“Could he have been lying?”
“Of course he could,” she said impatiently. “I was counting on it. Once I was twenty-one I planned to demand an accounting. I was sure there must be something left. At least enough to enable me to buy that cottage someplace.”
“Did he know that?”
She snorted inelegantly. “I spent the last few years convincing my uncle and my aunt that I was a docile little fool, and I flatter myself that I succeeded. I doubt it ever occurred to either of them that I would not always do as I was told.”
He could not help grinning at that. “They did not know you very well, did they?”
“Well,” she conceded with a slight smile, “it helped that I could generally avoid my uncle, and Aunt Craddock is not terribly perceptive.”
“That means that Craddock might well have been lying more than a little. With Greystone, his co-guardian, in India, there was no one to question him.”
Anne sat very still. “That would explain why he kept any letters from me. As long as no one saw me, as long as no one knew anything about me, no one would question my situation.”
Penworth nodded. “If he has misappropriated your funds, he might well be panicked by your marriage. As your husband, I could be expected to demand an accounting.”
“That is all possible,” she said slowly, “but not at all certain. It is also possible that my financial situation was exactly as he painted it, and he was trying to drag me back simply because—oh, I do not know how to put it. Because he had not been the one to decide what was to become of me? Because he had not controlled events? Because he was balked of his prey?”
He could feel his anger rising again. “You do not paint a pretty picture of him.”
She shrugged. “He is not a pleasant man, so it is easy to think ill of him. But his unpleasantness may be all there is to it. He was bitter about the privileges of the aristocracy, he was always jealous of my father, and I think it gave him great pleasure to humble his daughter. However, I do not think he could have done anything improper without Mr. Sprackett’s knowledge.”
“Sprackett?”
“My father’s attorney and man of business.”
“Your uncle lives in London. Is Sprackett to be found there as well?” When she nodded, he continued, “In that case, I think a trip to London is definitely needed. We may need to be discrete about it, so we won’t open the London house. We can stay with Greystone.”
“We?” She raised her brows.
“Most assuredly. I was far too lonely when I traveled on my own.” He gave her a wicked grin. “And George missed you dreadfully.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
In which the Craddock ladies seek refuge
The trip to London was accomplished quickly. With no desire to delay their arrival, Lord and Lady Penworth reached Greystone’s London house late on the evening of the second day.
Lady Augusta fell on them the moment they crossed the threshold. “Our letters must have crossed. I wrote telling you that you must come right away, and that very day I received your letter saying that you were on your way!”
“It’s all extraordinary. Most extraordinary.” Greystone was beaming and pumping Penworth’s hand and pounding him on the back all at once.
Before they could manage to speak a word of their own, Philip and Anne were hurried into the drawing room where, to their great surprise, they encountered Mrs. Craddock and Corinne. Had Greystone and his sister not been behind them, the Penworths would have backed right out. What on earth were the Craddock women doing here?
Mrs. Craddock and Corinne looked nervous and uncertain. Penworth, suspecting some further plot, shot a suspicious look at Greystone. “What’s going on here? Is Craddock behind it?”
Mrs. Craddock burst into tears, and Corinne began to wail. Anne automatically went to comfort her aunt, who began moaning, “Oh I’m so sorry, so sorry. I thought we were taking care of you. He said it was our Christian duty.”
“Calm yourselves, Aunt Craddock, Corinne. Calm yourselves.” Anne had limited patience with weeping and wailing. What she wanted was an explanation. She looked around. Penworth poured a glass of water and handed it to her. She nodded thanks and threw it in Aunt Craddock’s face.
The older woman gasped but stopped crying. Anne turned to her cousin and said, “Corinne, if you do not stop that wailing I will slap you.” Corinne gasped and stopped wailing.
Anne nodded her approval of the silence. “Now, Aunt Craddock, will you please tell me what this is all about? What are you doing here?”
Mrs. Craddock patted her face with a handkerchief and sniffled. “He said you had lost all your money, but now I don’t think you had. Because when he came back, he had a man with him, a Lord Comyn, and he thought he was going to marry you off to him, and then he would give half your fortune to Mr. Craddock.”
“And he was horrid,” put in Corinne. “An ugly, horrid man, even if he was a lord, wearing the most ridiculous clothes. And he was a Scot!”
“Mr. Craddock was so angry when we told him you were already wed. We thought he would be so pleased, what with you being a marquess and all.” Mrs. Craddock bobbed her head at Penworth here. “But he wasn’t pleased at all. He was in a temper the like of which I’ve never seen, and he said we would be ruined. I thought he was going to hit me.”
“And me as well, even though I told him I had offered to marry Lord Penworth instead,” said Corinne. That was news to Greystone, Whyte, and Lady Augusta, who stared at the girl and then at Penworth in amazement. He just waved a dismissive hand at them.
“Then he went off,” said Mrs. Craddock to Anne. “I think he was planning to bring you back and marry you to Lord Comyn anyway, but I don’t see how he could do that when you are already married to Lord Penworth.”
Penworth gave a short laugh. “You see more clearly than your husband.”
“But he hasn’t come back,” said Corinne.
