Mary Jo Putney (14 page)

T
he sky was darkening by the time Rob and his companions reached the stables. As Rob dismounted, Jonas said, “I’ll take care of the horses if you want to talk to Buckley now.”

“Are you hoping I’ll wring his neck for not doing his job?”

Jonas considered, then nodded. “Yes.”

Rob helped Sarah from her mount. “And people think that
I’m
bloodthirsty. Sarah, may I have your notebook for ammunition?”

“I want to go with you,” Sarah said as she handed him the notebook. “Since I’ve had some experience with estate management, perhaps I’ll be useful.”

“If you’re not too tired, I’d like that.” He’d like it a lot. He was over his head in this business, and having a knowledgeable woman at his side was comforting. “I need all the help I can get.”

The steward’s office was a small building set at right angles to the stables. Sarah caught up her voluminous skirts and took Rob’s arm. In the green velvet, she looked deliciously pretty and useless. Like a fluffy golden chick, in fact.

“You’re my secret weapon,” Rob said as he led her across the yard. “Don’t hesitate to speak up if you feel it’s needed.”

Sarah grinned. “You know I won’t hesitate. While you’re talking to Buckley, I’ll drift around his office and see if I find anything interesting.”

“You have the instincts of a spy or a Runner.” He smiled down at her. “I like that in a woman.”

She blushed adorably. He was amused to see how her expression changed when they reached the steward’s office. All signs of intelligence vanished. She looked cheerful and rather vacant. Not like an expert in anything except perhaps fashion.

Rob knocked and Buckley bade him enter. Before walking inside, Rob schooled his face to his best intimidating Runner expression. He wouldn’t have to say a word to make the steward nervous.

As they entered the office, he noted that it was expensively furnished, more like a lord’s library than a steward’s work area. A handsome Oriental carpet lay in front of the mahogany desk, framed oil paintings and maps adorned the walls, and the wall behind the desk consisted of a built-in bookcase and cabinet, also in mahogany. The furnishings would have cost more than the complete contents of Rob’s spacious flat in London.

Buckley rose and bowed as Rob entered with Sarah on his arm. “Welcome, Lord Kellington! I’ve been waiting for you. I assume this charming lady is your fiancée?”

Sarah gave a dazzling smile. “Indeed I am. This is all so exciting!”

Buckley cast an admiring glance over her shapely figure, dismissed her as a brainless bit of fluff, and focused on Rob. “Would you like sherry or claret, my lord?”

“No, thank you, but I’ll have a seat.” He guided Sarah to one of the chairs facing the desk and settled in the chair beside her. “The estate and tenant farms are in a deplorable state. You must know that.” Rob held up Sarah’s notebook. “I have listings of the most urgent needs. Pray explain why this has been allowed to happen.”

Buckley froze like a rabbit confronted by a fox as he struggled for an answer to such a blunt question. He settled on passing the blame. “I was following the orders of your father, and then during his brief ownership, your brother. Both were concerned with generating the maximum possible revenue from the estate, and they had no interest in investing unnecessary capital.”

“Repairing roofs so Kellington tenants don’t die of lung fever is not what I’d call ‘unnecessary,’ ” Rob said, an edge to his voice. “Not only are the tenant farmhouses falling to pieces, but the fencing has been badly neglected and drains have fallen into disrepair.” He slapped the notebook onto the desk. “It’s a disgrace!”

“I’ve done what I could!” Buckley said defensively. “But I couldn’t refuse your father’s direct orders!”

“A good steward should have been able to convince the old earl of the dangers of grabbing short-term profits while destroying long-term revenues.” Based on the comments Jonas and Sarah had made, Rob was able to sound much more knowledgeable than he actually was. Buckley began to sweat.

Sarah rose from her chair and drifted around the office as if bored. But she paid sharp attention to everything she examined, and after a few minutes pulled a ledger from the bookcase behind Buckley.

She leafed through quickly and silently, her brows arching at what she found. When she reached the end, she opened the doors to the ceiling-high cabinet. Inside were record boxes and a strongbox on the bottom shelf.

Hearing her, Buckley turned and asked suspiciously, “Are you looking for something in particular, Miss Clarke-Townsend?”

