But he did not have to wait long.
The house itself was anything but quiet. A single breeze or even a footstep would give life to the ancient timbers and wooden floors, so Anthony was not surprised that he could hear her approach before they saw her. Instead of crossing the upstairs gallery and descending the main staircase, she took a smaller staircase near her chamber and emerged from a small corridor just off the parlor.
She’d changed from the cleaning gown he’d seen her in earlier that morning, and now she was dressed in a square-necked mourning gown of inky black, with long sleeves covering her lithe arms and a gauzy black fichu that hugged her neck. Her hair, which had been bound loosely at the base of her neck earlier, was nowcoiled into a tidy chignon. Not a single wisp escaped. She appeared every bit a lady in proper mourning until he took notice of a white linen bandage secured around her hand. There wasn’t time to contemplate how such an injury had occurred, for she swept into the great hall without casting Anthony a glance. Her expression held no warmth, and she fixed her golden eyes on Mr. Prior. “Silas. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Are you?” He fairly spat the words as he assessed the room. “We need to talk. Is there somewhere private we can go where the whole of the house cannot hear us?”
She cast Anthony an empty glance before she stepped back and motioned toward the parlor. “In here.”
As he watched them exit, the strange sense that Anthony should not leave them alone engulfed him. It was a ridiculous notion. Silas Prior was paying for her security. She was perfectly safe. But something was not right about the relationship between Charlotte Prior and the rest of the Prior family, and he did not think he would be able to relax until he found out what.
Chapter18
Charlotte ushered Silas from the great hall to the parlor, employing every bit of discipline to quiet the qualms roiling within her. Silas would never trouble himself to come out to visit her without a significant reason. Yet she refused to match her brother-in-law’s adversarial energy, for her ability to manage her response and stay calm was her power. She could not control his demands or his expectations, nor the plans he was weaving in his mind. But she could control her responses to them. She’d be rational and well-spoken—shewouldcombat the infamous Prior temper with a logical, cool head.
They entered the parlor, and it was just as she’d left it—a cleaning bucket on the table. Rags scattered about. A shattered windowpane. The moment the door closed behind them, Silas’s sharp tone sliced the silence. “This pile of stones is the home you could not wait to return to, and Roland not even yet buried?”
She ignored his indignation and stepped closer to the fire, hoping its warmth would help calm the nervous chill racing through her. “I trust there is a reason for this visit, Silas, besides merely to question my rationale.”
“There is a reason.” He arched one white brow, pulled his leather gloves from his hands, and then dropped them on the table in the center of the room. “The coroner has reached his conclusion.”
She stiffened, and the image of Roland’s lifeless body flashed. The mere thought that he might have been murdered was a terrifying one. “And what did he find?”
“He found no evidence of malicious activity. Roland’s death was from natural causes, namely, his heart.”
Dread trickled through her. She had not loved Roland, nor had she trusted him. But she did not wish death on him. Yet this news could have been conveyed in a letter. Silas had to have something else on his mind.
When she did not immediately respond, Silas’s words flung forth like an accusation. “You’re quiet. No retort?”
She weighed her reply. “It’s difficult news to hear.”
“Is it?” He challenged swiftly, fixing his aggressive stare on her.
She resisted the urge to be drawn into an argument or heated exchange with him. Instead, she had to focus on facts. “Now that that conclusion has been reached, I suppose you can remove the guards.”
Silas’s tone sharpened. “There’s more you must know.”
Charlotte steadied herself for what would come next. Silas was many things, but he was not prone to the dramatic.
He removed his caped greatcoat and draped it over the chair. “There’s a great deal of unrest at the mill. Apparently, Roland had other ventures, ones he did not disclose to me, and now there are ramifications. Of a nefarious nature.”
She drew a deep breath, but she was hardly surprised. Roland was forever holding secret meetings and going on special trips. “What sort of ventures?”
“It appears he was running another business out of the mill—one that involved shipping and distributing goods. Smuggled goods. He was able to disguise them under the regular shipments.”
The fact that Roland dabbled in the illegal was no surprise to her. It did surprise her, however, that he would do so right under Silas’s purview. “Is that the cause of the unrest at the mill then?”
Silas reached into his tailcoat for his enameled snuffbox and popped it open. “It seems he employed a great many of his workers either to assist in his efforts or to look the other way, and one very significant problem remains: he never paid these people for their services, and now, in the wake of his death, they are demanding recompense. Of course, I refuse to pay them a farthing. They entered into an illegal arrangement with my brother. Not me. But they are making threats. Against the mill. Against me. Against you. And Henry. We will not bow down to their demands. We must call their bluff and present a unified front.”
“‘We’?” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head emphatically.“Silas, I’ve removed myself from the situation. I’ve never been involved in any of his mill business. There is no reason at all why I should be now.”
“Your name is still Prior,” he shot back, “and what’s more, there’s Henry to consider. You’re not that far outside of Leeds. Anyone could be here within hours.” He pinched the black snuff between his thick fingers and inhaled it through his nose. “Hidingaway in your moorland house will not make the rest of the world go away.”
Charlotte had to tread carefully. Silas was used to being obeyed without question. But she also knew about his sinister side—his compulsive obsession with legacy. When his own wife, Abigail, had been unable to bear a child, he had her institutionalized, claiming insanity, and nothing could be done to help her. He possessed the uncanny ability to shift a narrative to fit his reasonings, and because of his power and prestige, he was rarely questioned or challenged. She strengthened her tone. “I’m not hiding. I’m creating a different life. Surely you can see the difference.”
He scoffed. “You clearly do not understand the power these people wield. They believe they’re owed money and will stop at nothing to get it. They care nothing for rules. For order. I loved my brother, but he did make foolhardy decisions. We must give a thought to the future. Henry’s future, not to mention that of all Prior enterprises. Your dramatic absence is the talk of every member of society, and it is calling into question the family’s stability. You and Henry will come back to Leeds.”
“That I cannot do.”
