“Good afternoon,” he said. “Why are you two sitting here rather than enjoying the parish feast?”
Mr. Gleason brushed it aside with a shake of the head. “I only just arrived from London, and my news could not wait.”
Straightening, Frederick’s brows rose. “London?”
“As he hasn’t seen fit to answer our letters, I thought it was time to speak with Mr. Howlett,” said the steward, a dark tone in his voice.
“That is good of you, but I had intended to do so myself—” began Frederick, but Mr. Gleason held up a staying hand.
“I had other business nearby, so I thought it best to add it to my trip, though it took some effort to locate the…fellow.” Mr. Gleason ground out that word, his expression hardening asthough wishing for something more colorful to say, yet knowing it would provide no relief.
Mr. Moulton glanced at the other and added with a sigh, “We are sorry to say that the money is gone. All of it.”
Chapter 16
Though having met the solicitor only a time or two in the weeks since Mr. Gleason had recommended him, it was impossible to mistake the seriousness of his tone, though Frederick still felt the need to clarify.
“The money is gone?”
Mr. Gleason nodded. “There is some evidence that the whole venture was a farce, but we cannot say with any certainty that Mr. Howlett’s behavior was dishonest. But whether the drainage scheme was legitimate or not, there isn’t a single penny left, so it is time to discuss your next course of action.”
“If it was fraud, then surely we can seek compensation or retribution—something to recover a portion of the funds at the very least,” said Frederick, glancing between the pair.
Mr. Moulton’s shoulders drooped. “The courts move slowly, and even if we could prove ill intent and deceit, it would be squeezing blood from a stone. The best we can hope for is that they end up in prison, but it will cost you dearly in time and money.”
Leaning forward, Frederick pinched his nose and considered what to do. The fire burning in his heart insisted that punishment was better than naught, yet he trusted the pair seated before him, and if they believed it was a lost cause, therewas nothing to be done about it. These troubles were the result of bad investments, and Frederick refused to follow Father’s example by wasting the last of his funds on another.
“It is gone,” he murmured, the words seeping in and dousing the flames. Despite having known this was the likely outcome, the truth sat heavily in his chest, weighing him down with all the terrible imaginings he’d tried to ignore.
“It is,” said Mr. Gleason, though there was a long pause after that statement, as though wishing to say more.
Dropping his hand, Frederick straightened and examined the fellow, but he was exchanging looks with Mr. Moulton.
“Out with it,” said Frederick. “As you said, it is time for us to decide the path forward. Now is the time for honesty.”
The solicitor nodded and lifted the portfolio that had been resting in his lap. Opening it, Mr. Moulton placed several sheets of paper on the desk, turned them toward Frederick and pointed at the figures.
“Though my clerks and I haven’t completed the full catalog of the assets in the house and on the property, I have a decent estimate of the value.”
Mr. Moulton paused, a weightiness filling that brief moment. “If you sell all the interior assets, you should settle many of the debts. However, the interest alone on the mortgage is half your annual income. Even if we cut your expenditures and find a tenant to let Dunsby Hall, you will not be able to set aside enough funds to pay off the mortgage in your lifetime.”
With a heavy sigh, he added, “It just isn’t possible.”
Frederick stared at the figures, though his eyes did not see them.
Then Mr. Moulton said in a hesitant voice, “However, if you sell it all—the buildings, furniture, art, and even the linens and candlesticks—you will have enough to cover all the debts—fromoutstanding bills to the mortgage—with a few hundred pounds remaining to help you get resettled.”
“Sell Dunsby Hall?” said Frederick, his mouth supplying the words without thought. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known it was a possibility, yet his mind reeled as the hypothetical coalesced into reality.
Good gracious. What would become of them?
With his education and position in Leeds, Timothy had the means to provide for himself, however meagerly, and his eldest sisters were happily married, leaving Lucille and Pippa’s dowries safe in their husbands’ keeping, but Father’s recklessness had consumed any money set aside for Mother and Phoebe. Now, they wouldn’t have even a roof over their heads.
Mr. Gleason leaned forward. “In all honesty, this is far better than I feared. All your debts will be settled, and you will have funds enough to establish yourself in a profession.”
“What profession would that be?” Frederick managed to ask. “I am too old to secure an apprenticeship, and I haven’t a university education, nor do I possess any discernible skills or connections that would allow me to find employment beyond being a master of an estate or a steward.”
Mr. Gleason nodded at that last bit, though his bleak expression was hardly comforting. “Such positions are highly coveted, but I can make inquiries.”