“I was hoping to find a novel or two, but these books seem to be boring volumes of agriculture and the like,” she said, batting her lashes shamelessly.

“This is my place of business,” he said tersely. “If you’re looking for amusement, you might enjoy the book of English county maps on the top shelf of the bookcase.”

“Oh, yes, that would be delightful!” Her expression was vacuous but pleased.

Rob half expected Buckley to see through Sarah’s act, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned back to Rob and gave an unconvincing explanation about why so much timber had been cut.

Rob continued to ask questions until Sarah turned with a ledger in her hands and gave him a satisfied nod. Clearly she’d found something interesting.

Frowning, Rob cut Buckley off in the middle of a sentence. “Considering how badly you’ve run the estate, I see no reason why I should retain your services.”

Buckley’s face paled. “My lord, that’s unfair! I’m a very good steward! I’ve managed Kellington according to your father’s orders. After his death your brother told me to continue your father’s policies. If you wish to improve the estate, I will do so gladly. After the difficulties of serving the late earls, I would welcome the chance to do my job properly.” He leaned forward over the desk, his expression intense. “You owe me a chance to prove myself!”

Rob hesitated. He didn’t particularly like Buckley, but it was true that if the steward had been ordered to squeeze the estate, he would have had to obey or resign, and another such position would be hard to come by. Based on the quality of his clothing and the furnishings of his office, Buckley had been paid well, and it was understandable that he wouldn’t want to give the position up.

Sarah spoke up for the first time, peering over the heavy ledger. “You don’t owe Mr. Buckley anything, Rob. In fact, I’d say he owes you a good deal. He’s been skimming off a substantial percentage of the estate income. At least fifteen percent, perhaps more. Discharge him. Better yet, charge him with embezzlement.”

The steward gasped and spun around in his chair, his face white. “That’s utter nonsense! You can’t discharge me based on the word of an inexperienced girl.”

Sarah smiled like a petite gold angel. An avenging angel. “The official ledger lists ridiculously high prices for everything from stock to equipment. You record purchases of first-rate breeding bulls and English Leicester rams from Coke of Norfolk himself but I see no signs of their bloodlines in the herds.”

“What does an unmarried girl know about breeding?” he sputtered. “Such things take time. The improved stock may not show up for years.”

“You’ve
had
years,” she said coolly. “The first alleged purchases were ten years ago. You must have had singularly bad luck with your studs, since you list replacements every year since.
Expensive
replacements.”

“We . . . we have had bad luck,” he said defensively. “The tenants are a surly lot, not cooperating with my instructions to improve productivity.”

Rob was beginning to enjoy himself. “Really? They all seem to feel that you’ve ignored their requests and flatly refused to make even the most modest improvements. What else did you find, Sarah?”

She shelved the ledger and lifted a thin, drab volume. “This book’s title,
Sermons for a Sinful Soul at the End of Life,
should guarantee that no one will ever pick it up. But it turns out to contain not sermons, but a very interesting set of—let’s call them auxiliary figures.” She opened the volume and glanced inside. “Mr. Buckley, you appear to have defrauded the Kellington estate of over five thousand pounds.”

Rob’s brows shot up. It was a very substantial sum. Not enough to fix everything that needed fixing on the estate, but enough for a good start.

And Buckley had been stealing that money while tenants’ houses were leaking icy winter rains. “I’ll have you charged and thrown in jail, Buckley,” he said with cold fury. “If you’re lucky, you’ll be transported instead of hanged. Sarah, is there any indication of where he’s stashed his ill-gotten gains?”

“That’s not clear, but I haven’t had long to search,” she said apologetically. “My guess is that he’s keeping it close so he can carry the money off if his crimes are detected. You felt safe, didn’t you, Mr. Buckley? The earls you served never looked at your work in detail as long as they received quarterly funds for their vices.”

Pure panic in his eyes, the steward bolted for the door. Rob caught him easily. As he twisted Buckley’s arm behind his back, he snapped, “Don’t try to escape a Bow Street Runner! You won’t succeed, and it irritates the Runner.”

