Shattered Dreams (3 page)

Determined to catch them before they moved on to another
unsuspecting victim, Hugo, and the men from the Star Elite, had
managed to track the Dandridges’ down to one of London’s less
reputable suburbs, Tooting Mallow, whereupon they had carefully
organised a trap.

“
I have purchased the Rectory in Tooting Mallow,” Hugo had
informed Harry. “Go there, set up house as a middle-class
businessman who travels a lot. You are wealthy, but not overly so,
and don’t have the time to bother with the house much. Advertise
for a housekeeper and butler, but make it clear that the house is
effectively theirs while they are there. Harriett has made sure
that there are more than enough ornaments there to tempt them. You
just make sure that they have the time they need to help
themselves.”

Thankfully, the Dandridges’ had stepped forward as planned,
and taken up residence in the housekeeper’s quarters within the
month.

As yet
though, Harry had no idea what they did with the money they stole
because, as far as he could see, they didn’t live profligate
lifestyles. They didn’t appear to have a carriage. Their clothing
was the normal, cheap and serviceable clothing servants usually
wore, and neither of them seemed to be heavy drinkers, or smoked,
or really did much of anything.

So what
did they spend their ill-gotten gains on?

Harry
had already searched their belongings, but had found nothing to
even hint that they were anything other than regular servants who
were used to a life of hardship and toil.

The
middle aged couple appeared to be the epitome of trusted servants,
who could be relied upon to carry out their job quietly and
discretely, and with the height of perfectionism. Everything a
discerning employer could want - right?

Unfortunately, no employer was going to get that from either
of the Dandridges’.

It had
quickly become evident, within days of their arrival, that neither
of them knew what the hell they were doing. Roberta Dandridge was a
lousy cook, and knew even less about cleaning. Charles Dandridge
skulked around the house most of the time. He did seem to like to
listen at doors, and usually peered into things that no respectable
butler should concern himself with. However, he did none of the
tasks that he was paid to do and, instead, spent most of his days
sitting in a chair in the kitchen.

Harry
knew that it was only a matter of days now before the Dandridges’
made an attempt on his life. It was shocking to realise just how
much they were trying to plunder from the house. A farm labourer
would be lucky if he earned twenty five pounds per year. The
Dandridges’ had been at the Rectory for only a few weeks, and had
helped themselves to more than that already. It raised alarm bells
with Harry, who knew that his chances of survival grew increasingly
tenuous with each day that passed. Given that the amount they had
skimmed off the accounts, and stolen from the house, now topped
nearly thirty pounds, they were either desperate for money for some
reason, or getting ready to move on.

With
that in mind, he quickly resumed his seat at the desk, selected a
clean sheet of parchment out of the drawer in front of him, and
settled down to write. If he hurried, he would be able to get the
note off before it grew dark, and Hugo would receive his request
for more help the day after next.

CHAPTER
TWO

Tilly
glared up at the dark rain clouds overhead and snorted in disgust.
She walked down the road marked ‘Bennington Green’ in search of the
Rectory, and grew more worried with each step she took.

At
first, she had paid no attention to the light smattering of
raindrops when they had started to fall around her. However, the
light drizzle had turned steadily into a deluge that had forced
everyone, except her, inside.

Fate was
definitely against her. If her day hadn’t already been bad enough,
she was now soaked to the skin and absolutely frozen. She glanced
down at her heavily stained dress in disgust. Although she tried,
she couldn’t ignore the smell that emanated from the bottom of her
clothing, and knew that everyone else who came anywhere near her
would be able to smell it too. Especially her new employer; if she
didn’t get the chance to change before she met him. The thought
made her worry even more.

She
glanced at the large mansions that lined the road to the side of
her, and felt more out of place than ever. Although her old home,
Attingham House, was bigger than most of the houses in Bennington
Green, it was far less ostentatious. When a pang of homesickness
swept through her, she quickly closed off all thoughts of home, and
turned her attention to her new soundings.

On the
surface, Bennington Green was really a rather nice neighbourhood.
Tall, detached houses sat in regal splendour along one side of the
road, and overlooked the town and valley beyond. Unfortunately,
there was something about the slightly faded opulence that felt
rather forbidding. The further she walked, the harder it was to
ignore the deep sense of unease that began to build within
her.

Half an
hour later, her worries grew as she studied the old, moss covered
name plate that declared the house at the end of the driveway to be
the Rectory.

It was
far less auspicious than she had expected. The huge property,
located a little way back from the road, had two bay windows on
either side of the large front door. Even from several feet away
she could see that the curtains that hung inside were considerably
less than fashionable. She carefully turned her gaze away from the
peeling paint on the front door, and studied the long driveway that
was covered with weeds. It seemed to blend in with the over-run
lawns which appeared to lead to an outbuilding that had half of its
roof missing.

She
began to wonder just how old her new employer really was, and
frowned at the woeful state of the house, which sat in stark
contrast to the rest of the houses on the lane.

“
At least there is someone home,” she muttered as she studied
the gentle glow of candle-light that glimmered in one of the
windows.

She
hurried along the driveway and found her way to the back
door.

The rose
garden at the back of the house was, unsurprisingly, also over-run,
but still pretty, and sat beside a rather functional vegetable
garden that was to the left of the main house. Opposite that was a
low building, which stood empty. Between the buildings lay a large
square of rather overgrown lawn framed with flowers and bushes of
all kinds. It really was rather pleasant, if a little
wild.

