Jago stared down at the letter in his hand and frowned. He was sitting in the counthouse at Wheal Treddennick. What the devil had his father been doing? How had he managed to give such orders without alerting either him or Richard? Tossing the paper onto the desk, he leaned back in his chair. Nearly three hundred pounds was missing. The estate manager had only learned of it after intercepting a letter addressed to Jago.
During Jago’s absence, all mail was directed to Morgan Carlyon after which it was distributed as necessary. Richard was accustomed to receiving letters pertaining to the estate addressed to Jago but only after Morgan had read them. Thisletter had arrived just as Richard was leaving the house, having left the sick man’s bedchamber only minutes earlier.
Instead of returning back upstairs, to save time, Richard had simply tucked the letter in his pocket, intending to deal with it when he got to the counthouse.
According to the missive, this was the third such correspondence the family solicitor had sent. Neither of the first two had made it into Richard’s hands.
‘Have you spoken to my father about this?’ Jago asked.
Richard raised his eyebrows. ‘Given that Mr Carlyon had done his utmost to keep the knowledge to himself, I thought it better to wait until you returned home.’
‘And what if the whole bloody business had kept me away even longer?’ he questioned.
‘I would have found a way to contact you,’ Richard insisted.
‘I’m going to have to tackle him about it,’ Jago grated. ‘Can you make me an appointment with Cuthberts as soon as possible?’ he added, referring to the Falmouth solicitors the Carlyon family had used since his grandfather’s time. The estate manager nodded. ‘God’s teeth, I was so looking forward to coming home with good news,’ Jago said, his voice cracking. ‘I thought knowing that Jack’s identity had been discovered would hearten him. But he showed no bloody emotion whatsoever.’
He shook his head, stood up and went to pour them both a brandy. Handing one to Richard, he continued, ‘He was always a hard, contrary bastard, but now it’s as if he’s made from bloody stone.’ Jago swallowed the brandy in one go, relishing theburning sensation as the fiery spirit made its way down to his gut.
After pouring himself another, he picked up the letter again. ‘Whatever my father’s up to, I won’t allow him to get away with it, invalid or no,’ he ground out, placing the missive in the bottom drawer of his desk and locking it decisively.
Richard raised his glass in salute. ‘Here’s to cutting through the gammon,’ he murmured, swallowing his brandy before adding, ‘Bloody hell, Jago, I’m glad you’re back.’
Jago found himself giving a dark chuckle. ‘You’ve spent too long toadying up to him, my friend. At least in my absence, you’ve had a taste of the real Morgan Carlyon.’ Finishing his brandy, Jago glanced down at his watch. ‘I need to leave if I’m to get back for dinner. Are you favouring us with your company tonight?’
‘No. I wouldn’t want to provide you with too much competition,’ Richard grinned.
‘Duly noted,’ Jago responded drily, shrugging on his jacket.
‘She’s very attractive,’ Richard persisted. Jago looked over in irritation, then sighed. ‘Yes, she is, and believe me, if we’d met in different circumstances…’ He left the sentence hanging as he snuffed out the candles, casting the room into shadow.
‘But now this Barnet’s as good as finished,’ the estate manager persisted, ‘her safety’s all but assured.’ He paused before adding, ‘And you deserve some happiness Jago.’
Jago gave a rude snort as he followed Richard out of the door. ‘I’m not sure I’d subject my worst enemy on my father,’ he commented. ‘And in truth, what’s the likelihood of Miss Shackleford wishing to settle in the wilds of Cornwall, so faraway from her family? Especially since one of them is a bloody Duke.’
‘Love has no borders,’ Richard quipped, untying his horse.
‘I’m not going to dignify that with a response,’ Jago retorted, climbing on the back of his own mount. As the stallion danced in eagerness, he suddenly had a thought.
‘What happened to Stefan Petrock?’ he queried. ‘I noticed his cottage is empty.’
‘Up and left just after you went,’ Richard answered, struggling to hold his own mount back. ‘The lads reckoned he decided to seek work over in Devonshire. He had a woman there apparently.’
Jago grimaced and shook his head. ‘That’s a damn shame. Stefan could have made foreman if he’d put his mind to it.’ Then lifting his hand in farewell, he allowed the horse to have his head, trusting the stallion to find his way home.
∞∞∞
George Barnet, otherwise known as Jack, sat in the Seven Stars Inn and brooded into his ale. Three days since both Jago Cardell and the bitch with the dog had vanished off the face of the earth. In Jack’s book, that was no coincidence.
He thought back to the chit’s expression when she’d looked at him. Surprise, then fear, swiftly covered up by polite indifference. She’d recognised him alright. But where the devil from? He prided himself on his sharp wit and excellent memory. Nothing got past him.
But he couldn’t remember ever seeing the womanbefore.
The door opened with a blast of frigid air, and looking up, he spied Will Dolby threading his way through the crowd. ‘She was stayin’ in the Castle,’ he confirmed as he reached the gang leader’s table, ‘along with two gents - Charliereckoned one of ‘em was ‘er da.’
‘Was?’ Jack interrupted briefly.
‘Swears they left the same day she caught sight o’ you, Jack. In a bloody la-di-da carriage. Told ‘im they wus off to Plymouth.’ He paused, ready to deliver what was clearly the key part. Jack eyed him irritably and waited.
