“Nothing I cannot absorb, and in truth that is the least of my worries, so let us hear no more of it. I wish I had been available to you when first you came home, but now you must tell me how I may be of service. If ’tis a matter of funding, only name the—”
“No!” Rossiter sprang to his feet, revolted. “Damn your eyes! Do you think I would come begging, when—”
Standing also, Bracksby said contritely, “’Pon my word, but I am a clumsy fellow. I should have realized you would turn to people of your own station, rather—”
Rossiter whirled and caught him by the shoulders. “Rudi,” he said through his teeth, “if you weren’t the most well-meaning of fellows, by God I’d deck you for that!”
Since Bracksby was sturdily built and vibrant with health, while Rossiter for all his extra inches was thin and pale and very obviously not at the top of his form, this point was debatable. But Bracksby lowered his eyes and stood in silence, looking humiliated.
Releasing him, Rossiter stalked to the mantel and, gripping it, glared down at the empty hearth. “Since I came home, I’ve struggled to come at the root of all this. I’ve interviewed everyone willing to talk with me, who might know something of it.”
“Be dashed if I follow you, Gideon. Something of—what?”
“Of a conspiracy to effect the deliberate, calculated ruination of my father!”
His jaw falling, Bracksby sat down abruptly. “Good God! No, dear boy—you cannot be serious! I mean, what you imply surely would indicate a large-scale plot. A dangerous business, Gideon. With all due respect, I cannot think—”
“You cannot think the Rossiter interests sufficiently compelling to inspire such a plot? No more can I. ’Tis what makes this so confoundedly baffling.”
“Good Lord! Does poor— Er, I mean, does your sire believe this?”
“He does. I’ll own I did not, but I am coming to think it not so unlikely after all.”
“I suppose… vengeance, perhaps?”
“My father admits to having enemies, but none he insists who would feel so ill-used as to resort to such a scheme. The men from the shipyard suspect arson. Why? So far as I am able to determine, there have been no workers dismissed this past year who might have cause to harbour a grudge. Why arson?”
Watching him uneasily, Bracksby said, “Well now, if itwas—er, arson, might there perhaps have been a party who wanted the land? Has Sir Mark rejected an offer to buy?”
“There have been no offers. Besides, there is ample open land in the area that I am very sure the present owners would be happy to part with.”
Bracksby pursed his lips. “A competitor?”
“That occurred to me. But the shipyard that was originally to have built the frigates was in Scotland, and destroyed during the Rebellion.”
“Was it! Now, there you might have a motive, old fellow.”
“I might, had any of the owners survived. The father was shot by drunken troopers. Both sons died at Culloden. And ’twould have to be a sadly disordered mind to lay all that tragedy in my father’s dish. Besides, where would they obtain funds for such vengeance? Any family remaining must be pauperized.”
“Hmmn.” After a moment, Bracksby said cautiously, “So what it all comes to in the long run, is that you think Sir Mark’s troubles were deliberately contrived. But he had no real enemies, nor is there any apparent motive for a—er, plot ’gainst him.”
Gideon smiled, then wandered closer. “In other words, hopelessly illogical. Rudi, you know him quite well, and I’ve been gone so damned long. Have you ever heard anyone speak with bitterness or malice against my father? Can you think of anything—any occurrence, any quarrel, any smallest incident —that might relate to the matter?”
“No. ’Pon my soul, I cannot.”
“Your country estate marches with ours. Have you ever seen anything unusual in the way of guests at the Point?”
“Never. Er,… forgive me, but you were severely wounded in Europe. Is it not possible, dear boy, that—that you are—er, not quite yourself? That the strain of all this falling on your shoulders when you should by rights have come home to rest and recuperate, might have—”
“Set loose a flock of bats in my attic?” Rossiter sat down again. “Very likely. But, humour me a moment longer, I beg. Derrydene is a friend of yours. Where might I find him?”
“Moscow.”
“Moscow?”gasped Rossiter, incredulous. “What the devil…? D’you mean—inRussia?”
“Yes. That one. Is there another? I’d not realized…” Bracksby lapsed into thought, saw Rossiter’s expression, and went on hurriedly, “’Tis the bell, you know. No, never start snorting fire and smoke, dear boy. I am perfectly serious. Derrydene is fascinated by bells. All shapes and sizes. Collects ’em. His house is a veritable museum of the things. It seems the biggest bell in the world is in Muscovy—er, Moscow. ’Twas hung in a belfry near—what’s it called?—Uspenski Cathedral, or something of the sort. The bell weighs two hundred tons. Or it did. They’d a fire there a few years back, and it fell down and a bit broke off. Eleven tons of it. Well, Derrydene has been absolutely mad to see it. That is why he withdrew his funds, and—Egad! You never thought…?Derrydene?Oh, no—really, Gideon!”
***
