Andrea Kane (28 page)

Two hours later, she had three stacks of files piled up on the long table before her, and she’d learned nothing other than the fact that Colby and Sons had a healthy clientele and a substantial number of ongoing transactions. The only curious detail that struck her was the high prices charged by several of their shippers. If all the shipping companies’ fees had been uniformly higher, she would have assumed that shipping costs in England simply exceeded those in America. But that didn’t seem to be the case, not when most of the companies appeared to be charging fees that were comparable to what she was accustomed to seeing in her father’s records. Further, of those few shippers who commanded a higher price, one was Mr. Lyman, whose very name sent off warning bells in Anastasia’s head. This she’d have to investigate further.

She was just about to plow through yet another pile of receipts when the entrance to Colby and Sons was flung open.

“Roberts, I need to see Lord Medford right away.” A stout man who looked distinctly familiar burst into the room, his pudgy cheeks bright red, whether from the exertion of hurrying or something more, Anastasia couldn’t determine. But he certainly seemed agitated, and urgent about his demand to see her uncle.

Before Roberts could respond, the inner office door nearly flew off its hinges, and Uncle George stalked out, brushing by the settee where Anastasia sat, and crossing over to join his caller. “I didn’t expect you today,” he greeted, his entire demeanor strained as he backed the other man toward the entranceway. “Roberts, you may go to the bank for me now,” he instructed brusquely over his shoulder.

The nervous clerk jumped to his feet, and George waited, keeping his back to Anastasia and remaining silent until Roberts had excused himself and left. Then, he continued speaking to his guest, his voice, and that of his companion, scarcely audible.

Casually, Anastasia rose, twisting about to eye her uncle’s now-vacant office longingly. She turned back, studying the two men and grappling over which to do: Should she sidle closer to them, try to eavesdrop on the conversation, and learn what this visit was all about? Or should she use this time to try to slip into her uncle’s private domain and glance at his personal records?

Since the men’s voices were so quiet that eavesdropping was a virtual impossibility, and coupled with the fact that she might never have another chance, she opted for the latter.

Slowly, she edged toward the inner office, never looking away from her uncle and his visitor. They were engrossed in heated discussion, their agitated tones escalating into hisses, both men totally unaware of her presence.

At the precise moment, Anastasia eased inside, then halted, deciding quickly where to spend the few seconds she had. Scrutinizing the room, she made an impulsive decision, and acted upon it. She rushed to the desk, snatched up the appointment book, and tucked it in the pocket beneath her skirts. Holding her breath, she inched back to the threshold, peeking outside and feeling a surge of relief when she saw the two men still talking. She slipped out, sidled over to the settee, and resumed her position.

“Uncle George, may I help myself to the next drawer of files?” she inquired brightly.

“What?” Just the sound of her voice made George’s shoulders go positively rigid. “Oh, yes, yes. Mister … my guest and I will be going out for a few minutes.” He turned, hurried over to lock his office door. Pausing beside Anastasia, he glanced down at what she was perusing, and looked subtly but discernibly relieved at whatever he saw. “Browse through the files as you please,” he forced himself to offer. “Save any questions you have for Roberts. He’ll be back within the half hour.”

“Thank you. I will.” She smiled, holding her breath until her uncle and his portly guest—who had retreated into the hallway to wait—had left.

She heard their footsteps fade away, and waited an extra moment to be safe.

Then, she whisked the appointment book out from under her skirts, and began scanning the entries.

Rather than starting at the beginning, she focused on the 7
^th
of August, about one week ago, hoping to see a name that would leap out at her and correspond with the timing of the shipment of that questionable cargo.

Lyman’s name appeared several times, but that was no surprise. So did a few other names. Curiously, they were all the shippers whose rates were higher than their competitors.

A rather clipped entry dated two days ago caught her eye:
Rouge—receive Paris shipment.

No further details were provided, an oddity, given that the other entries in the book were thorough, described in full.

And neat.