Her
brisk knock on the door sounded loud even to her own ears. She
stood back to wait for someone to answer it with her back straight
and her chin tilted confidently.

Good impressions matter,
she
reminded herself, and knocked on the door again when at first,
there was no answer.

The
speed in which the door was suddenly yanked open made her jump. She
opened her mouth to speak only to stare in consternation at the
dark glower the man inside gave her.

“
What do you want?” he growled rudely.

As he
spoke, his lips actually curled in an arrogant snarl of
contempt.

She took
a hesitant step back at the sight of the disgust on his face, and
wondered fleetingly if she might have called at the wrong
house.

Surely
this couldn’t be someone she would have to work with from now on,
could it?

“
I am here to see Mr Harrington Tingay,” she announced
carefully. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell this man her
reason for being there.

“
He is expecting me,” she added when he didn’t move to let her
in.

She
watched his brows lift and, for one brief moment, a look of
derision sweep over his face. To her consternation, rather than
open the door to let her in, he leaned a nonchalant elbow against
the door jamb and looked her up and down suggestively.

“
Oh, you are one of them, are you?” The smirk on his face
warned her that ‘one of them’ was nothing particularly nice, but
she had no intention of asking him to elaborate.

She
sighed; loudly. “No, I am not one of ‘them’. I have an appointment
with Mr Tingay. Please tell him I have arrived. My name is Miss
Matilda Fenton.”

She made
sure that her tone was as brisk and formal as she could manage and,
for emphasis, just so he knew that she wasn’t going to be cowed by
his bullying tactics, she looked him insolently up and
down.

To her
satisfaction he immediately straightened and scowled at
her.

“
I can wait on the doorstep,” she added conversationally. “I
am sure you won’t mind clearing the water off his rug when we have
finished our meeting.”

Their
eyes clashed in a silent battle of wills for several
moments.

“
I could, of course, go around the front, if you wish?” She
added for emphasis, and would do just that if he continued to keep
her on the doorstep, in the pouring rain for much
longer.

“
What do you want with him?”

Tilly
lifted her brows. “I am sure that if Mr Tingay wanted you to know
that, he would have told you himself, now wouldn’t he?”

She
watched the man study her calculatingly for a moment. She knew that
he was contemplating whether it was worth incurring the wrath of
the master of the house to slam the door in her face.

Luckily,
the man’s desire to keep his job forced him to step back and
reluctantly allow her into the warmth of the kitchen.

It was
only when she was surrounded by the warmer temperature inside that
she realised just how cold she was. She struggled to hide her
shiver as she looked at the rather aged surroundings in growing
dismay. For some reason, she didn’t want either the man who had
answered the door, or the rather dour woman at the kitchen table,
to see any sign of weakness. However, it took a lot of effort to
hide her horror at the sight of the paint peeling off the walls,
and the dull and dingy curtains sitting beside the badly cracked
shutters at the windows.

She
carefully kept her face blank, closed the door behind her, and took
a moment to study the cluttered and dirty kitchen while the man,
who appeared to be the butler, clumsily retied his cravat and
dragged his jacket on. She nodded at the woman beside the kitchen
table but, unsurprisingly, received nothing more than a deep scowl
in return.

Harry
sighed at the loud raps on the door, and dropped his quill onto the
paper before him.

“
In,” he snapped impatiently, and sat back in his chair to
wait to see what his useless butler wanted this time.

Ever
since he had opened the safe earlier, Dandridge had been trying to
find a way to get into the room, undoubtedly so he could take a
closer look at what else Harry had left visible in his
study.

If it
was down to Harry, he would have put the man behind bars already,
but was frustratingly aware that he needed to gather a little more
evidence; if not actually catch Dandridge in the process of trying
to steal money from the safe. It was only the rather satisfying
thought that he would soon be able to put one, if not both of them,
behind bars that made him dig deep into his well of patience, and
bide his time.

“
There is a Miss Madeline Fenton to see you,” Dandridge
intoned from just inside the doorway.

Rather
than enter the room as any good butler would, Dandridge remained by
the door. However, his eyes wandered around the room and scoured
every surface while he waited for instruction.

Harry
shook his head as he watched him. “Do I know her?”

“
She said you are expecting her.”

“
What does she want?” Harry’s frown deepened.

This
time Dandridge frowned, and shifted on his feet impatiently. “She
didn’t say.”

Harry
wanted to bang his head against the table. He began to wonder if
Hugo’s aunt had been battling with infirmity of the head or
something, to employ a useless idiot like Dandridge long enough for
him to steal from her. His lack of butler skills were atrocious in
their own right but, when accompanied by the serious lack of
housekeeping skills Mrs Dandridge struggled to hide, which included
her complete inability to cook anything even remotely palatable,
Harry just had to wonder how they remained in employment anywhere
for more than a day.

“
Send her in,” Harry muttered, and sat back to
wait.

He had
no meetings arranged with anyone as far as he knew. He was also
sure that he had never met Miss Madeline Fenton in his entire
life.

While he
waited, he frowned and tried to remember his last conquest. He was
fairly certain she had been called Margot, or Marguerite, so there
could be no repercussions there; besides, he had taken precautions
to ensure that there were no mistakes left behind.

Whoever
Miss Madeline Fensham was, if she had no connection to the Star
Elite, he had little choice but to hear what she had to say and
then send her away.