Finders and Keepers (51 page)

‘I paid for my room on Friday and told Mrs Edwards that I'd be needing it for at least another week.'

‘Do you want me to clear it for you and settle up with her?' Lloyd asked.

‘No. If they let me go in the morning I'll come straight home, but afterwards – after Granddad is buried – I'll go back there. I would like to say goodbye to a few people.'

‘See you soon, Harry. Mr Richards, thank you for coming up with me this morning and volunteering to stay with Harry.' Lloyd entered the nearest carriage.

‘Tell everyone that I'll be home the moment this mess is cleared up,' Harry called out.

‘I will.'

Mr Richards and Harry were standing watching the train pull out when a man walked up behind them and coughed diffidently.

‘Mr Richards?'

Mr Richards turned around. ‘Mr Beatty.' He shook his hand. ‘You made good time. You have brought everything I asked for?'

‘Yes, sir, all the files on E and G Estates.'

‘Harry Evans, allow me to introduce Anthony Beatty, one of our clerks, who has been working on the E and G portfolio for three years. Have you lunched, Mr Beatty?'

‘No, sir, there wasn't time,' the young man replied shyly.

‘I'm sure they will be able to find you something at the hotel. I suggest we retire there, order refreshments and take a look at what you have in that briefcase.'

‘No! Don't!' David Ellis flung himself between Ianto Williams and Merlyn, the dog that had been his inseparable companion until the day before, when Ianto had moved all the livestock from the Ellis Estate to his own farm.

‘The dog went for me. He needs to be taught who's master.' Ianto unfurled his horsewhip.

David struggled with the chain that fastened one end of Merlyn's collar to the wooden post in the centre of the farmyard. Ianto unfurled the whip, lashed it and caught the dog's ear. Blood flowed. David unbuckled the dog's collar. ‘Go, Merlyn, go, run … run …'

The dog hesitated and licked David's hand.

‘Run, Merlyn!' David screamed. ‘Run!'

The dog still lingered, crouching low, watching Ianto furl his whip again.

‘Run!' David struggled to his knees and slapped the dog's rump. Merlyn finally charged off, seconds before Ianto cracked his whip short of his heels.

‘Call him back,' Ianto shouted.

‘No.' David glared defiantly at his new employer.

‘A shepherd's no good without his dog; call him back.'

‘So you can whip him again?' David asked. ‘No!'

The whip cracked, and caught David across the face. He grabbed it. The leather cut his hand, but he wrapped it around his fingers and tried to pull it from Ianto.

‘Let go.'

‘No.' David tugged it, and Ianto stumbled forward.

‘Let go or I will complain to the workhouse master and it will go badly with your brothers and sisters,' Ianto threatened.

David reluctantly released his hold. Ianto cracked the whip again and caught David across the shoulders.

‘I'll teach you to disobey me. That thieving son-in-law of mine will make me pay for that dog and you've sent it the devil only knows where. I should have left you in that workhouse. You spit on my Christian charity …'

David crouched on hands and knees, curling himself as small as he could to lessen the impact of the blows. When the pain began to consume him, he thought of Martha and Matthew, and the look of bewilderment on Matthew's face when he had sat up in the dormitory bed.

‘Ianto?'

David heard Mrs Williams. He opened his eyes and watched her long, thin feet, encased in pale-blue leather shoes, cross the farmyard. A weakening tide of relief washed over him. No woman would stand by and watch her husband whip a helpless boy without lifting a finger to help the victim …

‘You'll have to leave that until later. It's time to go to chapel.'

‘I'll put him in the cellar.' Ianto dropped the whip on to a stone wall. He walked up to David and kicked him in the ribs. ‘Get up.'

David struggled to his knees only to fall back again. He had been locked into the dank cellar the night before and was in no hurry to return there.

‘Get up!' Ianto kicked him again.

‘I can't stand,' David mumbled.

‘Then crawl.'

David did just that. He struggled to the door behind the kitchen. Hauling himself up on the metal rail set in the stone wall, he inched his way down the steps. Before he reached the bottom Ianto Williams slammed and locked the door.