That was another thing. Unlike George’s other entries, which were precisely penned, as fastidious as he, this one was uneven, its awkwardly scrawled letters crammed in the corner, almost as if he wanted them hidden.

Which he probably did.

The date on the entry was August 12
^th
—just one day after the shipment had gone down.

Paris. Was that where that illegal cargo had been headed? And, if so, who was Rouge?

Quickly, Anastasia flipped through the appointment book, noticing two additional, equally obscured entries that indicated other occasions when this. Rouge was expecting something from Uncle George—something to be delivered to Paris.

But what?

A noise in the hallway caught Anastasia’s ear, and swiftly she slipped the appointment book back into its hiding place beneath her skirts. When Mr. Roberts entered an instant later, she was calmly leafing through a stack of receipts.

“Have you everything you need, my lady?” he asked timidly.

“Yes.” Anastasia gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts. Oh, Uncle George said he’d be back shortly. He went for a stroll with Mr. … Mr. …” She screwed up her face, seemingly searching for the name of their visitor. “I’m sorry. I’ve received so many introductions since I returned to England. I completely forgot the surname of that pleasant gentleman who was just here.”

“Bates,” Roberts supplied, nodding his understanding as he resumed his place at his desk. “Mr. Bates. The magistrate.”

“Yes, that’s right. Mr. Bates.” Anastasia nearly leaped out of her seat as the name fell into place. Of course. Bates—the magistrate. No wonder Uncle George hadn’t wanted her to get too good a look at him. He knew that if she saw him up close she’d recognize him, and wonder why a magistrate was visiting the offices of an import-export company.

Mr. Bates.
Now
she remembered. He’d been one of the potential backers she’d approached at her coming-out party. He was financially secure and well-connected.

And his was the name she’d overheard her uncle speak to Mr. Lyman in their meeting yesterday.

Anastasia had to keep herself from shouting aloud as that snippet of memory fell into place, and she recalled her uncle’s words.

That merchandise was worth a fortune—you saw the quality Bates came up with.
We
would have gotten thousands for it. Thousands. And Lyman—it was our last chance. Our last bloody chance!

Bates.
That
had been the name that had hovered out of reach when she’d recounted the conversation to Damen.

And now that she did recall it, a whole new set of questions emerged. Why in the name of heaven was a magistrate involved in supplying goods? What stolen or illegal merchandise had he gotten his hands on that Uncle George had shipped to someone named Rouge in Paris? Valuable jewels? Opium?

She’d be willing to bet that the sunken cargo was the reason for Bates’s visit today—
and
the reason for his unsettled state of mind. He’d probably just found out that whatever he’d provided to Uncle George was never going to reach its destination.

Anastasia massaged her temples. She had to assimilate all this information, to review it with someone she trusted—the same someone who could help her make sense of all she’d gleaned today.

Damen.

Half tempted to make some excuse and head out, she suddenly remembered the appointment book. If she left the office without returning it, her uncle would undoubtedly come back and discover it missing. Then he’d know she was up to something, which would arouse his suspicions and, consequently, undo everything she’d accomplished thus far.

She eased back on the settee. She had to have patience, to find a way to replace the appointment book before leaving the office.

How
was another matter entirely—one she wished she’d given some thought to before she’d snatched the bloody thing. Then again, there hadn’t been time. If she’d taken one extra minute to think things through, her opportunity to seize the book would have vanished and she never would have had the chance to read those potentially incriminating entries.

Somehow, some way, she had to await her uncle’s return and accompany him into his office, then find a way to slip the appointment book back onto his desk—before he noticed it was missing.

Lord only knew what she was letting herself in for, especially given the wretched mood her uncle would doubtless be in after his heated discussion with Bates.

Well, she’d just have to contend with that, as well.

She lowered her head, resuming her perusal of the files. Being she was stuck here, she might as well make the most of it. She’d pore over as many receipts as time permitted.

