‘Of course. If Britain abolishes slavery entirely, international pressure would follow. That must be why they seek to stop Wilberforce’s movement—and why they targeted both myself and Lord Huntley.’
Charlotte’s stomach turned as the truth settled fully into place.
‘If we discover where Payne’s holdings are located—and which ships they are using—it may lead us to some of the girls,’ she said. ‘And perhaps prevent them from using these networks again.’
‘That will prove difficult,’ he admitted, shaking his head. ‘Men like Payne and Hamilton rarely purchase holdings in their own names. They will use trusts, proxy companies, silent investors—anything to conceal the true ownership of those warehouses and ships. Without the names of those entities, it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.’
‘So another dead end, then?’ she asked, deflated.
He paused. ‘Not necessarily. Acquisitions of that size leave records somewhere. Harbour fees. Dock registries. Transfer ledgers. If we obtain the names of the companies involved, I maybe able to trace them.’ He sighed wearily. ‘I shall make enquiries into Hamilton’s shipping business.’
‘What can I do?’ Charlotte asked, restless with the need to act.
She half expected him to forbid her involvement altogether—to insist the matter had become too dangerous. Instead, she found Lord Stanley regarding her with a faint expression of admiration crossing his features.
‘We have one day remaining before the ball. Continue your enquiries amongst the ladies—particularly Payne’s wife or daughter,’ he said. ‘See whether they know the names of any trusts he may be using.’
‘Well, women do seem to confide in me for some reason. I could certainly give it a try.’ She offered him an impish smile.
He drew in a sharper breath, his gaze dropping—just briefly—to her lips.
Then, rather abruptly, he rose and crossed to the fireplace, resting an arm against the mantelpiece. Charlotte watched him in silence for a moment. He appeared oddly restless, as though steadying himself before speaking.
At length, he spoke. ‘I searched through my father’s belongings, though much was destroyed in the fire. I found nothing.’ A trace of strain entered his voice.
Charlotte’s features softened. ‘I am sorry. That cannot have been easy.’
He looked at her earnestly. ‘How do you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Remain so kind, after everything you have endured.’
Charlotte, taken aback, lowered her head shyly.
‘You have lost your father, your home, and your reputation,’ he continued. ‘Yet you still concern yourself with protecting others. Most people would have grown bitter. You did not.’
Emotion rose suddenly in her throat. At the mention of her father, her eyes stung unexpectedly. She clasped her hands together to steady herself before answering.
‘I do it for him,’ she said at last. ‘My father believed one ought never stand idle in the face of injustice. I am merely trying to honour that.’
‘He must have been an extraordinary man. I am very sorry for your loss,’ he said gently.
‘He was. I miss him every day.’
‘He would be proud of you,’ Lord Stanley said softly. ‘As am I.’
The words struck her with surprising force.
‘Tell me about him,’ he asked gently as he sat down on the sofa next to her.
Charlotte drew in a breath, then released it with a grief she had carried for too long. She felt her burden ease a little as she spoke of her father—and suddenly realised she had not spoken of him since his passing. She was faintly surprised to discover how comfortable she felt discussing him with the Ice Baron.
How strange.
‘I wish I had such a father,’ he admitted quietly.
‘Well, I suppose God blessed me with him because He knew what sort of mother I would be getting.’