He was back in the cold and dark. But he had never been afraid of the dark and he was used to the cold winters on the mountain. The pain was bad but he had two good thoughts to cling to. He had prevented Matthew and Martha from being thrashed. And he was alone with his memories – the happy ones.

*……*……*

The grief at his grandfather's death, so long anticipated yet so sudden at the end, consumed Harry. It was a raw and constant pain that was almost physical. But Mr Richards forced him to concentrate on the task in hand. And the first papers he handed to him were Robert Pritchard's balance sheets.

Harry was shocked to see that the agent had banked less than twenty pounds against the Ellis Estate's arrears of rent in the last year. He recalled the back-breaking work he and David had put into carting the 120 fleeces that the Ellises had put aside to sell to the wool merchant – and they had been a fraction of what Robert Pritchard had taken from the sheep pens. He thought of the long hours Mary spent making cheeses, churning butter, scouring milk chums, trussing poultry. Even little Matthew collecting eggs. To his own knowledge, the agent had taken cartloads of fleeces, dairy produce, poultry, eggs, sheep and bullocks that had had to be worth twenty times that amount.

And it wasn't only the Ellises. Some of the other farms that the agent collected rents from seemed to produce absolutely nothing, or were boarded and derelict.

Harry set his coffee cup back on the tray of refreshments that Mr Richards had ordered to be brought to their suite. ‘I don't understand, Mr Beatty.' He rifled through the papers on his lap. ‘How can E and G Estates be making any money when the agent collects so little in rent?'

‘A proportion of E and G Estates holdings are a tax loss, Mr Evans.' Mr Beatty held out his cup when Mr Richards offered to refill it. ‘Basically, the company has so many assets it doesn't matter if a quarter, or even half, don't make any profit, or even if they lose money, because the loss can be offset against the returns on the more lucrative properties. And E and G makes thousands of pounds from the buildings you own and rent out in the centre of Cardiff and London.'

‘London?'

‘Yes, Harry, London,' Mr Richards affirmed. ‘I did tell you that you are an extremely wealthy young man.'

‘As I was saying, Mr Evans, sir, the farms might be idle but we can offset the cost of keeping the houses boarded up and maintaining the land for possible future cultivation against the profits of your urban rentals. All the bankers want to see is an account sheet that balances. And E and G Estates has always had one of those. It is only the bottom figure that counts, and that is, and always has been, black not red.'

‘I know how much the agent has taken from the Ellis Estate in the last month and barely a fraction of it is detailed on this sheet.' Harry tapped the paper in his hand. ‘Do you know the agent, Robert Pritchard?'

‘No, sir, I don't,' Anthony Beatty replied.

‘Have you ever met him?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Who appointed him?'

‘I believe the directors of the Capital and Counties Bank advertised and interviewed for the post, sir. That is the usual way of filling a vacancy.'

‘It is, Harry.' Mr Richards offered his cigar case around, and this time Harry took one.

‘You didn't sit on the interview panel?' Harry asked the clerk.

‘No, sir. Someone in my position in the firm wouldn't. And as you see from this letter offering Mr Pritchard a contract, he started working for the company over ten years ago. I only joined the firm four years ago.'

‘What do you want to do, Harry?' Mr Richards asked.

Harry shuffled the papers together. ‘These prove the agent has defrauded one tenant and – when we track down and interview the others, especially the ones he has evicted – I'm certain that we'll be able to prove that he has defrauded more. Not to mention E and G Estates, because it appears that very little of what he collected from the tenants found its way into the company account. Given the fraud and the amount of produce he purloined from the Ellises, we can also prove that he perjured himself by stating that the family were in serious arrears. He had absolutely no right to evict them. And when we find Mary Ellis she will corroborate my story and confirm that Robert Pritchard assaulted me, not the other way around. Hopefully that will persuade the police to drop the charges that led to my arrest.'

‘Arrest, Mr Evans, sir?' Anthony Beatty exclaimed.

‘It's a long story, Mr Beatty. I also need to look into Ianto Williams's affairs. I heard him tell Robert Pritchard that there was no need to send the Ellises' stock to market, and that he would take the lot off his hands. That also sounds suspiciously like fraud to me. Perhaps we can employ a detective to investigate the dealings of both men. I would do it myself, but my first priority has to be to my family. And I would like to return to Pontypridd as soon as possible.'

