A Scandalous Arrangement (3 page)

“Ah, there you are. May I offer you a little refreshment? A tray of tea perhaps, or maybe something more fortifying in this dismal weather.”

“No, nothing, thank you.” Adam turned to his lawyer. “I apologise for my tardiness; a prior meeting took rather longer than it should have.”

Horace Catchpole waved the apology away. “No matter, no matter. You are here now. Won’t you come in, please? I have everything ready for you.” Adam followed the man into his inner sanctum.

Horace Catchpole’s office was a complete mystery to most of his clients, and Adam Luke was no exception. A scrupulously tidy and well-ordered man himself, he found the chaos that surrounded the workspace occupied by his lawyer little short of baffling. Despite his apparent disorderliness however, the solicitor was efficient, meticulous in his attention to detail, and could be inventive when such was called for. He had extricated Adam from any number of legal complexities, which tended to be the lot of those intent on trading abroad. Adam’s business affairs frequently brought him into contact with unfamiliar commercial and taxation legislation, which was where Catchpole came into his own. He was invaluable, even if his filing system resembled a jumble sale and his desk a war zone. Bundles of papers were piled on every available surface, all of them tied with neat red ribbon. Books filled every inch of shelving, and the overspill was piled on the floor, teetering in precarious columns that threatened to topple at any moment. A man might be injured or killed if he stood in the wrong place for too long.

Adam eyed the scene with some trepidation, then took a seat on the opposite side of Horace Catchpole’s desk. He felt himself to be out of range of the most perilous stack of legal tomes, but even so he would try not to linger.

“I will not take up too much of your time, Horace. You have papers for me, I believe. And correspondence?”

“Indeed, yes. I have the contract for the cargo of silks from Constantinople, and for the acquisition of building land adjacent to the Hudson River. You also have several offers for
The Nymph,
and confirmation that her replacement will be delivered to your shipyard within the month.” The lawyer remained on his feet, peering into the disorderly array of papers on his large side table. He seemed to do no more than sniff the air as far as Adam could tell, then dived into the morass to retrieve the bundles he required. He set four sets of documents on the desk, shoving aside the sheets he must have been working on when Adam arrived. “If you would like to peruse these, we can conclude the necessaries and get on.”

“Indeed.” Adam reached for the first bundle, the land in America.

“Are you sure you won’t take a drink? I have some fine whisky somewhere about, I am certain of it.” The solicitor gazed about the room, an air of optimism apparent on his thin features.

“Quite sure, thank you.” Adam rarely drank during the working day. He found his commercial affairs prospered the better for it.

Almost an hour later they had concluded the pressing matters in the assembled documents. Adam laid his pen down, having signed the contract to purchase several thousand rolls of the finest Persian silk currently languishing in a warehouse in Turkey. He was confident of a ready market among the dressmakers of London and Paris. He glanced up at his man of affairs, who was scanning the finished papers. “There is one other matter I wished to discuss with you, Horace. Do you have a few more minutes? I am aware I was late, so if you have other clients waiting…”

Mr. Catchpole shook his head vigorously. “No, of course not. I am entirely at your disposal. And if you have a few minutes more, I also have a further matter requiring your attention, one that only came to light this morning.”

“Very well. We’ll deal with that too.” Adam leaned forward, his elbows propped on the desk. “I was late this morning because I was attending a meeting of the board of the London Electrical Company. You will recall I purchased shares in the business, and was offered a seat on the board last year.”

“I do indeed. You exhibit a very modern turn of mind, Mr. Luke, if I may say so.”

“I am aware of your mistrust of electricity and its various applications, but I remain of the view that our future lies in such experimentation. I spent the greater part of this morning with London Electrical discussing the work of one Alexander Graham Bell, a Scot now resident in America, who has been experimenting with a system of communication based on converting electrical impulses into sound. He recently demonstrated his device, the telephone, to the queen.”

“Yes, I heard of this. Her majesty encourages such enterprise, I gather.”

