Drake's Lair (29 page)

“You should have pressed charges at once, my lord,” said the Runner laying the ledger he’d been studying aside.

“I put him out. I thought that action sufficient, until this,” Drake responded, gesturing toward his bandaged head.

“But you couldn’t have meant to just let him keep the money?” Redmond cut in. “That’s madness.”

There was that word again. Could he not open his mouth without damming himself? No, evidently not.

“Mr. Redmond, there isn’t any money to keep,” Drake defended. “It’s gone—frittered away. He’s lost it all in the gambling hells. The man is a very unlucky compulsive gambler, who doesn’t know when to quit when his winnings are running high. I saw no hope of recovery. My motive in booting him out was to prevent him from siphoning off more of my assets. I’ve known the man for better than seventeen years. He’s been my steward for most of that time. I would have—and did—trust him with my life.”

“So you let him off for old time’s sake?” the Runner queried.

“Not exactly. I knew once Mr. Bradshaw and Mr. Mills got hold of my findings, they would press for a warrant. Then, after the fire, I knew I had no other recourse, but to press for it myself. I believe Mr. Ellery is the one responsible for that fire, and I believe he was the one who struck me from behind just minutes before he started it.”

“What makes you think so, my lord?” said Bradshaw.

“Something I let slip when I sacked him. I made mention of my will. He stands to inherit a great deal of money, should I die. It’s a fair guess that he’d forgotten all about that, until I opened my bloody mouth. I was on my way to Truro to cancel it when I was struck down.”

“Has it been cancelled, my lord?” the Runner questioned.

“Not yet,” Drake regretted. “This happened before I got the chance. I’m just now out of bed.”

“Excuse me, my lord,” Mills interrupted, clearing his voice. “You shan’t need both Mr. Bradshaw and myself, since Mr. Redmond is attending. If you like, I might go ‘round to your solicitor for you, if you give me leave and your wishes in writing.”

“That would be capital, Mr. Mills,” Drake rejoiced. Then to the footman in attendance beside the door, he said, “Smithers, fetch me parchment, quill, and ink.”

The footman complied, and Drake scrawled a brief message, sealed it with the stylized dragon-shaped ‘S’ in red wax, and handed it to the banker.

“Tell my coachman to drive you up in the brougham, it will be faster,” he said. “I believe you know my solicitor, Malcolm Snead. He keeps offices in Falmouth St.”

“I do,” said Mills, rising. “I shall leave at once.”

“Tell Malcolm that I shall come up myself just as soon as I’m fit to sign anything outstanding. Meanwhile, that codicil I just handed you should suffice to cut Ellery out of my will entirely forthwith once you’ve witnessed it.”

“Consider it done, my lord,” the banker said, as Smithers showed him out.

“Now then,” the Runner said, leaning back in his chair, “there’s enough evidence in these ledgers to put Mr. Ellery behind bars for extortion, fraud, and if we stretch a point, negligence that led to wrongful death, in the unfortunate case of the Terrill boy. What I now need from you is your reasons for thinking that your steward is also responsible for the fire, and the attack upon your person. Firstly, was anything stolen from the study during the incident?”

“Nothing significant, considering all the rest,” Drake replied. “He took my pistol—my army service flintlock, and the loading tools and ammunition I had in my pockets.”

“Why were you armed, my lord?” the Runner interrupted. “Are you in the habit of carrying a holster pistol and ammunition around as a matter of course?”

“Certainly not,” Drake snapped. “I went upstairs for my cloak. When I went to the window to snuff out the candles, I saw… something on the lawn… a shadow, I believe. You must forgive me… that blow to the head. Some of what occurred is still quite fuzzy. Though the doctor tells me that such is quite normal, it’s exasperating nonetheless, and trying to force it brings on dreadful headaches. At any rate, I took my pistol from the chiffonier, loaded it, and took the tools and ammunition… as a precaution. I had just put Jim Ellery off the place, and earlier that day, I ejected two of his gambling associates, who came to collect two hundred pounds in outstanding vowels from him. They were rather unpleasant, and I had to throw them out bodily. For all I knew they could have returned.”

“So you went to investigate your ‘shadow’ armed?” the Runner queried.

