Lady Star (23 page)

Vern laughed, “You know, I do think you are
in the right of it there.”

Dilly appeared at the library doors in a mop
cap and bright eyed. She seemed more than usually flustered to Star
as she bobbed a quick curtsy and said, “Begging yer pardon, Miss
and m’lord, but there be a man at the door who won’t go away. Oi
told him ye wasn’t in, but he said he would wait.”

“Who is he, Dilly?” Vern asked with a puzzled
expression.

“He says his name is Mr. Port and that he is
from yer bank. Says it is urgent.”

“Does he?” Vern’s chin was up. He looked at
Star, “We are in for it now, sis.” He turned back to Dilly, “You
did quite correctly, Dilly, in attempting to put him off, but I am
afraid, I shall have to see Mr. Port.”

Dilly sighed and turned to go, as Star
touched her brother’s arm and said, “What do you think he
wants?”

“
Money
, sis. ‘Tis time to pay the
piper…and I am not sure how we may do that,” Vern answered.

“Will it be very awkward, do you think?” Star
asked worriedly as she attempted to compose herself and smooth her
hands over her faded soft green morning dress.

“If he has come out to us in the wet cold
with the promise of heavy rain, I am afraid so,” Vern answered.
“Star, you needn’t be here. Don’t subject yourself to this. Go on
to the sewing room and busy yourself.”

Her brother was only just getting back his
strength. Why did this have to happen now? She smiled at him and
said, “You know I can’t sew to save my life. Mama tried and tried
to teach me and I am all thumbs with the needle and thread. So I
might as well bear you company, for I do have a head for business
and might be able to help you with anything he throws at you.”

“Yes, you do have a good head for business.
You manage the stud fees beautifully, but I am afraid, this will be
beyond our ability to handle. I tell you what, you being at my
side…well, you are deuced good company and the best sister any man
could ever hope to have. I only wished I had been better equipped
to take care of you.”

“Stop, you are perfect just the way you are,”
she answered and turned as Dilly had arrived and announced, “Mr.
Thomas Port.”

Brother and sister looked around and found a
small elderly man clothed the loose-fitting attire of a summer
weight dark blue coat. His hair was white, thick and fell around
his long face with great disorder when he removed his top hat. His
eyes were blue and seemed to hold a gentle expression, Star thought
as she met his gaze. His waistcoat was a pale shade of gray and his
pantaloons were a darker shade of gray. He looked from Vern to Star
as he went forward and said, “Miss Berkley, you won’t remember me,
since the last time we met you only reached your father’s
coattails. It is, however, for me, very nice to see you again.” He
turned to her brother who had stood up and went forward to take the
banker’s hand. “Ah, my lord, how tall and fine you have
become.”

“It would appear that you have the advantage
of adult memories over us,” Vern said with a warm smile.

Mr. Port nodded, but as a sigh escaped him,
Vern’s brows drew together and he said, “Come…do sit and be
comfortable with us, I shall ring for coffee.”

“No, no refreshments, thank you. I have come
on a serious matter. In fact, it quite breaks my heart and my
spirit to be put in such a position.”

“Oh?” Vern said.

“Berkley Grange has fallen on sad times, but
do you know, your father always managed to bring it around, and I
feel that you shall too, my lord.”

“That is most kind of you, but please, I know
that is not what you are here to tell us. My sister and I believe
in frank speaking. Do be at ease, we are prepared to hear what you
have to say,” Vern told him. Star felt so proud of him, thinking
this had to be difficult for her brother.

Mr. Port had taken a seat in the old leather
bound winged chair, placing his worn hide satchel beside his
feet.

Vern sat once again with his sister on the
sofa and brother and sister watched the flitting grim expressions
pass over Mr. Port’s face. He said finally, “I am afraid I am here
on some very grave and disturbing business. I am not certain how
this came about, as apparently it took place in our Hastings
Office…and the matter was completely out of my control.” He shook
his head, “Not that I could have prevented it from going forward,
you understand?”

