Anne Barbour (15 page)

There was a long silence in the little room, as Claudia gazed steadily at her fingers and Jem gazed even more fixedly at Claudia. She looked, he thought, in the purity of her features, like an early Christian martyr waiting for the ax to fall—not in terrified submission, but with a dignity so profound that it almost hurt to watch her.

At last she lifted her head and looked at him straightly. “You are telling me, then, that you are the true owner of Ravencroft.”

“Yes.” He said the word simply, but behind it she could hear the exultation of the weary traveler who has at last reached sanctuary.

“You have Giles Daventry’s statement verifying all you have said.”

“Yes.” A certain wariness crept into Jem’s voice.

“Do you think this sufficient to convince the authorities of your claim?”

Jem felt perspiration break out on his brow. No fool she, the widow Carstairs. She had unerringly put her finger on the flaw in his program.

“Yes,” he repeated, with what he hoped was an air of surety.

Claudia rose, and this time it was she who paced the worn carpet. She turned finally, and faced him. “I think you have not told me quite everything, my lord. You have yet to explain why you did not, as you say, march up to the front door with the full weight of the law at your back.”

For the first time in many years, Jem felt himself completely at a loss. He said nothing, however, merely cocking his head in courteous attention.

“I believe,” continued Claudia, speaking carefully, “that you came here to find something. Something hidden in a book— though I don’t think you knew precisely which book.” She shot a quick glance at Jem and was gratified to observe that he had grown rigid. She permitted herself a small smile. “I could not help but note your pointed interest in the fate of our library volumes, and your uncommon interest in late-night reading.”

Jem drew a deep breath. It appeared he would have to tell this golden witch everything. Perhaps, he concluded hopefully after a moment’s consideration, he could turn the revelation to his advantage.

“You are most perceptive, Mrs. Carstairs.” Claudia did not at all care for the grin that curled on his lips. “Giles Daventry related another occurrence to me. He told me of your husband’s compulsive list-making.  Even in his illegal activities he made it a practice to outline in writing the project at hand. He was always careful to destroy any paperwork that might be incriminating, of course.”

“Yes,” said Claudia, her features hardening. “I remember.”

“When Carstairs sat down with Daventry in the squire’s house to plan Glenraven’s downfall, he made one of his usual meticulous lists. Afterward, when all was finalized, he crumpled the two sheets of paper he had covered with his writing and tossed them in the dying hearth fire. Later, when the two men were ready to leave the room, Daventry noticed that the sheets had missed their mark and lay unburned just in front of the nearly extinguished fire. Not knowing why he did so, he scooped them up, unseen, and thrust them into his pocket before following Carstairs from the room.

“Much later, when Carstairs was established at Ravencroft, Daventry decided to return to London to attend to his own business matters there. In his opinion, Carstairs had been overly thrifty in his remuneration for services rendered, and, recalling the crumpled papers in his possession, he determined to try a little blackmail.

“He approached Carstairs one afternoon in the library. Carstairs was apparently dumbfounded at Daventry’s effrontery, and merely admonished him for his stupidity, considering that the notes implicated Daventry as well as himself. On reflection, however, he rang for a footman—also a longtime henchman, and in Daventry’s presence ordered a thorough search of the young man’s rooms. As it happened, Daventry had the papers in his pocket—admittedly not very wise, but in this case it saved his bacon, for it never occurred to Carstairs that Daventry would commit such a blunder. However, Daventry knew with chilling certainty that Carstairs’s next step, having discovered nothing upstairs, would be a thorough search of Daventry’s person.

“Fate intervened just then in the person of the vicar, who had chosen this moment to call. Carstairs was forced to leave the room, just long enough, it appears, to virtually drive the man from his door, and in that time Daventry secreted the papers in the spine of the dustiest volume he could find on a shelf in the darkest  of the room. In his haste, he barely discerned the name of the book, recalling later merely that it had the word ‘rural’ in the title.”

At a slight sound that could have been smothered laughter, Jem bent a keen glance on Claudia, who had settled again in the little armchair. She shook her head. “I was merely reflecting on the ‘great ripples from little stones’ theme,” she said unsteadily.