“And we didn’t know what to do,” said Mrs. Craddock. “We called on Lord Comyn at his hotel, but he didn’t know either.”
“He is really very foolish. And he’s a Scot,” Corinne repeated.
“So we came here,” said Mrs. Craddock. “We didn’t know where to go or what to do, but then we saw in the society papers that Lord Greystone had opened up his London house, so we came to ask Lord Greystone and Lady Augusta if they knew what we should do.”
Whyte put in, “After they came here, I called on Comyn as well. He is not only foolish”—he nodded at Corinne, who preened—“but positively simpleminded. It seems the scheme was that once he was married to Lady Anne he would turn half her fortune over to Craddock.”
Lady Augusta and Greystone had already heard this tale, but Anne was dumbstruck. She sat back and stared around the room. “He thought he could just tell me to marry a simpleton and I would? He must be mad!”
Still sniffling, Mrs. Craddock looked at her in puzzlement. “But why would you not? You have always been a dutiful girl.”
Anne looked at her aunt in disgust. Penworth laughed. “Hoist by your own petard, my sweet. You played your role too well.”
The import of what they had been talking about suddenly hit Anne. “My fortune. He was going to turn half of my fortune over to Uncle Craddock? You mean I had a fortune all the time? I wasn’t penniless?”
“Not in the least,” said Whyte, who had been waiting with the Craddock ladies. “On the contrary, you are a wealthy heiress. Your father was both a wealthy and a prudent man who left no debts. It was only by keeping you isolated that Craddock was able to make you believe the contrary.”
Anne sat down abruptly.
“You aren’t going to faint, are you?” Penworth bent over her and seized her hand.
She snatched it back. “I do not faint. It’s just…I’m just…Aargh!” She jumped up. “I’m just so furious I don’t know where to begin.” She looked around wildly.
Lady Augusta picked up a china ornament of an insipid shepherdess and handed
it to Anne. “This one.”
Anne heaved it against the wall, where it shattered with a satisfying crash.
Penworth laughed and put an arm around her shoulders. “Now, if you have gotten that out of your system…”
“I’ve done nothing of the sort!” She looked around for something else to smash.
“Anne.” He tightened his arm. “Would it not be better to leave the ornaments and smash your uncle instead?”
Whyte smiled approvingly and turned to Penworth. “If I may make a suggestion, I believe we should pay a visit to Mr. Sprackett tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirty
In which Mr. Craddock devises a new plan
The blacksmith who finally attended to the repairs on Craddock’s carriage had been in no hurry to placate his unpleasant customer. A new axle would have to be made, he said. And a new wheel. It would be at least a week before it would be ready.
To his disappointment, this delay made little difference to Craddock, who had come down with an ague from his long, wet walk. What with one thing and another—it seemed there was not a decent pair of coach horses to hire between Dorset and London—Craddock had returned to Mount Street only the day before the Penworths arrived in London, having been obliged to spend every penny he carried with him and sell his watch to boot.
He was not in good humor.
It did not improve his humor when the door did not open as he came up the stairs. Nor did it open to his knock. He tried it, but it was locked. Cursing, he went around to the kitchen door. That too was locked, as was the garden gate. He found a discarded crate, pulled it over and managed to get over the wall. A loose window enabled him finally to get in, only to find the house deserted. His wife and daughter were nowhere to be found, nor were any of the servants. That was a pity, because he truly wished to strike someone. Preferably with his cane, but his fist might be even more satisfactory.
He stormed through the rooms until he reached his study. There was yet another unpleasant surprise. There was a large gap on the shelves where his ledgers should have been.
Why would they be missing? They were perfectly innocuous. Unless, of course, they could be compared with Sprackett’s ledgers. But who could know to compare them? Sprackett would not dare to say anything, and Greystone had always been a fool.
Penworth. It must be Penworth. But why would he even suspect? Had he already known, and was that why he had wanted to marry the girl? Had he always known she was heiress to a fortune? But who could have told him?
He had to think.
The damned girl should never have had an opportunity to escape. He should have killed her when he had a chance. Then there would never have been any questions. None that he could not find a way to answer, at any rate.
Now, he might be facing utter disaster.
It no longer mattered how Penworth had found out. What mattered was that he had to get away himself. He had to get hold of as much money as possible and get out of the country. France first, and then he could think about where to go next. America, perhaps. Or the West Indies. He could decide that later.
Right now, the important thing was money. Sprackett would have to liquidate as much as possible as quickly as possible. It did not matter if some things had to be sold at a loss—or that they were not his to sell. He would send Sprackett a message immediately. Today was Wednesday, but it was already late. A single day might not be enough. Friday. He would give Sprackett until three on Friday afternoon. He could get passage on a boat that would get him to France on Saturday.
He pulled out paper, pen and ink. It would be all right, he told himself. There were stocks that could be sold easily and deposits that could be withdrawn. He might even be able to realize more than if his plans had not gone awry. After all, he would not have to share with that idiot Comyn.
And he could leave his brainless wife and daughter behind.
