Page 22 of Beatrix

‘I’m not talking about money, Henry, and well you know it.’ His sister’s voice hadn’t risen, but it had sharpened, and Henry turned from the window at last to look at her properly. ‘You spent over thirty years building a life entirely apart from that family and everything it represents. The day you came of age, I clearly remember you telling me that you’d rather dig ditches than answer to my lord for the rest of your days. And I believed you. In truth, I’ve spent the whole of that time being more than a little proud of you for it.’

‘I remember,’ Henry said quietly.

‘So, what happens,’ Charlotte pressed, ‘when this is over? When White is dealt with, one way or another, and the danger’s passed?’ Does the Earldom simply vanish into thin air? Or do you imagine yourself sitting in the Lords at seventy, discussing drainage bills with men who’d previously have crossed the road to avoid you?’

Henry was quiet for a moment, turning back to watch the hedgerows blur past. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted finally. ‘I hadn’t thought that far. I’d only thought as far as a room I couldn’t otherwise get into and a man inside I very much need to watch dangling at the end of a damned rope.’

His last words held more venom than she’d ever heard from her brother’s mouth. Frowning, Charlotte thrust the thought aside and concentrated on his uncertainty. ‘That’s not like you,’ she said, taking care to leave the emotion out of her voice. ‘Not thinking something through.’

‘No,’ Henry agreed with a sigh. ‘It isn’t.’ He rubbed a hand across his face, suddenly looking every one of his years. ‘But then, Lottie, I’ve never been in a position quite like this before. This case grows both bigger and uglier by the day and I find my usual caution harder to summon when I consider what happens if I don’t act and White simply continues, unobserved, because the one man positioned to watch him eschewed a title on a point of principle thirty years too late to matter.’

Charlotte stared over at him in silence, only the tightness of her grip on the reticule in her lap showing the turmoil of emotions she was keeping bottled up.

‘And then there are the girls to think of,’ Henry went on. ‘You’ve had your own plans for Daisy and Florence these past months…’ He held up his hand as Charlotte opened her mouth to protest. ‘Did you imagine I wouldn’t notice the dancing master’s bill, or the singing lessons? If you wish to bring them out properly, a title in the family does them no harm at all, whatever it costs the rest of us in comfort.’

Charlotte raised her chin stubbornly. ‘That’s an entirely separate matter and not one I’m prepared to discuss in public.’

‘It’s hardly public, Lottie, with only the two of us here. And I have eyes in my head.’ He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘I make no judgement on it. I’m merely observing that we may, between us, be reaching for the same solution from two different directions.’

She didn’t answer immediately, but after nearly twenty years living under the same roof, he could tell when her silence meant a tacit agreement.

‘I still think it’s madness,’ she observed at length, ‘but then much of what we’ve done this past year could be construed as equally barmy on the crumpet.’ She fixed him with a look that was, for once, completely free of her usual asperity. ‘If you do this, Henry, you do it with your eyes open. Not merely as a disguise to be worn and discarded once it’s served its purpose. Despite my earlier remark, titles don’t simply vanish into thin air once claimed.’

Henry gave a rueful sigh. ‘I’m well aware of that, Lottie, but in truth, the title was always mine, I just chose not to use it.’

‘And you’ll want Rhys to look into the legal position properly before you tell the entire family and stick your head above the parapet. There may be complications neither of us have considered.’

Henry nodded. ‘I’d already considered that. I’ll speak to Rhys this evening. But we both know that we’re running out of time. Our main consideration has to be the auction. If I don’t do this now, then there may be no point doing it at all.’

‘What about Sam?’ Charlotte was clearly not yet ready to let it go.

‘Samuel is the least of my worries. He will face the same choice as me – and it will be his choice to make. It would be a very different story if there was any money involved, but we both know there isn’t. That ship sailed many years ago.’

Charlotte sighed and nodded before firing one last parting shot. ‘You will have to tell Mama of your intention. She may be old, but she’s hardly senile and is not above roasting you in the House of Lords itself if you don’t inform her of such an important decision. Especially as she’s always been so very set against you being burdened with the Ruteledge name.’

Henry gave a humourless chuckle. ‘I admit, I’d purposely pushed the thought of telling Mother to the back of my mind, but I’m very conscious that it will have to be done. However, there’s much we need to do before I brave the lion’s den, and at the moment our entire focus has to remain on the case. That way, dearest Mama will be the one getting the pleasure of killing me…’

The carriage began to slow as they approached the Lovelaces’ gates, which were a pair of what Charlotte considered to be ostentatious wrought iron affairs, which had no business being outside anything other than a stately home. Not to mention the totally unnecessary addition of snarling lions perched on top of each gate post.

‘Well,’ she declared, straightening her hat with brisk, businesslike hands, all trace of their conversation tucked neatly away, ‘let’s go and discover exactly how the Lovelaces came by their lions, shall we?’

* * *

The bell above the door announced their arrival with a small officious tinkle, and the junior clerk behind the front desk stood up so quickly he almost upset his inkwell.

‘Good morning,’ he offered, a shade too brightly. ‘How may I assist you?’

He was, Beatrix judged, no more than five and twenty dressed in a suit that was slightly too big and had almost certainly been purchased by his mother. His neck almost disappeared into a sharp collar that Billy privately thought looked like it might take his head off at any moment. Clearly the young man was proud of his position, but there was a jumpy swiftness to his movements that spoke of anxiety.

‘We’re hoping to see Mr Holt or Mr Grainger, whichever is available,’ Rob said, his tone polite but firm. ‘My name is Robert Noon. This is my wife.’

The clerk glanced down at the ledger on the desk in front of him as though it might tell him what to do next, then gave a small cough. ‘Do you have an appointment, Mr Noon?’ he asked at length.

‘I’m afraid not. We’ve only recently arrived from Melbourne, Australia, and the matter is rather pressing.’ Rob’s voice caught, very slightly, on the word pressing, and without thinking, Beatrix lifted her arm to tuck it inside his before realising with some surprise that it wasn’t a performance.

The clerk hesitated a moment longer than strict professional courtesy required, glancing backwards toward a door at the rear of the office, before appearing to come to some private decision. ‘If you’d care to wait, I’ll see if Mr Holt is able to see you.’

With that he swiftly vanished through the door, leaving them alone.