He gazed at her for another moment before continuing. “Daventry thought he would be able to retrieve the papers at his leisure, but such was not to be. Not only did Carstairs refuse to dispense any largesse, but he evicted Daventry from the premises with all possible speed, promising dire retribution should he reveal any of Carstairs’s sordid secrets. Daventry never set foot in the library again. This, needless to say, weakened his position considerably, and nothing further came of the scheme.”

Claudia’s eyes fixed on Jem’s in unwavering intensity. “So, you are saying that proof positive for your claim is concealed in one of the books in the library.”

Jem sighed. “Yes. That was my reason for this ridiculous charade.” His arm flew up to encompass the butler’s quarters. “I thought it would expedite things if I could add those papers to the stack of documents already in my-possession. I—I did not wish for a long, drawn-out court battle. I must confess that I had myself talked into the idea that you would not wish for such an eventuality, either.”

“And now, my lord,” asked Claudia quietly, “do you expect me to simply fold my tent and slip away from Ravencroft in defeat?”

Jem shifted in his chair. “Well, yes, I do rather. For, with the information I have collected I believe I shall have no difficulty in convincing the magistrate to allow me to search the house thoroughly. I assume you have kept records of your sales of the various volumes no longer in your possession. If I have no luck with what’s left, I’ll seek those out as well.” He hunched forward. “In the long run, you understand, I must prevail.”

Jem’s gray eyes contained nothing but a courteous, waiting attention, but she knew she was in the presence of a force so dangerous to her position that she should be shivering in her seat. Yet somehow she felt exhilarated, as though a fresh wind had blown into her settled existence scouring out all that was weak within her and honing her strength and defiance to a diamond-hard weapon. So absorbed was she in the depths of his gaze that it was several moments before she comprehended what he was saying.

“Recompense?” she asked stupidly.

“Of course. I do not plan to turn you and your aunt out penniless into the cold, cruel world, after all. I am prepared to make a generous settlement upon you.”

“How very kind of you, my lord. And how, may I ask, did you come by the wherewithal to make such an offer? From all you have told me, you have been living in dire poverty since you left Ravencroft.”

“If that is the impression I gave you, Mrs. Carstairs, I misspoke. My first years in London were dire, indeed. However, as I said, I was not overly nice in my choice of occupation to keep body and soul together. I took to the dub lay, you see. I became a pickpocket. And a very good one,” he added, in response to Claudia’s expression of disbelief. “Unlike most of the other denizens of my neighborhood, I did not waste my ill-gotten gains on gin. I was perhaps fortunate that the, er, gentleman to whom I was apprenticed was a fairly decent chap—unusual in those environs—and he kept me fed and housed. At least until the day when the authorities caught up with him and he scarpered, leaving me holding the bag. No, no,” he said, a crooked smile curving his lips. “I escaped transportation—by an unpleasantly narrow margin, and in the end, I took over my preceptor’s position. I became myself a fence for stolen goods.

“It was not until I entered my late teens, however, that I discovered in myself a talent for figuring odds. As in gambling,” he explained kindly, lifting Claudia’s drooping jaw with one slender finger. “Everyone in London gambles, you know, from the most exalted peer to the grimiest of street rats. One who can calculate the odds of any given occurrence happening over another is in the position of scooping in an enormous amount of money.”

“What kind of occurrences?” asked Claudia in unwilling fascination.

“Well, horse races, for one. I studied the history of every nag that ever ran on four legs and became an expert. I also became rather adept at taking wagers on situations where I already knew the outcome.”

“I don’t understand...”

“If I laid out a row of bottles in front of you, and produced a mouse from my pocket, and then offered to wager which bottle the mouse would run into when set before them, would you not say that was an unexceptionable wager?”

“I most certainly would not!”

“Well, you would if you were an inveterate gambler,” he replied somewhat impatiently. “My point is, that I had plenty of takers in every gin mill where I set up operation. And,” he concluded modestly, “I won every time.”

Claudia could not resist “But how?”

“Because I happened to know that a mouse is loathe to tread where no mouse has been before him, but will take the path he knows has been trod before him by his fellows.”

