His Tempting Governess: Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book 2

by DeLand, Cerise

  “Belle, let me help you. You spoke of how men can take much from women. Of injustice. And I—”

  “No. Do you assume I cannot rectify this situation on my own?”

  “Oh, Belle, I would not insult you.”

  “Don’t discount me, either. If I cannot do this myself, how will I hold my head up ever again?”

  Her vehemence had him sitting back, his blue eyes locked on hers.

  Then he nodded and turned his attention toward the street.

  * * *

  Belle took Cartwell’s hand to help her down the step into the street. Number 5 was just there on the corner. The placard declared the offices of Hill and Gibbs. She hesitated going in since Win might wait to see where she went.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said in hope to dismiss him with simple courtesy.

  But he scanned the street, taking note of everything around him. “I will return in one hour.”

  Would he not give over? “There is no need.”

  “A storm approaches from the east.” He tipped his head to indicate the gathering clouds. “I will return.”

  Exasperated, she flapped her arms and turned for Number 5.

  She took the few steps into the small brick building. Inside was a sparsely furnished office with two desks, two clerks and many books stacked up in towers upon the floor. Another door indicated there was one inner office.

  “Good afternoon, I am Miss Isabelle Swanson and I’d like to talk to Mister Alfred Gibbs.”

  The clerk who examined her head-to-toe was a tall, long-faced fellow with glasses so thick, they magnified his eyes many times over. He glanced down at a thin book before him and pushed up his pince-nez to squint at the print on the page. “I see your name on our books, Miss Swanson. But Mister Gibbs is indisposed today. Perhaps you could return at a later date?”

  Alarmed, she shook her head. “When?”

  “We’ve no idea when Mister Gibbs might recover his latest bout. A week? Two?”

  Impossible. In ten days, she’d be in South Sussex after Win moved the household to his country house. Without a proper lawyer, she’d then be physically closer to her former home, but infinitely farther from resolution of her problem.

  “I wished to see Mister Gibbs on an urgent matter.” The sooner she dealt with this, the sooner she could have some peace of mind. Either resolve her case and leave Dudley Crescent and Win, or resign herself to her permanent status as a servant.

  “That’s not possible, Miss. I do not know precisely when he will return, ill as he is.”

  “But I’ve paid for a few of his services already and I must learn of his progress.”

  “Perhaps then you’d care to speak to his associate, Mister Charles Hill?” The man looked agreeable.

  She was not above taking advantage of his kind offer. “Will he know of my case?”

  “Perhaps so, Miss Swanson. The two men do discuss their clients. Let’s ask him, shall we?”

  Relief lightened her step as she followed the clerk into the larger office. There to greet her was a frail, graying gentleman who sat in a wheeled chair made especially for invalids.

  “Miss Swanson,” said the clerk, “may I present our senior man, Mister Charles Hill?”

  She gave a polite nod and offered her hand. “Mister Hill, how do you do?”

  “Forgive me, Miss Swanson, for not rising.”

  “Please, sir. There is no need.”

  He offered the chair before his desk, and as she took it, she noted the pristine order of this office. Unlike the front room, this had books firmly and neatly ordered upon shelves in a wooden case. And this man’s desktop was clean save for a ledger and two large books that appeared quite old.

  “Miss Swanson,” said the clerk, “is here for her appointment with Mister Gibbs, sir. And she says she urgently needs to learn of his progress on her matter.”

  “I see, Smythe. You may leave us.” Hill folded his hands in his lap and when his clerk had closed the door, he said, “Miss Swanson, I know a bit about your complaint.”

  “Thank heavens. I am most eager to move on. Can you tell me what Mister Gibbs has discovered?”

  “I know that Mister Gibbs has searched precedent in your case and I would be glad to discuss it.”

  She sighed. “Oh, sir, I know much of that myself, having had a friend counsel me on a similar issue.”

  “Was this friend a man at the law, Miss Swanson?”