‘May I suggest that we pay Robert Pritchard a visit so he can drop the charges against you?' Mr Richards placed his cigar in the ashtray.

‘That would be a start, and my second priority has to be to get the Ellis children and Mary Ellis out of the workhouse.'

‘That may take some time, Harry,' Mr Richards warned. ‘But our visit to Mr Pritchard can be made right away.'

Bob the Gob lived in an impressive four-storey, double-fronted Georgian house in Wheat Street, in the centre of Brecon. The taxi cab that Mr Richards had insisted on calling for Harry's sake stopped outside the front door. Harry looked up and saw fine lace fluttering out of the open windows and the sound of a piano being played.

‘Mr Beatty?' Mr Richards took the briefcase from the clerk. ‘Would you be kind enough to knock on the door and inform whoever answers it that the owner of E and G Estates wishes to see Mr Pritchard on urgent business? When you have done that, would you please take this taxi and go to the police station. Ask to see the sergeant, not a constable. I warn you that may mean a longish wait. Ask him to send an officer to arrest Mr Pritchard for fraud. Tell him we have all the evidence he needs. If he should argue with you, mention Mr Lloyd Evans's name and warn him that the MP is a personal friend of the chief constable.'

Anthony Beatty left the taxi and knocked at the door. Harry sat back, away from the taxi window, and watched. A maid in a black dress, lace afternoon cap and apron opened it. She bobbed a curtsy. Anthony Beatty raised his bowler and spoke to her.

She listened, turned and ran back up a staircase carpeted in red plush. A few minutes later Robert Pritchard walked down the stairs, buttoning his jacket and straightening his tie. He offered his hand. The clerk shook it and returned to the taxi.

‘Are you sure that you want to face the man now, Harry? We can wait for the police.' Mr Richards lifted the briefcase from the seat.

Harry wasn't at all sure, but said, ‘Let's get it over with.' He left the back of the cab and held the door open for Anthony to get in.

Robert Pritchard was shaking hands with Mr Richards when he caught sight of Harry. ‘I don't know what you are doing out of your cell, but I don't allow filth over my doorstep.'

‘Oh, I think you'll make an exception for me, Pritchard,' Harry said curtly. ‘I own E and G Estates.'

The agent opened and shut his mouth like a goldfish scooped out of water.

‘Mr Evans is correct, Mr Pritchard,' Mr Richards confirmed. ‘And, as we have business to conduct, I believe it would be better if we discussed it inside.'

Unable to look either Harry or Mr Richard in the eye, the agent focused on an indeterminate point across the street. Eventually, he stepped back and opened the door wider. ‘If you want to discuss business, you had better come into my office,' he muttered. ‘Close the front door behind you.'

He led the way, walking to the right of the staircase and down a dark, narrow passageway. He opened a door in the back wall to reveal a large room that overlooked the yard behind the house. The only window faced a brick wall, and Harry had the feeling that he had walked from bright afternoon into evening twilight.

It didn't help that the office was furnished in age-blackened oak and the walls painted a sombre dark green. The fireplace filled one half of the longest wall on their left. It was heavily carved in Jacobean style, whether real or reproduction Harry couldn't tell. He knew very little about antiques, but he placed it in a different era to the house.

A glass-framed tapestry firescreen hid the fire basket and chimney. The fire irons in the hearth resembled the instruments of torture Harry had seen in continental museums, and he wondered if they had been made by a local blacksmith who had overdosed on Gothic novels. A red-and-green Turkish rug covered most of the floor. In the exact centre of the room, and dominating it, stood an antique oak desk, the largest Harry had ever seen.

He recalled the desk Mary and David had mentioned when he had told them about quill pens, and wondered if the agent had earmarked the Ellis property for his own use. After seeing Ianto Williams's wife wearing Mrs Ellis's jewellery, and eavesdropping on the conversation between Ianto Williams and Robert Pritchard, he was certain the family's possessions hadn't been put into a fair and open auction. If they had raised any money at all, and not been stolen as he suspected, he was equally certain that the proceeds hadn't been deposited in either the Ellises' debit account or declared to E&G Estates.