“Yes. I went outside… by way of the servants’ quarters, I believe, and followed the building around to the study. The terrace doors were open, not wide open, only partially. It was dark inside. I had just come from there before I went to fetch the cloak, and the candles were still lit when I left. The staff usually doesn’t extinguish them until I’ve retired. I remember un-holstering my pistol, and stepping over the threshold. Then something struck me on the back of the head. It made a God-awful thud. I fell to my knees then something struck me again. I don’t remember anything after that.”

“You don’t remember the fire, then?”

“No, Mr. Redmond. Nothing until I woke the next day in my bed.”

“What else was taken, my lord?”

“The pound notes I had in my waistcoat pocket, and my superfine cloak. That was all.”

“Your cloak, you say?”

“Why would someone take your cloak? More to the point, why were you wearing one? It’s hardly cloak weather yet.”

“The flaw was brewing, and I was riding to Truro, since it would be faster than going by coach. I don’t know why he would have taken it, unless he wanted to make it look as though I had gotten drunk in my study, while I was at work on my ledgers, and accidentally set the room afire when I fell and hit my head. I would hardly have been doing that dressed for riding. It’s very hard for me to say this, but I believe that he was trying to murder me and make it look accidental, so no one would be suspicious when he inherited.”

“Ummm,” the Runner growled, rubbing his chin with the back of his thumb. “Where do you think he is now?”

“I’ve no idea,” Drake regretted. “He can’t have gone far. He had no money to speak of, and I only had a few pound notes in my pocket. I kept nearly all of his belongings—gave him what he could carry away in a small portmanteau. My valet packed it, and I gave him an old mare from the stable. He knew I would amend that will straightaway. It’s my guess he’s somewhere in the village.”

“So you think he’s still close by do you? Would that be prudent… considering?”

Drake hesitated. He didn’t want to involve Demelza, but he didn’t want her in harm’s way either. What would her reaction be if he dragged her into the coil? He didn’t want to imagine it. He was in enough trouble on that front already.

“My lord?” the Runner prompted.

“There is a young lady of my acquaintance whom I believe to be in danger,” he said guardedly. “Mr. Ellery has been… pursuing her for nearly a year. She recently came into money, and he is desperate.”

“And you believe he might try and relieve her of it?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, Mr. Redmond.”

“Where did she get her newfound wealth?”

Again Drake hesitated. It was going to sound more than a little suspicious, but better that than being caught in a lie. Still, it wasn’t really pertinent, except that he wanted her under the protection of the law… just in case. That seemed important enough to risk her wrath.

“From me,” he responded. “She is a lady, who has put on tick because of her father’s obsession for gambling… and subsequent death. She arrived here a year ago to live with her cousin, who then passed on, and when her cottage burned down, I contracted to buy the land from her.”

“I see,” said the Runner, arching his brow.

“No, you don’t,” Drake said tersely, “but that’s irrelevant. She is residing here at Drake’s Lair, under my protection until all this is settled. He can’t touch her here, but I’ve no doubt in my mind that he’ll stay close by to get his hands on that blunt, should she leave the estate. Unless I am very much mistaken, he’s already laid the groundwork.”

“Ummm,” the Runner hummed. “We shall begin with that, then. If you will lend me a mount from your stables, I shall have a look around the village while you continue your business with Mr. Bradshaw.”

“Take whatever you need,” Drake offered. “Your rooms have been prepared—yours and Mr. Bradshaw’s. Feel free to stay just as long as you wish. I would prefer it, since I’m in no shape to be running after you, and—”

“My lord… don’t you keep a townhouse in Mayfair?” Redmond interrupted.

“
Zeus
!” Drake thundered followed by a string of colorful expletives that raised the banker’s brow. “Yes. He hasn’t got the keys any longer, but any one of the servants will open the doors to him—keys or no—and he knows where I keep my blunt.”

“I was afraid of that,” the Runner replied. “I shall send a special messenger up to London straightaway. Have you any other estates closer at hand, where he might find ready cash?”

“No. I have several other properties aside from my crofts, but they are all let.”

“Good. That narrows the field a bit,” said the Runner, rising. “I had better get cracking. I should have some news of our man by the dinner hour. If I may say so, my lord, you could do with a rest. I’ve seen cadavers with more color than you’ve got.”