  “No, sir.” Katherine, Lady Blessington, spoke of her mother’s situation when she’d been a young girl and their steward tried to direct funds from her accounts into his own pockets. “She is friend whose mother had a similar challenge.”

  “Nonetheless, Miss Swanson, it is good to take advice only from an expert.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Which is why, sir, I hired Mister Gibbs.”

  “Forgive me, I meant no disrespect.”

  She shouldn’t stand on ceremony. But she’d had so many men who dismissed her and her importance in the past few months that she was used to calling them out. Only with Win had she seen that some men did treat women equally. “I will not take it as such, thank you, sir.”

  “So,” he said, and pushed the large wheels of his chair around his desk to come closer. “Tell me the details.”

  “I will be frank with you, sir. I need a man who knows the law. I have a problem, one begun—I hate to tell you—many years ago, and I am not certain it can be rectified. But I must try. I feel much maligned and am eager for justice to be done.”

  “I will aid you if I can, Miss Swanson. Describe to me what happened.”

  “Before I do, I will confess I have limited means. I have told Mister Gibbs this and he has promised to help me as much as possible. But for me to take your time to describe my situation in his absence, means I am doubling my bill. And at the end of my story, I must know your fees.”

  “Please proceed. Mister Gibbs and I are more interested in righting wrongs than in fleecing our clients.”

  Belle took comfort from that. “I was assured of that by the person who referred both of you to me.”

  “I must thank him.”

  “Her.”

  “I see.”

  She felt duty-bound to reveal the name. “Lady Blessington.”

  “My second cousin. Kind of her. I will send over a note of my gratitude. Proceed, Miss Swanson.”

  “Of course. The simple explanation, sir, is that I—I was robbed.”

  “Robbed.” Gray eyes wide, he shook his head. “By whom?”

  “When my grandfather died three months ago, at the reading of the will, no funds were announced that were to come to me. The house and contents all were given by my grandfather to the estate manager. This, however, was not my grandfather’s real intent. He decreed and often told me that upon his demise or on my twenty-fifth birthday, whichever came first, I was to have access to a savings account created for me twenty years ago by my father. Upon my grandfather’s passing at whatever date, I was also to inherit my grandfather’s house and grounds.”

  “Yes, yes. I remember all of this now from Mister Gibbs.”

  “When I asked the family solicitor about this, he told me that he was shocked at the changes in the will. He accused the manager of theft.”

  “Your solicitor’s name?”

  “James Irwin, sir.”

  “Ah, yes. Mister Gibbs did tell me yesterday that he spoke with your Mister Irwin and he accuses the estate manager of siphoning money that belonged to the estate to line his pockets.”

  “In addition, it seems Tottingham persuaded my grandfather to make a new will to grant him the house, the grounds and my savings account to himself. Either that or he forged his handwriting.”

  “Most dastardly of this man your grandfather hired. I do believe, correct me if I am wrong, that your grandfather was very senile by the time of his death.”

  “He was, Mister Hill. He knew no one. And even thought I was his wife.” She choked on a swell of grief. “It wa
s easy for Mister Tottingham to steal from us. Too easy.”

  “And you had no hint of his treachery until your grandfather’s death?”

  “None. Tottingham was quite good at his deception. The house ran as it always did. The staff was paid. Our meals were grand. The house kept up. The carriages, too. My wardrobe.” She stared at her hands. “When it came out, when I heard what he’d done the day of the reading, I felt such a fool. How could I have not known? How could I have been so blind?”

  “Tottingham was skillful.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And you, Miss Swanson, are the only heir?”

  “I am.”

  Hill thought for a minute. “As I recall, your family hold no entailed land, then?”

  “That is correct, sir. We are a merchant family. Since King Henry’s time, my ancestors made soap. Swan’s Soap.”

  He grinned. “A fine reputation at it, too.”

  “Even unto today,” she said in agreement.

  “We use it at our house.”