“What sir, do you mean?” Star asked suddenly
feeling a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“As our letter indicated last month, my
lord…Miss Berkley, that the mortgage your father took on the Grange
just before his death…well, the payments on the mortgage had, as
you know, fallen terribly behind. The main branch…in London
demanded that we call in the mortgage, but we managed to stall them
while his lordship here made a few payments. Our branch discovered
that we could stall them no longer…and only found out when we
received the London Edition of the Chronicle that Berkley Grange’s
mortgage was available for purchase...”

“
What?”
both brother and sister
screeched as one.

“And, it pains me to tell you that the
mortgage for the Grange was indeed purchased yesterday. Our bank no
longer holds or controls it.”

“And who does?”

“I don’t yet have the paperwork from our
Hastings Branch, but I will send round that information as soon as
I do. Your payments, their respective amounts and required
collection will be totally in the hands of whoever now holds the
mortgage.”

Chapter
Twenty

A FEW MILES away, at the Stamford residence,
Sir Edward’s mind worked frantically to solve the puzzles he had
laid out for his own edification.

He had allowed the scoundrel Farley to
live.

Had that decision been the wrong one? He had
wanted to avoid a scandal which might have arisen had he killed the
man in cold blood. Questions might have gone forward and an
investigation might have exhumed truths that might have led to Star
and her brother. He hadn’t wanted to chance that.

He hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision and
yet, doubts clutched at his heart. He had to set things to rights
for Star and her brother. This was a priority for him, and he had
to make certain that the young Lord Berkley never engaged in such
machinations ever again.

He sighed as he gazed at himself in his long
mirror and adjusted his cravat. He looked like a libertine and he
didn’t want to. He wanted to look as he felt, like a man hopelessly
in love.

His ginger colored waves of hair, had been
cut and combed in the windswept style and gave him a cavalier look.
He didn’t want to appear cavalier, but sincere. He didn’t wish to
look like a rogue out for a moment’s pleasure. He wanted to look
serious, as serious as he felt.

A flash of memory jolted him. It was as
though he could smell her fresh scent, feel her hands as she
grabbed hold of his locks and pulled him to her.

He heard her voice as she told him how much
she loved his long wild hair.

He smiled and turned away from the mirror and
sighing heavily as he strode out of his bedchamber then made his
way to Jules’ door and knocked.

Jules called out for him to enter and he did,
closing the door at his back and standing for a moment. His friend
was already up and sitting at his window table. He was still in his
dark blue brocade dressing gown and idly stirring his coffee.

Edward’s gaze found Jules’ light blue eyes
and he saw at once that his friend appeared troubled.

He frowned and was about to ask him what was
wrong when Jules gave him a bright smile and remarked,
“
Certes
, you are up early. What…can it be noon already?”

Sir Edward grinned at him ruefully, “I have
not been such a late sleeper for years now…and Jules, we have to
talk.”

Jules regarded him thoughtfully and Edward
wondered what was in his friend’s head. They had not seen one
another since the previous morning. Jules said, “Of course,
Edward…do sit. I can send for another pot and cup for you.”

“No, thank you, I have already had my
coffee,” Edward said taking the opposite chair at the small round
table. “Jules…I have a great deal to say.”

“Right then, ‘ole friend, say it,” Jules
encouraged.

“I was held up last night on my return trip
from Hastings…”

“What?” Jules exclaimed and interrupted him.
“By God, man! Were you hurt? Are they still alive or did you send
them to their maker as you have in the past?” He was bright with
his sudden excitement.

“Websly and I could have put all four in the
ground. I chose not to this time,” he said slowly.

“Why?” Jules studied his face.

“Ah. I followed my instincts, my old friend
as I am going to do now.” He then said grimly, “There is something
else on my mind, something you and I must talk about, right
now.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Star. I want to talk about Star.”

* * *

“Eh there, Farley, come on then,” the
bartender at the Mermaid Inn said. It was early morning and Farley
lay sprawled in his chair, his cheek flat on the round table before
him. Two of his men were in similar positions.

