“Work being an improvement over starvation,” Madelyn said.
“Exactly.”And I suppose it is—barely.
*
By the timethey entered Merthyr Tydfil in midafternoon, Maddy regretted her persistent questioning. Brynn Morgan was like a glorious animal blinking in the sun, pleasant to the eyes, but likely to duck back into its den or burrow when approached. This world of his—rich, beautiful, and full of treasure—had a dark side. Still, she didn’t believe the byproducts of industry, the dirt and the poverty, had driven him away. Not entirely. She had her own secrets. She ought to respect his. Ought to, but she found it difficult.
“Where are the premises of Glenmoor’s representatives?” She looked to Mr. Morgan, but before he could speak, Phillip did.
“Shouldn’t we send word we’re here?” he asked.
Brynn’s brother disagreed. “There’s benefit in coming unannounced, but you may want to clean up first.” He led them to a first-class hotel, one that catered to mine owners, where grooms saw to the horses and others scurried to carry saddlebags. The proprietor knew Rhys Morgan well and eyed the rest of them avidly.
Brynn leaned to his brother when they turned upstairs. “If we’re to appear unannounced, we best hurry. Word spreads like fire here.”
Phillip heard them and turned around to face them. “I’ll shake the road dust off quickly, and we can be on our way.”
Maddy gaped at her stepson. Dressed in riding togs borrowed from the Morgans, he looked nothing like the pink of the ton that had visited her in London. His enthusiasm gave him a boyish air, putting her in mind of the lad she’d known at Woodglen, the one she’d loved, and sending a shaft of pain through her chest. “I can be ready in moments,” she said.At least I don’t have to endure the attentions of that horrid maid.Crenshaw roosted at Brynhafan, pinched with disapproval.
She found the gentlemen, true to their words, with dusted clothes and scrubbed faces in the entranceway when she descended a scant twenty minutes later, still in her riding habit, its voluminous skirt over her arm.
“You needn’t come, Madelyn, if you would be more comfortable changing.” Phillip, she noted, seemed eager to be about the business.
She took his arm. “I don’t plan to miss a moment of the inquiries! Lead on, Mr. Morgan.”
Martin Shuttleworth, Esq. Management, read the sign on the door. Underneath in smaller letters, it added,Representative to His Grace the Duke of Glenmoor.
Even in a plain suit, no one would doubt His Grace’s rank and authority. Phillip Tavernash radiated ducal expectation. A collective gasp and a flurry of activity exploded in the room when he announced himself. The clerk nearest the door scuttled off to find the proprietor. Brynn and his brother appeared to have a rare moment of accord, identical amusement lighting their faces. A gentleman in a silk suit adorned with golden chains and watch fobs hustled out quickly, squinted at Phillip, pointedly studied the borrowed suit, and bowed later than manners dictated.
“We didn’t expect you, Your Grace.” His nervous twitching affirmed their decision to come unannounced. He shot a quick glance at Rhys Morgan.
“I am touring Wales with my stepmother and some friends. It seemed an opportunity to stop in.”
Shuttleworth bowed to Maddy. “Welcome, Your Grace. My staff will provide refreshments and make you comfortable while His Grace visits—”
“I’ll join His Grace, Mr. Shuttleworth. We have questions,” the duchess said.
Shuttleworth clamped his jaw shut and glared at the others as if he had just noticed them. “Morgan. I’m surprised to see you here.” The palpable frost that settled in the room made Maddy shiver. Rhys Morgan and this man had history, and it wasn’t friendly.
“Mr. Morgan is my guest. May we get on with it, please,” Phillip said, chin up.
Once comfortably behind his desk, Shuttleworth attempted to ignore them all except the duke. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have prepared a report.”
“Thank you. Perhaps you and I can examine the ledgers tomorrow. Tell me, Shuttleworth. You also served my father, did you not?”
The man blinked. “And my father before me, Your Grace.”
“Excellent. We are interested in something that would have happened in about…” Phillip looked at Maddy.
“Over twelve years ago—1806, I would guess,” she supplied.
“Our records go back much further,” Shuttleworth said warily. The worm probably feared they were looking for financial irregularities.Perhaps we should.
Maddy spoke up, “We’re looking for a person, Mr. Shuttleworth. A man sent away from Woodglen. We believe he was sent here, or rather to the former duke’s mines.”
The nervous man brightened. “We don’t keep personnel records here. Payroll is handled at the site. I don’t—”
“Are you familiar with the name Jessop, Shuttleworth?” Phillip interjected.