  “And at ours, sir.” She was always gratified by the number of people who thought her family’s soap the very best at a decent price. “The business has always been profitable and runs efficiently based on an affordable product.”

  “And all these years, you had no dowry created for you?”

  “Not as such, sir. My father put such funds as he wished in a bank account in Rothstein’s Bank here in the City. The account was funded by a percentage of profits from the soap factories. Before he died four years ago, he told me I had quite a bit of money there.”

  “Would you tell me how much?”

  “I will. Then it totaled eight thousand pounds plus.”

  “A fortune,” he murmured.

  “Indeed,” she said. “Continually funded by the percentage of profits from the two soap factories plus any interest deposited by the bank.”

  Hill’s lashes fluttered in shock. Then he leaned forward, his gaunt face craggy with concern. “And have you any idea what the house, its contents and environs might be worth?”

  “I do, sir. I brought this sheet from the Sussex Advertiser of yesterday.” She handed over the newspaper she’d brought from home. “In the third column, you see the advertisement for the auction. It begins: ‘Crawley. To be sold by private contract.’ It lists the house, its contents, the coach house, stable and gardens. All the livestock. Tickets to view may be got from Hargate’s Auctioneers, New Bond Street. The auction floor for bidding on the house alone is one hundred twenty pounds.” She pressed two fingers to her quivering lips.

  “Hmmm. So Tottingham does not wish to live there, but seeks quick liquidity. Perhaps he plans to take the cash and make a run for it.”

  “Exactly what I thought.”

  “Let’s see. When is this sale?” He ran his finger down the advertisement.

  “Thursday, June 20, sir. In the village of Crawley at my former home.”

  “Ten days. Hmmm. And the auctioneer is Hargate. A reputable firm. I know the owner.”

  “And so he may be, sir. But Hargate, like so many others, has been duped, Mister Hill. Tottingham has no real right to sell my home.” She sought a handkerchief in her reticule warding off her complete rush to tears. “He forged my grandfather’s name to a new document which Tottingham wrote himself.”

  “Dastardly. But we must prove this. Let us see if we can. Have you proof your grandfather intended the house and this savings fund be given to you?”

  “I do. I have letters sent to me by him when I was in finishing school in Margate.”

  “Do you have them with you?”

  She went quite still. “I brought one.”

  He put out his hand and she gave it to him.

  In silence, he read, then re-read the letter. At last, he put it atop his desk and looked at her. “This has no date. An illegible signature.”

  She’d known that. “I have more, better defined.”

  “Still. Do any of your letters declare that the estate manager had the run of the bank accounts?”

  Panic rose in her throat. “Yes. I have papers from the ledgers in the estate manager’s office, but not with me.”

  “I will need to see them. If you could bring them to me, then I could move forward.”

  Oh, she’d known it would come to this. “I cannot. Not immediately. And not before June 20.”

  Hill frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “In the midst of the reading of the will, I left and hurried to the estate office. There I found pertinent records, hid some and took others in my pockets. I was just in time, too, because Tottingham’s assistant came looking for me. I eluded him by going up the servants stairs.”

  “Superb thinking.” He clasped his hands in glee. “The sooner you bring them to me, the sooner we can stop this criminal from stealing your home and your inheritance.”

  ‘That’s the problem, Mister Hill.” She licked her lips. “As I said a minute ago, I cannot give them to you until June twenty.” And only if I am successful at my subterfuge.

  “But that’s the day of the auction.”

  She nodded, resigned to the disbelief Mister Hill would now show her. “So it is.”

  “How will we be able to stop the sale of your home if we wait until the very day of its sale? Miss Swanson, you must come forth with the proof sooner than the twentieth.”

  “I wish I could, sir. But all the documents you need are hidden in furniture to be auctioned that day.”

  “No.” He seemed to breathe the word.

  She hated to admit it. “I hid them all in secret drawers in various pieces. Ledgers, portions of them, in the desk in the manager’s office. Others in the escritoire that sat in my boudoir.”

