Straightening, Frederick stared at the man who had worked alongside his father for so many years. The steward was by no means grizzled—he was dressed as a gentleman, looking the part as much as any—yet there was such age written into his features, with experience chiseled into every line. Mr. Gleason would not speak ill of his previous employer, but there was judgment burning in his gaze, and Frederick wondered just how much the fellow knew.
“I will not raise the rents,” said Frederick, for the words needed to be spoken even if he hadn’t the means to alter those amounts. “But as you mentioned, there are issues to address that require ready money on hand.”
“If there is none to be had, the trouble does not lie on my end,” said Mr. Gleason with a knowing tone, and Frederick stared at the man, whose livelihood and family relied upon the success of Dunsby Hall as much as the Vosses.
Was it possible that Mr. Gleasondidn’tknow about the issues surrounding the finances? Unlikely. And Frederick supposed that if the steward were entirely ignorant, then it was time to relieve him of his duties.
With that fatherly face staring back at him, Frederick knew what needed to be done. Or at least his next step.
“The family is bankrupt.” Four words. So very small. Yet speaking them felt like someone had driven a nail straight into his heart. Facts were easier to ignore when they remained hidden. Denial thrived in silence.
Mr. Gleason straightened, his hands falling to his knees as he stared at Frederick. “I am well aware of the financial issues that plagued your father, but surely, it isn’t so bad as all that.”
“I am still waiting to hear about a final investment.” Frederick sighed, and he refused to let his mind question whether or not it would pay out. “If its returns are even half what Mr. Howlett promised, then we can pay off the bulk of our debts, though we will still have the mortgage to manage—”
“Mortgage?” asked Mr. Gleason, pinching the bridge of his nose.
And with that, Frederick unraveled the whole of the trouble. The failed investments, Mr. Howlett’s silence, the bills and dunning letters flooding his study. As hopeless as so much of it seemed, the more he spoke of that lingering hope, the more he felt certain it would set things to rights.
“I understand the canal speculation failing—so many of those ventures ended in bitter disappointment—but a fenland drainage scheme is far less risky,” said Frederick. “Though I think Mr. Howlett’s predictions were generous, it seems genuine and is led by men who are known to succeed more often than they fail.”
“That is true enough,” said Mr. Gleason with a considering hum as he reviewed the documents Frederick handed over. “What is the latest news from Mr. Howlett?”
Frederick’s throat tightened. “He is not answering my letters.”
“That is concerning, but we needn’t borrow trouble yet,” said the steward, glancing at the other papers spread across the desk. “You have enough to manage without adding that to your plate. Succeed or fail, the canal scheme shan’t erase the mortgage.”
Frederick nodded. “Retrenchment is the only option. If we cut expenditures to the necessities, we can limp along until our fortunes turn.”
Mr. Gleason huffed, a sound that might have been support or warning, and Frederick chose to believe it was the former.
“Do you know what to trim, Master Frederick?”
“I examined the ledgers,” he began, projecting far more confidence than he felt. The costs of coal, food, servants, and the rest swam together until his head began to spin, and Frederick forced himself to meet the steward’s eye. Mother was of no help with such matters, for she knew even less than him about reasonable costs, but here was a fellow who knew far more than either of them.
“But I haven’t the slightest notion of what is reasonable,” said Frederick, his shoulders slumping. “Father taught me about the estate, but he was never one for economizing.”
There wasn’t a hint of mockery or condemnation in Mr. Gleason’s eyes as he gave a firm nod and set about explaining each expenditure, leading Frederick along as though he were an equal rather than the ignorant fool he felt himself to be. But with each turn of the ledger, Mr. Gleason’s bushy brows furrowed deeper, the lines on his face growing more pronounced (which did nothing to soothe Frederick’s fraying nerves).
“What is this?” mumbled Mr. Gleason, frowning at a line in the ledger, and when Frederick crooked his head to see it, the fellow hummed low in his throat as he considered the entry. “I am the only one who collects rents and revenues, yet your father recorded a sum in November.”
“That was six months ago,” said Frederick. “You cannot expect to remember every transaction.”
“I would remember this,” said Mr. Gleason, his expression darkening as he studied it. “We do not sell at any markets in November, and our rents are fixed. While there is some variability when tenants are short in their payments, fifty pounds would be quite memorable. I do not know where this money came from.”
A faint tightness gathered in Frederick’s chest, spreading downward until his stomach felt somehow both hollow and churning. Mr. Gleason’s tone and the quiet rasp of the man’s finger as it ran along the paper made the air feel heavier, and a chill skittered down his spine.
“Where could the money have come from?” asked Frederick, and before he finished speaking, a thought passed through his mind. A little voice of warning whispered a sharp word that had his eyes darting to another ledger that remained sitting on the shelf beside them—a book that ought to have been returned to the church for safekeeping after the recent annual review.
But there’d been no discrepancies in the parish’s finances. Every expenditure had been clearly labeled, the figures neatly ordered and tallied. Frederick had pored over the records multiple times before presenting his findings to the vestry council, and all was as it should be. So, there was no reason to suspect anything untoward.
Yet fifty pounds had appeared in the Vosses’ coffers.
Reaching over, Frederick took hold of the church’s ledger and flipped through the pages to the entries from last November. Finger sliding along the lines, he stopped at an expense dated the same as his father’s ledger. For the same amount.
Window glazing and roof repairs.Innocent enough. The village had seen a hard wind last autumn, the sort that might well have necessitated repairs to the church. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Gleason, and Frederick snapped the book shut.