*

Drake spent the better part of the morning going over his findings on the tour with Bradshaw. The doctor put his head in after nuncheon in agreement with the Runner that Drake should go back to his bed at once, but he refused to comply.

He was quick to point out their findings thus far. Mad was he? He’d told the crusty old sawbones that he had the cannon to back up his infantry. Now he presented it in black and white with the banker’s corroboration. Hale, however, was not impressed.

Melly hadn’t made an appearance, but that was no surprise. She was still in a pucker over his interference—and would be awhile from all accounts.
Zeus
! Wait until she saw what he had in store for her next. That, however, was a secret for now. He hadn’t even shared it with Mrs. Laity, who had come in her place to doctor him with the comfrey salve.

It was late in the afternoon before the Runner returned. Drake and Bradshaw were still sequestered in the sitting room in Drake’s suite, making copious lists of the extortions and referencing them in the ledgers themselves for presentation at the trial. It was a tedious job that was going to take more than one sitting, and Drake had resigned himself to the fact that he was likely to have houseguests for some time. When Redmond entered, a small parcel under his arm, they both turned toward him in anticipation, but the Friday-faced Runner’s body language showed little promise.

“He’s gone off,” he said flatly, sinking into the wing chair he had vacated earlier. “He took a room at the Black Stag Inn the night of the fire—paid in advance for a sennight—and left his horse at the livery with the Andalusians you’ve got boarding there, so he wouldn’t have to pay, since you’re good for the tab. When the week was up, he left the inn and never came back for his belongings—the portmanteau you mentioned. The innkeeper was set to keep it for the blunt he was owed, ‘till I confiscated it for evidence. Nobody saw Ellery after that, ‘till this morning. It seems he collected a horse from the livery, all right, but it wasn’t the mare you said you gave him. He took one of the Andalusians instead, told the young clunch of a groom he was bringing it out here for you, and the dunce didn’t question him since he knew Ellery was your steward.”

Drake surged to his feet, sorry the minute he reached his full height, for the white-starred dizziness that sat him back down with Bradshaw’s help on one side and Redmond’s on the other.

“
Bloody hell
!” he trumpeted, more at his inadequacy than the loss of his prized stallion.

“Now we can add horse thievery to his chit,” said the Runner, taking his seat again. He took up the parcel wrapped in brown paper from the floor where he’d tossed it to jump to Drake’s aid. “There’s more,” he said, “are you up to it, my lord? You don’t look too steady of a sudden.”

Drake stared dazed at the stocky little man. He hadn’t really taken his measure before now. His eyes were sharp, and blue. In the firelight, his hair appeared to be a dark, burnished red streaked with gray at the temples pulled back in an outdated queue. That brought back memories of his own handsome, ill-fated braid, and of what caused it be shorn, triggering a tightness in his loins that had no place in the current circumstance. Madness? Love? Had the little witch hexed him? Even he was beginning to question now, shifting his position in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure building between his thighs.

“Just get on with it,” he said testily. “Whatever it is, you certainly shan’t top that.”

“I wouldn’t count upon it,” said the Runner drolly, as he unwrapped the parcel, and handed Drake its contents. “Would that be yours, my lord?” he said as Drake fingered the cloak he had put in his hands.

“
Zeus
!” Drake snarled. “Where did you find it?”

“In Ellery’s portmanteau.”

“Well, that’s it, then,” Drake said in defeat. His posture collapsed, and he groaned. “I
knew
it. What now?”

“We’ll bring him in, my lord, have no fear of that. He’s done himself in with this last. They always slip up in one way or another. He probably forgot all about stuffing that there in the portmanteau with the rest. It’s fine quality superfine. He evidently intended to keep it.”

“Why not? He’s got everything else.” Drake roared. Throwing wild arms into the air, he winced as his shirt rubbed against his burned shoulder with the motion. “Well? What are you waiting for, man?” he snapped. “Hadn’t you best get on with it, before he robs my townhouse as well?”

“Take an ease, my lord, he’s as good as got.” He reached for the cloak. “I’ll need that for evidence,” he said, taking it back. “I confiscated the rest from the innkeeper as well. He wasn’t too happy about that, since Ellery left him short.”

“Don’t expect
me
to pick up his tab, if that’s where this is going,” Drake warned.