  “Why did you not retrieve them before you left the house?”

  “Immediately upon ending the reading the will, Tottingham had me forcibly evicted from the house. One trunk at the ready at the front door. My clothes dropped in, jumbled.”

  “The bugger,” he breathed. “Forgive me. Who was the executor? Why would he allow this outrage?”

  “Tottingham was named executor by my grandfather, Mister Hill.”

  He dropped his hands to his thighs. “Usually it’s a family member or the solicitor.”

  “I am the only family member, sir. And our solicitor decided not to fight Tottingham.”

  “Astonishing.”

  She leaned forward. “Agreed. I will go to the auction. Retrieve the documents.” Steal them back. “I’ll need Mister Gibbs to attend, the local sheriff too. That way, both can officially stop Mister Hargate from finalizing all the sales and Tottingham from taking the money and running.”

  Hill paused in thought, then cast wary eyes at her. “What if those two pieces are sold before you can bid on them?”

  She acknowledged that possibility with a nod. “A chance I must take.”

  “You are quite brave to do this.”

  “More a necessity, don’t you think, sir?” She smiled at him with more assurance than she felt. Would that she could become a real termagant and frighten Tottingham to do her will.

  “I do. But what if Tottingham is there and he recognizes you? He may sound the alarm to Hargate and stop the sale.”

  She had pushed that hazard to the back of her mind, hoping no one would utter the words and offer it up to the universe as possible. “Not probable.”

  “Why not?”

  “He thinks me weak of knee and poor of pocket. Else he would not be so brazen as to advertise the sale of my home and heritage as widely as he does.”

  The lawyer remained rueful. “My dear Miss Swanson, this is too dangerous. I urge you to let me go instead.”

  “I must retrieve those papers and I must do the bidding.”

  “Miss Swanson—”

  “I lost my inheritance by sitting by. I must gain it back by standing up.”

  “As you wish, Miss Swanson. But bear in mind, this is no easy task. We must have both sets of documents to pr
ove this Tottingham’s culpability. If we have one, not the other, you may be minus the house or your inheritance.”

  Or both if he recognizes me and stops me. “I would like to deprive this man of any ill-gotten gains, sir.”

  “Know too, Miss Swanson, Hargate has the right to sell anything at any time. A buyer could walk into the house tomorrow and purchase whatever he wishes.”

  Her stomach turned. Her dear home. The place where she remembered all her past pleasures. Through the machinations of one greedy thief, she had lost her means to live in dignity. “I will pray that does not happen, Mister Hill.”

  She stood, her confidence falling at her feet. “Thank you for your help.”

  “I will see you June twenty.” At her look of surprise, he demurred. “I can travel in my own coach. Designed specifically for me. Used my prize money to make my life easier.”

  “You were in the wars, then, sir?” Just like Win.

  “I was. Glad I fought. If that means this, then so be it.” He rolled his chair along behind her as she strode to the door. “I will investigate. Where may I notify you of my findings?”

  “I live at Number 18 Dudley Crescent. I am governess to Colonel Lord Cartwell’s new ward.”

  Surprise etched his craggy brow. “You are employed by Win?”

  She detected fondness and respect in Hill’s words. “I am.”

  “I know him well. He was my superior officer for more than two years, Miss Swanson.”

  Their affiliation gave her a new worry. “Please do not share with him what we have discussed today. I know that sounds…odd. But I wish to do this on my own.”

  “And Lord Cartwell would like to help you?”

  “He would, sir.”

  “I see. I understand that. The man is a legend for good reason. But if it is your wish, I will observe it.”

  “Thank you. I’d prefer written messages.”

  Befuddled, he nonetheless nodded. “As you wish.”

  “We go to Lord Cartwell’s country home north of Brighton next week. For the summer, you see. You may write me there.”

  “Should I learn anything of interest, I will.”

  “Thank you. Shall I pay your assistant?”