Twenty minutes later, George stalked into the office, a black scowl darkening his face. His breath was coining quickly—as if he’d been running or, perhaps, arguing strenuously. He barely glanced at Roberts or Anastasia, but headed straight for his office door. His hand shook as he fitted the key into the lock, and it took him three attempts to get the door open.

Either he’s been drinking or, more likely, he craves a drink,
Anastasia mused silently.

Just the thing she needed to save her.

Moving to the edge of the settee, she waited until her uncle had taken a few steps inside his office. Then, she shot to her feet, following him in as quietly as she could.

Sure enough, he had crossed the room and was pouring himself a generous helping of brandy.

Without pause, Anastasia yanked the appointment book from beneath her skirts and placed it silently on the desk where she’d found it.

“Uncle George?” she said, pretending she’d just entered the room. “I want to thank you for giving me free rein to explore. It’s been exciting to learn just how vast our company has become.”

George’s head jerked around, and he stared at Anastasia as if she were a loathsome insect. “I’m glad your morning was exciting. Mine wasn’t.” He drowned his bitterness in two deep swallows of brandy, clearly trying to squelch his obvious hostility toward his niece— hostility rooted in something far harsher, more deep-seated than mere disapproval over her business acumen. “Have you seen enough for one day, or are you intent on further upsetting my filing system and my schedule?”

Anastasia chewed her lip in apparent distress. “I didn’t mean to be disruptive. But perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I did overstay my welcome a bit, especially in the case of poor Mr. Roberts. He’s been waiting on me all morning, probably to the exclusion of his other work.” She glanced over her shoulder at the outer office, a rueful expression on her face, “The more I think about it, the more I think I’ll be going.”

A spark of relief flickered in George’s eyes. “I’m sure Roberts would appreciate that. We still have quite a bit of paperwork to review today.”

“Then I’ll be on my way.”

“Fine. Take the carriage.”

“But how will you get home?”

“I’ll find a way,” George snapped. “Just go.”

“All right.” Anastasia wasn’t waiting for her uncle to change his mind. “I’ll thank Mr. Roberts and be off.”

A half hour later she walked into the House of Lockewood.

Impatiently, she looked around for Graff, eager to have him announce her to Damen.

She needn’t have bothered.

Damen himself was pacing about the bank, his gaze flickering from his customers to the entranceway and back.

The instant he saw Anastasia, he broke away from the crowd, making his way to her side.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. May we talk?”

“Right now.” He gripped her arm, led her across the floor, through the rear door, and directly into his office.

He shut and locked the door.

“What happened?” he demanded, turning to face her. “I’ve been watching the clock and worrying since I got up this morning. Actually, I worried all night, too. I didn’t shut an eye. I never should have agreed to this. The risk is too great.”

“But well worth it.” Anastasia rushed forward, clutched his forearms. “Damen, I got results. At least I think I did.” She blurted out everything she’d discovered, from the odd discrepancy in the receipts to the entries in her uncle’s appointment book, to the most damning information of all: Bates’s visit and the fact that it had been his name she’d overheard in her uncle’s conversation with Lyman yesterday—all of which added up to the fact that the magistrate was somehow involved in these shady dealings.

Damen’s scowl deepened with each passing word. “That’s it,” he declared the minute she was finished. “Your part in this is officially over. Whatever your uncle is involved in is more serious than I thought, and even more dangerous. Magistrates and affluent businessmen who risk their positions in society are desperate men. When they’re backed into corners, they react like trapped animals. They attack when threatened. As do unscrupulous viscounts who already despise their nieces and find out those nieces have played a major role in bringing them down. I’ll take it from here, Stacie. I mean it.”

Anastasia sucked in her breath. “What will you do?”

“I’ll have Bates investigated. It should be easy enough to find out if George is compensating him in some way. My guess is it’s with power, not money—being that your uncle has none of the latter to offer. But he does have influence, or at least his title does. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s had a hand in broadening Bates’s area of jurisdiction.”

“That makes sense,” Anastasia concurred. “What about Rouge? How do we get information on him?”