“A disagreeable fellow.” Marvell blew discreetly into a handkerchief. “As for Smedley, he and Mrs. Denton have attended several of the same social events in the last year. Two balls and a house party, to be exact. Again, I could not find any gossip surrounding the two, and Smedley’s wife was also present at those gatherings.”
Conrad drummed his fingers on the padded arm of his chair. “This isn’t much to go on.”
“Would you like me to keep digging?”
At Marvell’s blinking inquiry, Conrad felt his lips twitch.
“No,” he decided. “While I don’t trust her, at worst she’s a pawn in someone else’s game.”
“What about the incident last night?” Marvell asked. “Should I hire Foxworth and his men to look into it?”
Given the dog-eat-dog world of Conrad’s business, information was key. He kept investigators on retainer to stay abreast of industrial developments and the activities of his competitors.
“It wouldn’t hurt. But I don’t know for certain that the carriage struck us deliberately. I could have been run off the road by a drunken or careless driver.”
“Plenty o’ those about,” Redgrave agreed.
“Regardless,” Marvell said. “Any event that threatens your life is not to be taken lightly.”
“I agree.” Opening a drawer, Conrad removed the latest model Manton percussion pistol and set it on his blotter. “I will not be caught unprepared.”
“Just like the old days, eh?” Redgrave said fondly. “You never backed down from a fight.”
“Is that wise?” Marvell’s brow wrinkled. “A man is more likely to be injured by his own weapon than?—”
“Quit flapping your gums, Marvell.” Redgrave rolled his eyes. “Only an idiot would shoot himself, and Godwin’s no idiot. He can take care o’ himself.”
“Let’s move on.” From experience, Conrad knew to cut off the pair’s bickering. “Redgrave, did you follow up on the Pearce matter?”
“Aye. It was as you said. The bloke’s ripe for a plucking. According to my sources, Abel Pearce visited Jonah Westfield’s office and inquired about the railway scheme you recommended. Westfield lured him in with the promise of unending profit, and Pearce invested his remaining assets. All of them. When that railway bubble bursts, and my sources say it will happen soon, poof”—Redgrave wriggled his thick fingers—“the dumb, greedy bastard will lose everything.”
“I want to be the first to know when it happens.”
Redgrave canted his head. “What did Pearce do to you, anyway?”
The memory flashed of standing behind his mama in Pearce’s ostentatious study.
“I’m afraid I cannot help you, ma’am,” Pearce had said.
“Have mercy, sir,” his mama had pleaded. “We are kin, after all. Our great-grandpapas were both sons of Langdon Pearce. According to this deed, given to me by my papa, there is a small cottage here in Chudleigh Bottoms that belongs to the descendants of my line—namely, me and my son. We are in desperate need of shelter and?—”
“When your great-grandpapa left this village, he abandoned his right to that cottage. Deed or no deed.” Pearce had irritably waved aside the paper. “As it happens, the cottage of which you speak is no longer habitable. It will soon be demolished and tenements built in its place.”
Stricken, his mama had begun to weep. “Please, help us. We have nowhere else to go?—”
“There’s nothing I can do. I’m sure you understand.”
Then Pearce had turned his back on them—literally and metaphorically.
Conrad reined in his rage. “The bastard is getting what he deserves. We’ll leave it at that.”
“As you like,” Redgrave said. “Now that Pearce is all but done for, and you ain’t got a need for the spa, I wager you’re chomping at the bit to get back to London, eh?”
“I won’t be returning quite yet.”
“Why not?” Redgrave peered at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to this mudborough?”
“Chuddums has its merits.”
