“Mr. Finn, I knows yer likes the paper. One o’ the lads gave me this last night, at the Inn.” He produced a bit of a tattered copy, bearing the insignia of the Times, and dated only two days before.
“Excellent, Frank. Thank you. Miss Hecate likes to keep as up to date as she can, as do I. This is most welcome.”
Hecate nodded over her teacup. “Thank you, Frank. And please thank your friend. It was very kind of him to think of us.”
Finn picked up the paper, and glanced at the ladies. “If I may?”
“Please do,” said Hecate. “If you’re not worried about finding anything shocking, of course. And you absorb information better than I do.” She turned to Augusta. “I tend to skim the news. Which does result in my missing important things now and again.”
Augusta shrugged. “There was a point in my life when the day began with the Times. I’d read it cover to cover, just to find out who was doing what, with whom, to whom…all things that I find I no longer care about.”
Dal came in, bowing politely and pouring himself tea. Finn suddenly realised that at some point he’d begun to share more meals with them all than usual and his dark eyes drifted to Augusta as she watched the tall Indian approach the table.
So that was the way the wind blew. He hid a grin of amusement.
“I tend to agree, Augusta,” Hecate nodded. “Society news is merely gossip dressed up in literary terms. I do like to keep abreast of politics, but even that is a sad waste of time at the moment. Everyone is talking about how badly the country has suffered this year, but nobody has any solid ideas of how to help.”
Dal pulled out a chair and put his cup on the table, seating himself with a slight smile. “You know what Aesop said, Miss Hecate. After all is said and done, more is said than done. Or something like that.”
“Very astute,” agreed Augusta.
The conversation continued, an easy interaction between friends. Until he read a short paragraph that elicited a loud and explosive oath.
Hecate leaned over and touched his sleeve. “Finn, what onearthis it this time…?”
He put the newspaper down in front of him, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “DamnLord Aubrey Faversill to the Devil and back.”
“Again? What’s he been up to now? Bought more winning horses at Newmarket?” Hecate tipped her head to one side as she asked the casual question.
“No,” said Finn, anger thickening his voice. “There’s a legal notice posted here. It caught my eye since it’s about the Faversill estate which has…wait, let me read it.” He picked up the offending sheet. “Here it is.Messrs. Halliwell and Stitchbury are pleased to confirm that the Faversill estate matter has reached a conclusion in favour of the current holder of the title. Lord Aubrey Faversill is now granted free and clear access to all Faversill assets. The suit brought by a Mrs. Sylvia Marchville on behalf of her young son Steven, has been ruled as invalid due to the lack of documentation verifying his position within the entitlement, and the boy’s tender age.”
He took a shaky breath as he raised his head and looked at Hecate, Augusta and Dal. “Do you realise what this means?”
Silence greeted his question.
“It means that Johnny Marchville was the true heir to the Faversill estate. That’s why Aubrey DeWitt shot a brave lad in the back during the battle of Waterloo.” His lips twisted into a moue of disgust. “It was all about the damned money. Johnny lost his life for a bloodytitle.”
“Dear God,” muttered Augusta. “Sometimes people still have the power to disgust me.”
“Shameful. Just shameful,” murmured Dal.
Hecate folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “So, Finn, what are we going to do about it?”
He looked at her. “What do you mean?”
She raised her eyebrows. “This man, this usurper, has killed, and now apparently defrauded a young man—a child perhaps—of his rightful title. That is not right and must not be allowed. So I ask again. What are we going to do about it?”
He blinked. “I don’t know.”
“Well then,” she continued, “let’s think of something.”