“She does, and as usual I find myself in agreement with her. Mr. Bell has developed a method of sending the human voice across distances, potentially taking communication into whole new dimensions. It is considerably more sophisticated and versatile than the telegraph, and will be more accessible to all.”

“Will be?”

“Yes. The work requires further development, but I am convinced it is worth investing in it. Unfortunately and despite my most persuasive efforts, London Electrical was not of the same view and has refused to sponsor Mr. Bell’s company to undertake the work necessary to bring this invention to a mass audience.”

“I see.” Horace Catchpole’s expression was guarded.

“I consider that a short-sighted view at best. I wish to sponsor Mr. Bell’s work, in exchange of course for a guaranteed share of his profits should he succeed in patenting and distributing his device. I think five hundred pounds will suffice for now, but I may be agreeable to further sums should the results appear to show promise.” He reached into his inner jacket pocket and retrieved a folded sheet of paper. “Here are the details. Please, would you make the necessary arrangements?”

Horace took the papers and added them to the general mayhem on his desk. He scowled at the documents but offered no further comment on the investment. “Of course. I will send a note to you when the contracts are prepared.”

“Thank you. Am I to understand that you have another matter requiring my attention?”

“Yes, sir. You will recall that industrial property you acquired last month in lieu of a gambling debt? A textile mill, I understand, in Yorkshire. You asked me to action the transfer of the property into your name, to arrive at a reliable valuation, and to make arrangements for its disposal.”

Adam sat back in his chair. “Yes, I remember. Young Edward Wynne at his inebriated best. The man is an idiot and a drunk, but I would not usually have taken advantage. He did owe me in excess of two thousand pounds though by the time I cornered him in Crockford’s about to fritter away even more. Rather than insisting he pay me before squandering what might remain of his funds, I invited him to share a game of faro and reclaimed the debt that way. I trust the valuation has shown my judgement to be sound?”

“Yes, sir, it was indeed sound. The property is worth considerably more than Mr. Wynne owed to you. It turns out his mill is a working concern, not an empty and disused building as we had assumed, and there is residential property also included in the holding.” He rummaged among the chaos littering his desk for a few seconds, then spread a sheet of paper out on the only clear space right in front of where he sat. “Ah, yes, here we are. Several small cottages, and a mill owner’s house extending to twelve bedrooms, and set in ten acres. You made an excellent bargain, Mr. Luke.”

“How excellent?”

“The mill alone is likely to sell for as much as fifteen thousand pounds. With the associated housing the value rises to something in excess of twice that sum.”

Adam let out a low whistle. He was beyond surprised, acknowledging that his estimation of Edward Wynne may have been a tad ungenerous given that the man was in possession of such a lucrative property. On second thoughts though, the young fool had relinquished the asset with an ease bordering on careless. Adam allowed himself a rare smile. The feckless Mr. Wynne doubtless had no idea what he owned. Correction, used to own.

“I am delighted to hear it, Horace. But you indicated an issue had arisen?”

“Yes. I received this letter in yesterday’s post. I would have responded immediately, but as we had this meeting planned for today I preferred to seek your view first.” He selected another sheet from beneath the one he was reading from, and passed that to Adam. “A letter, sir, from an individual claiming to be the owner of the property in question, and if I am interpreting the meaning correctly, disputing your interest.”

Adam scanned the short note, then raised his gaze to meet that of his lawyer. “Is there any substance to this claim?”

Horace shook his head. “None, sir. None at all. I did the usual checks in the conveyancing, and have revisited the documentation since this letter arrived. Mr. Wynne was the sole owner of the entire property, and it was his to dispose of as he saw fit. His signature was all that was required to effect the transfer of ownership. Legally it is now yours, of that there is no doubt.”

Adam glanced again at the note. “V. Wynne? I assume the author of this letter to be Edward’s younger brother then. Presumably the elder son inherited, but the younger has run the business.”

“That is my assumption too, sir. And he has run it well if the initial figures I have had access to are any indication. I have sent instructions to our agents in Leeds to obtain the full set of books and send them on to me for proper scrutiny, but I expect those accounts to bear out my conclusions so far.”

