“There you are. Mr Nagle and another gentleman are here. I tried to get rid of them but Mr Nagle said he’d wait. They’ve been here half an hour.”
“Damn! Did you offer them any refreshments?”
“No,” Jones says in that way he has, managing to convey a whole sentence with the tone of his voice. In short, that he didn’t consider them worthy of refreshments and that by not bending to social convention he was sending them that message. I nod my approval.
“Okay, let’s go get rid of them.”
“I should get on,” Jason says but I hold on tighter to his hand.
“I’d like you with me for this.” I don’t know what Mr Nagle could want, but something feels off, so I’d feel better with Jason by my side. After the tax money had been transferred and we received confirmation that the will had been completed, I instructed Roberta to make sure we had all the remaining paperwork that Mr Nagle held and wrote a letter saying his services were no longer required. This might be about that, but it could’ve been dealt with by letter rather than a personal visit.
Jones opens the door to the west drawing room and I enter, Jason and Jones following behind. Mr Nagle is sitting in the same chair as when he gave me news of the hall, and the other guy is on one end of the sofa next to it. He doesn’t rise. Jones has been teaching me etiquette, and in formal situations, especially if you haven’t been introduced, you should rise when a titled person enters the room. Whilst I don’t care for that usually, he doesn’t know that and I feel his disrespect speaks volumes. Or maybe he’s picked up on the fact we’ve left them here for over half an hour with no refreshments. I take a seat in the chair opposite, and Jason takes up a position behind me while Jones makes himself busy across the room.
“This is an unexpected visit, Mr Nagle. I believe all our business has been concluded by Miss Jones.”
His eyes flick from me to Jason and back again with a frown. “Er, yes, but this is for a different matter. I’d like to introduce Mr Sherwood.” I sense Jason stiffen behind me at the name and hear a low rumble, almost like a growl. He must be the owner of the company that was desperate to buy the hall. This is about to get interesting. I take care to keep my face impassive.
“Mr Sherwood,” I say, nodding to him and acknowledging his presence.
“Lord Buckley,” he says. At least he managed to get that part right. Mr Nagle sits forward in his chair.
“Can we talk in private?” He looks pointedly at Jones and then at Jason.
“There is nothing that cannot be said in front of my staff,” I say as clearly and as lordly as I can. He sighs with an air that’s supposed to make me think I’m the one who’s going to be embarrassed. I decide to take control of this. “What is it that you and Mr Sherwood want?”
“You didn’t accept my offer of buying the hall, even though it was well above market price. I’d like to tell you that the offer is still on the table. It would make you a very wealthy man.”
“Why do you want it so much?” I already know the answer. I’d asked Roberta to look into it, and if he was to turn it into housing and possibly a retail park he could make four times the amount he’s offering me.
“Don’t you think we have a duty to create housing for the many people who need it, not tie up land in archaic old houses for just a few?” He’s trying to be socially minded, and I don’t deny more housing is needed, but there are other ways of accommodatingthat. The environmental impact of losing great swathes of ancient parkland can be devastating.
“While making you a vast sum of money,” I say, showing him that I know his game.
“We’d all profit. Like I say, my offer to you is above market value,” he says, changing tactics to “we’re all alike and could be rich.” It’s disgusting and I fight the urge to pull a face.
“The hall is not for sale.” I lean back in my chair, trying to look relaxed, but I’m waiting. They didn’t really think they could come here and I’d say yes easily.
“A hall like this takes a lot of money to maintain. Can you afford that?” Mr Nagle asks.
“I have plans. I think we’ll manage,” I reply vaguely. I don’t want to talk to him about what they are. He doesn’t deserve that.
“I know what went on here, with your uncle and the company he used to keep,” Mr Sherwood sneers, his contempt for who my uncle was showing in his voice. “I have names. I’ll go to the press. I’ll make it so they believe you’ve leaked the names. Can you afford the scandal?”
Ah, so it’s blackmail, then. I rather think it would make the hall infamous, though it might be tricky for those still alive or their families. This is awful and my mind starts to spin. Then I feel a warm, strong hand on my back. Jason. His touch grounds me and I breathe deeply, my head clearing so I can think. I look at Mr Nagle. The names would have come from him and I wonder what he has to gain from this. He glares back at me, his eyes full of spite, and I understand it all. Mr Nagle, the solicitor, trusted but not that much. Always on the outside, never part of the inner circle. Never invited to any of the parties here, though I can seehow desperate he was to be included. As executor of my uncle’s will, he never received anything from it apart from his usual fees. This is spite and greed. I also see a hint of uncertainty. I think they’re calling my bluff.
“This is very serious, you’re right. A scandal would be bad,” I say and lean forward as if I’m nervous. I hate the gleam I see in both their eyes as they think they’ve got me corned. “Of course, I will need some assurances that this will not be made public if I do sell, that my uncle’s secrets would be completely safe.”
“Of course,” Mr Sherwood says eagerly, and I’m not sure I could despise anyone more.
“Good, that’s a relief.” I make a show of releasing a breath and then sit back again. “But first I need some verification that you do actually have anything to blackmail me with, because let’s be clear, this is blackmail.”
“B-but,” Mr Sherwood blusters, looking between myself and Mr Nagle, who is looking at me with pure spite. He’s very wisely keeping quiet and leaving Mr Sherwood to dig his own hole.
“A name, just one, and I might believe you.”
“Err, um. Lord Fansthorpe?” Mr Sherwood plucks the name of one of our gentry out of the air. I look over to Jones who shakes his head, confirming that he was never a member of the parties.
“You have nothing; without any names it’s rumours only. Now, if you’ll excuse me gentleman, I’m very busy. I have a hall to run.” I stand, effectively dismissing them.