Two more were under the table, flat out,
their mouths open. The table was covered with empty tankards. The
bartender was weary after a long hard night, and what he wanted was
his bed, so he shoved Farley’s shoulder hard and repeated, “Come
on, then, up wit ye, man!”

Farley groaned and shifted. He opened one eye
and stared at the large man growling at him. Where the hell was he?
Ah, yes, the Mermaid. Spent a fine round on drinks he had…

The bartender pushed him again and Farley
groaned, “Ah, for the love of…stubble it! Whot be the matter wit ye
man? Just leave me in peace.”

“Devil wit ye!” shouted the bartender. “Oi
wants me bed, Oi do, so Oi’m off. Ye’ll have to answer to Mrs.
Bukes when she comes in, and that, Oi promise ye, won’t be
pretty.”

Mrs. Bukes was never without her pistol and
she had been known to use it on more than one occasion. Farley
moaned and said, “Mrs. Bukes is it?” He tried straightening and
moaned again as every muscle in his body ached, and his head, lord,
he thought, it must be twice its original size!

He kicked the chubby man beside him and said,
“Up wit ye…” thus he managed to get up from the table and
stretched. Moodily he kicked one of the men beneath the table and
told him, “Ye too…up.”

Between snorts, groans and curses his men
began to rouse themselves. One man yawned loudly and Farley poked
him in the head and said, “Ally, up wit ye…come on ye tallow-faced
swine, up with all of ye!”

The first discernible complete sentence that
came to mind as he looked around at his men’s faces and saw their
bloodshot eyes was
Damn Sir Edward’s soul!

He had spent a hellish night in spite of the
fact that he had imbibed more than his usual quota of alcohol and
all because of that flash covey. He looked outdoors and saw that it
was a bleak day, raining in fact, and he cursed the fates.

If he had blunt to spare, he would take a
room at the Inn and just sleep it off, but because of the flash, he
was near out of funds. Their luck had apparently run out—may the
flash covey rot in hell. If he could do Sir Edward an injury, he
would, he damn well would, just for the pleasure of it.

A tricky business that. He had quickly come
to the conclusion that this particular flash cove, was not cut in
the ordinary style.

His day had been plagued by the man. First,
Sir Edward had interrupted his designs for Star Berkley. Then, who
should be in the coach they held up, but the same devil.
Who has
luck like that
? No one, which meant, from now on, he would have
to tread carefully, for he took it as a sign.

Sir Edward was no one to fiddle with. He
could still remember the sound of the man’s voice in his ear last
night in the dark and the memory struck him with a terror he rarely
experienced. Sir Edward had told him in a voice that belonged to
the devil himself, “You will take your crew and yourself and find
new hunting ground. Do you understand me? Because the next time I
come across you in Rye, I shall not hesitate to first injure you
from your head to your crotch before putting you out of your
misery. Understood?”

“Don’t see ‘ow Oi can do that, guv,” Farley
had grumbled though his body quaked with fear.

“And I don’t see how you can do anything else
and survive.”

The memory of how those words were said shook
him now to the core. He could no longer hound the young lord for
the information he had so desired. No longer would there be easy
pickings at estates whose gentry and staff had gone off to London,
Brighton or abroad.

Right, so how could he continue to rob the
rich old nabobs while they were away, if he couldn’t find out this
information from the young lord? And he couldn’t ride the highway
as a toby…not with the flash on his tail. How was a man to make a
living?

Then he remembered just how Sir Edward had
looked at the young lord’s sister, Miss Berkley. A plan formed in
his busy brain, his toothless grin appeared across his face and he
said, “Eh lads, listen up here. Oi gots me a plan, oi does.”

* * *

The Berkley’s brass door knocker sounded
loudly as Dilly rounded the corner of the kitchen. She handed the
tray of cold coffee and biscuits to Cook who looked at the
untouched biscuits she had baked fresh that morning and clucked her
tongue.

“Those two children, for they are little more
than that, and don’t be telling me how he is the lord of the manor
and all, for he is still a youth and neither one of them has eaten
right for days! Whot’s to do?” Cook fretted as she took the tray
and dropped it on the wooden center chopping block table.