“I see. I am not without sympathy for the dispossessed brother, but the facts in this matter are clear. Please respond accordingly, dispelling any doubt as to the current status of this business. Have you commenced the disposal process yet?”

“We will require vacant possession of the residential premises in order to attract a buyer. I will issue notice to the present occupiers immediately. The mill is of greater value as a going concern so we should appoint a manager.”

Adam frowned, thoughtful. “On the face of it we could do worse than appoint this V. Wynne, though I daresay that could prove awkward and his loyalty would be suspect.”

“I would concur, Mr. Luke. Best to put our own man in there. With your permission I will address that matter too.”

“Thank you. Is there anything else?” Their business concluded, Adam started to rise.

“No, Mr. Luke. That’s quite all, for now.”

Adam skirted several precarious towers of books on his way to the door. “Keep me informed, if you would, please. I will remain in the city for the rest of this week and next, then you will find me in Portsmouth for a few more days prior to my voyage to America.”

“You intend to survey your new holding in person then?”

“Of course, Mr. Catchpole. I wouldn’t miss it.”

* * *

Dear Mr. Wynne,

You are mistaken; there is no lack of clarity in the matter of Wynne’s Weaving Mill. The transaction is complete and the property is now in the ownership of my client.

I would be obliged if you could vacate the business and domestic premises by the end of this month. A manager will be appointed to oversee the affairs of the company until such time as my client issues further instructions as to its disposal.

Yours faithfully,

H. Catchpole, Solicitor

Mister
Wynne indeed. Arrogant, misogynist prig.

Victoria scanned the curt few lines and wondered if she might be sick. She certainly felt it to be a real possibility. By her interpretation of the brief note, Adam Luke’s man of affairs had not so much as referred her query to him. She had been summarily dismissed.

The end of the month! Edward had said as much but she had ignored his words. She glanced at the calendar on the corner of her desk. It was already the thirteenth; she had a little over two weeks before she and her family would be homeless. Destitute. She had to do something. Something decisive. There was nothing else for it; she needed to appeal to the man himself.

“Mr. Timmins, do you have a moment?”

Her clerk appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Miss Wynne?”

“I need to know the time of the earliest train to London tomorrow morning. And I need to know the address there of Mr. Luke. Are you able to suggest how we might discover that?” Mr. Timmins had an inventive streak to him that Victoria had always admired. If anyone could find the information for her at short notice, he could.

“One moment, Miss Wynne.” Her clerk inclined his head politely and withdrew.

Less than a minute later he was back.

“One of the hands has been dispatched to the station to request details of trains to London. I guaranteed an extra penny in his wages this week if he returns within the half hour.” He stepped forward and laid a sheet of paper on top of Victoria’s blotter. “And here is Mr. Luke’s direction in London. He has business premises and lodgings in Portsmouth and in Liverpool, but his main residence is in Knightsbridge.”

Victoria gaped at her efficient employee. It did not occur to her to doubt the accuracy of his information. “How did you find this out so quickly?”

Mr. Timmins availed himself of the spare chair. “It took me three days, in fact. I knew you were in correspondence with Mr. Catchpole, but I suspected we might find it necessary to make contact with Mr. Luke direct. The morning after your brother’s visit, I telegraphed my cousin, who is a waiter at White’s. He is acquainted with others in similar employ, including the second footman at Crockford’s. That individual was able to ascertain Mr. Luke’s address in the city from their member’s list…”

Victoria shook her head in disbelief. “Mr. Timmins, you are indeed amazing.”

“I did offer my help, Miss Wynne, and I have almost as keen an interest in rectifying this unfortunate set of circumstances as you do. I like working here for you.”

“You are an excellent clerk, Mr. Timmins and I expect your job will be safe, whatever happens.”

“I am afraid I cannot share your confidence, Miss Wynne. A new owner would doubtless have his own staff, or would wish to select them.”

Victoria merely shrugged, unable to entirely refute his logic. In Mr. Luke’s place she would probably do the same thing, though she would offer the most heartfelt recommendation for her loyal assistant if it actually came to that.