggling three bags and a basket.
She hurried up to him but spoke in tones low enough that the valet would not hear. ‘Leave these and run to find Mr Summerfield and Mr Reid. I saw them walking to one of the farm buildings. Tell them my father and his man of business are here.’
‘Man of business,’ the footman said in disapproving tones. ‘Do you want Mr Summerfield and Mr Reid to come here?’
She did not know. ‘Just tell them the men are here. They will know what to do. But hurry!’
‘Yes, ma’am!’ He ran off.
She turned to the valet. ‘Come with me.’ She led him through the servants’ door leading to the kitchen. ‘Mrs Wood!’ she called. ‘I need you.’
Mrs Wood appeared in the hallway.
Amelie spoke right away. ‘My father and his man of business have called unexpectedly. Please see we are served refreshment in the drawing room and see to Hines, here. He is my father’s valet. We will need rooms prepared for them.’
‘Your father.’ Mrs Wood frowned. ‘Very good. We shall attend to it.’
Amelie hurried back to the drawing room.
‘I am sorry. I was delayed,’ she said. ‘We shall have refreshments in a few minutes.’
Her father remained standing and was looking around the room. ‘I had forgotten how austere this place was. More like the house of a tenant farmer.’
It was good he’d not seen it before they’d hung the paintings.
‘It is plain,’ she agreed.
‘Where is your husband?’ Her father said the word husband with great disdain.
‘Out tending to farm business, of course.’ Her brows knitted. ‘Papa, why are you here? And why is Mr Frye with you?’
He walked over to her and put his hand on her arm. ‘It is about business, Amelie. It is nothing for you to trouble yourself over.’
She was already troubled over it.
‘Something your husband should have been alerted to,’ he said scathingly.
Her father never gave Edmund a good word.
She lifted her chin. ‘He already knows about it.’ It must be whatever was disturbing Edmund.
‘He does?’ Mr Frye looked surprised. ‘He knows about the fraud and embezzlement?’
Amelie felt the blood drain from her face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
At that moment, Lloyd brought in a tea tray, and they stopped talking. He set it down on the table and left.
Amelie poured the tea. ‘How do you take yours, Mr Frye?’ she asked.
‘Three teaspoons of sugar and milk,’ the man said, reaching for one of the biscuits Mrs Stagg had included.
Amelie sat, but mostly so they would. Her mind was spinning. What fraud? Who was embezzling?
Her father was restless in his seat. He finally stood again. ‘Perhaps you should send someone to find Summerfield and summon him here.’
‘I already did,’ she answered. ‘He will come unless he is involved in something that demands his attention.’
Mr Frye also stood again. ‘What could be more important?’ He mirrored her father’s tone and demeanour.
Amelie fixed a gaze on him. ‘You do not know the workings of a farm, do you, sir? Some tasks cannot wait.’ She turned to her father. ‘Edmund is handling the matter, do not fear.’
‘He sent for the magistrate, then?’ Frye asked.
The magistrate. Who was to be arrested? ‘I said he is handling it, Mr Frye.’ She faced her father again. ‘Tell me what you know.’
He shook his head in dismay. ‘I cannot believe he worried you over this ramshackle business, but since you know, maybe you can tell me what he plans to do about it.’
‘Tell me what you know,’ she repeated. ‘And perhaps I can.’
Her father pointed to his man of
business. ‘Mr Frye discovered it.’
Mr Frye eagerly took up the tale. He cleared his throat. ‘When I learned that you and Summerfield would be coming here, I carefully examined the records.’ He smirked. ‘To make certain I was prepared in case I was needed.’
As if Edmund would need the likes of Mr Frye, Amelie thought.
‘Some anomalies made me suspicious, though,’ Mr Frye went on. ‘I have convincing proof that Mr Reid is embezzling significant sums of money every year.’
No. Amelie felt this blow deep in the pit of her stomach.
Not Mr Reid. Please, not Mr Reid.
Her father’s eyes flashed. ‘If he knew about this, why did he not write me immediately?’
She met his eye. ‘Why should he write to you, Papa? You gave him permission to act in your stead. Let him act. He will resolve the matter.’
‘Resolve the matter?’ Frye scoffed. ‘Arrest the fellow and send him to the gallows.’
‘Arrest who?’ Edmund walked through the door, followed by Mr Reid.
Amelie’s heart pounded in her chest.
He stood tall and faced her father and Mr Frye with boldness, but Amelie noticed the stiffness of his shoulders.
Edmund inclined his head to her father. ‘Good day, sir. I hope you are in good health.’
‘Of course I am in good health,’ her father snapped. ‘What has that to do with anything?’
‘This other gentleman is Mr Frye, my father’s man of business,’ Amelie told him, not trusting her father to have the courtesy to make introductions.
‘I met Mr Frye when we made the marriage settlement.’ Edmund said. He looked Frye up and down. ‘Good day, sir.’
Frye turned red and sputtered, ‘We shall see if it is a good day.’
‘I am surprised you came, Frye,’ Edmund went on. ‘Given all we know.’
‘I insisted he come,’ her father said.
‘Papa—’ Amelie did not want to ignore Reid standing there ‘—may I present Mr Reid, the steward?’
‘Humph. I am surprised you came, sir,’ her father said to Reid. ‘When you must know we are here because you have been embezzling funds from me all these five years.’