All the fight went out of his captive. “Please!” the steward said raggedly. “I
am
a good steward, that’s why I was hired in the first place. But your father didn’t want me to tend the estate. All he wanted was every bloody penny I could squeeze out. He never checked my work, so . . . I couldn’t resist the temptation to secure my own future.”

Rob shoved Buckley into a chair, then scanned the secret account book Sarah handed him. Page after page of meticulous numbers recorded how much Buckley had siphoned from Kellington each month. He probably was a good steward, or he wouldn’t have kept such detailed records of his crimes. “Obviously you were tempted a great deal. Where’s the money, Buckley? Produce it and I might not press for you to be hanged.”

“Some of it has been spent, but as Miss Clarke-Townsend guessed, the rest is nearby,” Buckley said with desperation. “I’ll show you where if you let me go free.”

Rob’s mouth tightened. “These are not small crimes, Buckley. I’ve spent years putting lesser criminals in jail. Why should I release a man who has damaged everyone at Kellington?”

“I have a wife and children. What will become of them if I’m hanged?” His shoulders were shaking. “They . . . they won’t believe I could behave so badly.”

Rob found himself feeling some sympathy. Buckley’s concern for his family seemed genuine, and they were apparently innocent of his crimes. But the crimes were indeed considerable.

“He has a point, Rob,” Sarah observed. “I don’t think Mr. Buckley is an evil man. Just weak and lacking in character. If he’d been properly supervised by your father, he’d probably have done his job capably and not succumbed to temptation.”

“No question about the weak character,” Rob said tartly. “What do you suggest I do with him?”

“Retrieve the money and let him and his family go with a hundred pounds or so to support them until he finds a position elsewhere.” Her smile was satiric. “One in which he will not face temptation.”

Rob thought about it. He didn’t want Buckley’s family on his conscience, and it was true that his father’s neglect had created a situation that allowed the steward’s weaknesses to flourish. It was also true that the money embezzled from the estate would now be available for improvements. If Buckley had been honest, that money would have been spent by the late earls.

Coming to a decision, he said, “Very well, Buckley. Produce the money. When I have it, go home and tell your family to start packing. I want you gone tomorrow. I will allow you the use of an estate wagon to take your family and goods to a larger town. You will have a hundred pounds to live on, as Miss Clarke-Townsend suggested. I will watch you in the future. If I discover you embezzling somewhere else, I will be forced to take more severe steps. Do I make myself clear?”

“You do.” Buckley’s mouth twisted. “I swear I won’t steal again. I can’t bear the consequences.”

Rob studied the man’s face, then nodded. Buckley wasn’t a confirmed criminal, so fear of consequences should keep him honest in the future. “Where is the money?”

“Right here in this room.” The steward turned and knelt in front of the built-in bookcase behind his desk. A six-inch-wide board ran below the bottom shelf. He stretched his arms and pressed a spot at each end. The baseboard fell forward.

Inside the space were four long, narrow wooden boxes. Buckley lifted them onto the desk. The last was noticeably heavier. He opened the boxes. The first three were packed with banknotes. The fourth contained solid rows of golden coins.

“Heavens!” Sarah exclaimed. “I’ve never seen so many guineas at once in my life. With gold scarce, I believe a gold guinea is worth twenty-six or twenty-seven shillings instead of twenty-one.”

Which meant that Buckley’s treasury was worth more than the face value. Rob estimated the number of coins in the box. About a thousand. More money than most people would see in a lifetime. “Sarah, will you help me count?”

“With pleasure!”

With the two of them counting, it didn’t take long to confirm that there was close to five thousand pounds in cash. Rob counted out a hundred pounds in banknotes and handed them to Buckley. “Give me the keys to this office.”

The steward tucked the banknotes in an inside pocket, then opened a desk drawer and removed a key ring with several keys. “Here are the keys to this office, plus a spare set for the steward’s house. I have another set of office keys there.”

“Give them to Jonas,” Rob ordered. “Then tell your family to start packing. Don’t try to take any of the furnishings that were in the house when you moved in. I have a good memory of what was there. Is there anything in this office that is really yours, not owned by the estate or bought with stolen money?”