“That tells me nothing,” Claudia said with a sniff.

“It tells you everything. It was my practice to provide freshly washed bottles for my wagers—all except for one, which I would rub very lightly with mouse droppings. When placed on the table, the little creature would nip unerringly into the bottle exuding the scent of his mousy friends.”

“Ugh!”

“Disgusting but effective.”

“Are you saying you amassed a fortune in this manner?” asked Claudia disbelievingly.

“Well, no, but that’s how I got my start. And I did not say I amassed a fortune. I have a fairly comfortable sum put by. What fortune I gain will come from Ravencroft. I have enough to buy back the land from Squire Foster and to buy stock for raising sheep. And,” he added prosaically, “I plan to marry well.”

“What?” asked Claudia dazedly.

“I am hopeful,” replied Jem patiently, “that my title and my estate will gladden the heart of some wealthy landowner, or merchant, with a marriageable daughter.”

Claudia shook her head disbelievingly, attempting to ignore the unexpected pain his words had caused. “That’s the most cold, cruel, calculating thing I ever heard!”

“Are you a romantic then, Mrs. Carstairs? Well, I am not. I have survived by being eminently practical, and I do not see why a reasonably happy union could not be contrived under such circumstances. At any rate,” he continued hastily, observing the dawning indignation and contempt rising in her eyes, “the main point of my discourse was to impress upon you the fact that you will not leave Ravencroft destitute.”

Claudia whirled on him, the corners of her mouth lifting in a brilliant smile. “I do not plan to leave Ravencroft at all, my lord.”

“But, I have just told you ...”

“I know what you have just told me, now you will please have the courtesy to listen to what I have to say to you. For, my lord, I have a proposition for you.”

Chapter Eleven

For a stunned instant, Jem gaped at her. “A w-what?” The word fell awkwardly from his lips.

“A proposal, my lord,” Her heart thundering in her breast, she smoothed her skirt. She wondered how easy it was going to be to live with her decision not to tell Lord Glenraven of her discovery of Emanuel’s list. She stiffened her resolve, for the compromise she had reached with her conscience was equitable, she told herself. After an hour’s bitter soul-searching, she had come to the realization that she had no right to keep Lord Glenraven from taking possession of his own home. She had no right to Ravencroft at all.

“But it is my home, too!” she had cried aloud into the silence of her room. She may not have been born here, but she loved every stone of the place, and she was
not,
by God going to be turned out.

She marveled at her control as she returned to her seat with no outward show of the turmoil that raged within her.

“You were talking about a long court battle,” she continued. “You seem very sure of your chances of winning such a war, but I am not at all certain I agree.” She shot a glance at him from under her lashes and was not reassured to note that his eyes now resembled storm clouds blown before the wind. She went on hastily. “However, I am no more eager than you to engage in a protracted struggle.”

“Then. the only sensible thing to—”

She held up her hand, and rather to her astonishment, he subsided, contenting himself with what sounded like a thwarted growl.

“As I was saying, I do not wish this thing to drag on forever, so I am offering to give up any claim I have on Ravencroft, in—“

“What!” Lord Ravencroft wore a ludicrous expression in which relief and astonishment were blended in equal measure. “You are surrendering?”

“Not precisely, my lord,” replied Claudia, a sharp edge to her voice. “I will give up my claim on one condition—well, two, really.”

The edge transferred itself to the voice of her opponent. “Which are?”

“That you allow Aunt Augusta to remain here—as your housekeeper, and that you retain me to manage the stables.”

His lordship’s features registered astonishment and angry disbelief. “You’re not serious!” he exclaimed.

Claudia did not deign to reply, but returned his outraged glare with the sweetest smile at her disposal.

“But—but, this is ludicrous!” Jem said after a moment. “Why would I agree to such an outrageous proposal? I can run my own stable, I believe, and, while your aunt has done very well as housekeeper, I believe a local woman—”

“Of course, you can run your own stable,” Claudia interrupted impatiently. “However, judging from your present knowledge of its operation, it will take months for you to understand its management. In that time, the business will backslide. Are you sure you can afford that? Besides,” she continued, “your time would be much better spent in rebuilding the sheep herd.”