Chapter Thirty-one
In which an accounting is made
Penworth and Whyte strolled into the office on Lombard Street. An observer would have seen only two fashionable gentlemen who appeared to have nothing in particular on their minds. It required considerable effort for Penworth to maintain that façade. He truly longed to smash something, and his muscles ached from the tension of keeping his hand from forming a fist.
The young man who had been lounging at the desk in the front office leapt to his feet when they entered and gave a cheeky grin. “Morning, Mr. Whyte.”
Whyte smiled back. “I trust our friend has been behaving himself?”
“Yes, sir. He’s had a busy few days, he has, correcting the accounts. I gave him a bit of help, so you can be sure he’s been doing the job right.”
Whyte gave a short laugh. “I do not doubt it, with you over his shoulder.” He turned to his companion. “Penworth, this scamp is Jeremy Peters. He may look like an infant, but there is not much about creative accounting that he does not know.” Penworth looked startled but Jeremy looked pleased at the compliment. “Jeremy, make your bow to the Marquess of Penworth.”
“Lord Penworth,” said Jeremy with a slight bow, and no diminution of his grin.
“Do not let yourself be overawed by the exalted company in which you find yourself,” Whyte told the youth.
“Don’t fuss, Whyte,” said Penworth. “I am not used to awe yet, and it makes me nervous. This youngster is your expert on dishonest bookkeeping?”
“Taught me everything he knew, my dad did,” said Jeremy proudly.
“And since his father was the man who embezzled several fortunes from various banks, that was quite a bit,” said Whyte wryly. “Old Peters knew every dodge going and invented several new ones. It was sheer accident that I caught on to what he was doing.”
“Where is he now?” asked Penworth. He was still tense. If Whyte was responsible for sending the father to the gallows or to Australia, he could not see why the son should be trusted.
“Oh, I hired him to check all of Greystone’s investments and my own as well,” said Whyte casually. “You might consider hiring him to take care of yours as well. He can spot a fraud a mile off.”
“Or you could just hire me,” said Jeremy. “We’re just about finished here, and I’ll be at loose ends.”
“Let’s see where we are now before we start discussing the future,” said Penworth.
“Right you are,” said Jeremy with a quick salute. “There was a note from old Craddock this morning. He’s coming here at three tomorrow. Wants anything that can be turned into cash in cash.”
Whyte and Penworth exchanged glances. Then Penworth smiled. It was not a friendly smile. “He’s sweating.”
Whyte gave a satisfied nod. “That gives us time to go over what Sprackett has to show us.”
In the inner office, Sprackett sat hunched over the ledgers, a most unprepossessing fellow. His fingers were stained with ink, and there was a smear of it on his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot. Had he not looked so frightened, he might have appeared dissipated. He looked up when they entered.
“I didn’t want to do it. I swear I didn’t want to.” He began talking, babbling, the moment he saw them. “I was afraid, you see. But I did keep a second set of books. The real ones, not the ones he told me to keep. And now it has all been put back. Except for what was spent, of course. But everything else.”
“Put back?” asked Penworth. “Just precisely what does that mean?”
“It seems that some of the investments had been transferred to Craddock’s name,” said Whyte. “Mr. Sprackett, with Jeremy’s assistance, has now transferred everything back to Lady Penworth’s name.”
“Jeremy’s assistance?” Penworth looked at the youngster, who shrugged.
“Jeremy has what one might call a creative gift when it comes to signatures,” said Whyte. “It seemed simpler to employ that gift than to go through the courts.”
Penworth raised a brow. “The banks had no questions?”
“None,” Whyte assured him. “I told you the boy has a gift.
And Craddock would hardly be in a position to raise questions since the original transfers involved the falsification of Greystone’s signature.”
“Here, my lord,” said Jeremy cheerfully. “Let me show you what’s what.”
Whyte, who had heard much of this already, lounged by the window, keeping an eye open for anyone approaching the office. Penworth listened attentively as Jeremy went over the various sets of books—the two sets Sprackett had kept and Craddock’s own accounts, which had somehow migrated from the house on Mount Street to this office. Penworth was a bit taken aback to see them here.
Whyte shrugged. “Jeremy is a lad of many talents.”
Jeremy smiled modestly.
After a moment, Penworth nodded and opened the books. Shortly after that, he had to sit down. He had expected there to be some sort of inheritance for Anne. He just had not expected it to be so much. He snatched up a piece of paper and wrote down some figures. He added them up and stared at them. Then he exploded.
“It’s a bloody fortune! She was hoping she might be able to buy a cottage and grow her own food, and all the time she’s an heiress. Not just an heiress, but probably the richest heiress in the whole damn country.”
Sprackett cringed.
Whyte and Jeremy sneered at him.
Penworth crumpled the paper and returned to the books. But what he saw stopped him again. “The house?” he asked. “Do you mean it was her house all the time?”
Sprackett nodded nervously.
Penworth’s voice kept rising. “Do you mean Craddock put her in a servant’s room in her own house?”
“I don’t know about that, my lord.” Sprackett was wringing his hands. “I was never in the house, you see. And I never saw Lady Anne. Not after her father died.”
“Quite right,” said Whyte. “If one is going to rob widows and orphans, it is much more comfortable if one does not have to actually see them.”
A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS Page 19