When they did arrive, the black skies were still on the horizon moving quite slowly. Arthur was pleased he would be able to settle in before letting Lord Denton know of his arrival. He’d made arrangements to stay in one of the finer hotels with a spectacular view of the water.
The journey across the water to Wight was not as bad as Arthur imagined it might have been. Once the carriage pulled up in front of the hotel, he informed the driver he wouldn’t be needing the coach for the rest of the day, and if he did, he’d find an alternative. He wanted the horses to have enough time to rest from today’s journey.
He settled in his room quickly, noting it did face the water. Having not eaten since early in the morning, he decided to order tea and make sure the missive he’d written to Denton was delivered. Hopefully, they would meet in the morning and he might meet Charles then as well.
A knock on the door brought afternoon tea. Just as he was getting settled in after choosing sandwiches and sweets and a steaming pot of tea, a bolt of thunder clapped overhead. Looking out the windows, Arthur saw the sky was changing, turning into the darkest shade of gray possible. It was met with a deluge of rain, coming down so hard it made visibility impossible. He was thankful he’d made it when he did; otherwise, he would have found himself stuck on the other side.
Taking a break from tea, Arthur walked to a table to write a missive to Denton, letting him know he’d arrive on Wight and asking when a good time would be to meet him. He hoped he could meet Charles so they might begin to get to know each other. It would make the journey to London easier.He questioned everything, realizing it would do him no good. Rereading the paper, he readied it to go out. Moments later, he handed it over to a young man who’d come to the door.
He poured himself another cup of tea and sat. Shutting his eyes, Arthur listened to the rain as it plummeted against the windows. The occasional jolt of thunder could be heard in the distance or sometimes closer. It was hard to judge the distance of the storm.
Arthur awoke to the storm still raging on, having fallen asleep. His tea was cold, as was the room. He stretched as he stood and walked to the hearth to stoke the fire, which had now become embers. He tossed some coal onto the fire and with the poker stoked the embers. It wouldn’t be long until the room was a lot warmer.
Checking the time, Arthur changed clothes after deciding to go downstairs for dinner. He hadn’t traveled with his valet this time, thinking too many strangers might overwhelm his brother. So, instead, he changed clothes and headed downstairs.
There were a few guests enjoying dinner, but not a lot. People tended not to eat for a few more hours. He was shown to a table near the fire. Arthur ordered the lamb. It wasn’t something he had but a few times a year, and normally when he did have it was out at a restaurant such as this. The slightest whiff of lamb sent Daphne running from the source the few times they’d attempted to serve it at home.
While waiting for his meal, Arthur sat back and watched the people in the restaurant. He tried to imagine where they were from and what brought them to Wight. Was it pleasure or did they have business here? Everyone had a story. His train of thought changed as he wondered what Daphne was doing at home. She had grown into her position as duchess gracefully and liked to pass on some of her good fortune to others who were not as fortunate.
She was probably letting Sam, her parrot, follow behind her, walking through the house, cursing all the way. It was humorous how her avian friend easily made friends with the staff and anyone visiting. Sam was quick to let either Daphne or him know if he didn’t like someone. He was quite the conversation piece of those who visited. Never did Arthur think he’d befriend a bird.
*
Arthur found himselfheaded to Denton’s estate the following morning. He wasn’t sure what to expect as Denton seemed to be a man of few words, at least the written word. The rain was long gone, though the sky was still overcast and gray. The Denton estate was a good way off from the village he’d stayed in. The roads were still muddy from the deluge of the night before, but passable.
He pulled out his notebook and reread the questions he had for Denton. Some included the deposits from a publishing company. His only explanation was his father had some sort of financial interest in the firm and had money diverted for Charles’s upkeep. He saw no other reason for the funds other than that unless Denton had answers.
The one big hope he had was that Charles would trust him and return with him to London without incident. Denton had little contact with Charles until his own father died. Initially, Denton had been agreeable to letting Charles stay for an additional month to give Arthur time to know his newfound brother. Arthur could only hope Denton wouldn’t walk anything back. He would need the extra time if Charles proved to be difficult. Not knowing much about his brother made things more complicated.
The carriage continued down the road leading to the other side of the island. Before long it turned right, down a longshell-covered drive. The tree-lined drive reminded him of Kent, the only difference being the drive began to rise, going uphill. The road finally leveled out, and looking out the carriage window, Arthur noticed a large Italian renaissance-style house to one side. It was larger than he first expected. In front was a large fountain and the landscaping complemented the house. Everything gently sloped downward from the house.
A man about his age walked out of the house and waited for the carriage to stop. Arthur exited the coach and walked nearer to the man he presumed to be Denton.
“I hope you were comfortable last night in spite of the rain,” Denton said.
“Thank you. I stayed at one of the hotels and stayed dry.”
“Good,” Denton replied.
His host turned without word and began walking to the front door. Arthur followed, unsure what to say. A footman took his greatcoat, gloves, and hat as they entered the great hall. It was a large space with black and white marble on the floor and a fresco on the ceiling. Impressive.
Denton led him to a dark-green and gold drawing room. He walked over to a sideboard and poured two whiskeys. It wasn’t even afternoon, but Arthur knew he would insult his host if he didn’t accept the glass and drink. His host sat down on a dark-green damask wingback chair and motioned for Arthur to sit as well. Arthur sat in the matching chair and waited for his host to say something.
Arthur broke the silence. “Does Charles know I’m coming?”
“Yes, though I’m never sure how much or what he comprehends. My father said your brother is the smartest man he’s ever met, but I hardly know him, so I have no way to judge.”
“I’ve heard much the same thing,” Arthur said. He gazed around the room. In spite of large windows and a French door, the room was incredibly dark.
“Did you know he is a writer? Writes crime novels along with other types of stories.”
Arthur sat back in his chair and took a sip of whiskey. “That’s why there are deposits from a publisher in the ledger. He must be good.”
“Yes,” Denton replied.
“When do I meet him?”
“I asked him to come to the house at about this time. We’ll see what he does. If he doesn’t show soon, we’ll go to his cottage. I informed him he’d be going to London with long-lost family. I’m not sure how he’s going to respond when he sees you.”
