Waltz With a Stranger (34 page)

The front door opened as they approached it, and three people entered in a burst of laughter and conversation: Mr. Newbold, Andrew, and Aurelia, all wearing riding dress.

“Good morning, Trevenan!” Mr. Newbold greeted him with a jovial smile.

“Good morning, sir. Did you enjoy your ride?” James inquired.

“I did, indeed. You have an excellent stable. Thank you for allowing us the use of it.” Turning his head, Mr. Newbold caught sight of James’s visitor, and his affable expression cooled noticeably. “Ah. Captain—Mercer, isn’t it?”

Astonished, James glanced at Mercer, whose face had gone similarly rigid. “You know each other?” He did not know why he was surprised; his future father-in-law was in shipping too.

“Mr. Newbold and I have met briefly, in New York,” Mercer confirmed, inclining his head toward the older man. “Pray excuse me. I was just taking my leave. Lord Trevenan, I shall send you what you asked, at the first opportunity. Good day.”

“Good day,” James replied, watching the captain depart.

Once the front door had closed behind Mercer, Mr. Newbold turned, frowning, to James. “You have business with this man?”

“Not exactly,” James replied. “Do you, sir?”

“No, and I mean to keep it that way.” Mr. Newbold’s face set in grim lines. “Trust me on this, Trevenan. You don’t want anything to do with Philip Mercer or Mercer Shipping.”

“No, I don’t believe I do,” James assured him. “But Mercer and my late cousin had business dealings of a somewhat suspicious nature, and I’d like to find out just what they were. If there’s anything you can tell me about Mercer or his company, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Mr. Newbold glanced at his son and daughter, who were looking on with frank curiosity.

“Tell him, Father,” Aurelia urged. “You never know what details might come in handy.”

“True enough,” Mr. Newbold conceded. He turned to James. “What I have to say might not be of any use to you, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Thank you.” James studied the Newbolds, his soon-to-be family, for a moment longer and came to a decision. “Why don’t we all go into the library and talk about it there?”

***

“Smuggling?” James stared at Mr. Newbold. “Are you quite sure of that, sir?”

“Reasonably sure,” the older man replied. “At least that’s what I’ve heard. Luxury goods, mostly—liquor, tobacco, tea. He’s always got plenty on hand, and he always gets top price. And I gather he’s approached a few of my colleagues in New York about joining him in the trade.”

“But not you.”

Mr. Newbold hesitated, then shook his head, much to the relief of Andrew and Aurelia who were watching their father intently. “I own, it’s tempting to find ways around paying taxes and tariffs. But a man’s reputation is everything in business. Touch pitch, and you defile it.”

“Is Mercer’s reputation so black in America?”

“Not so black that he’s untouchable,” Mr. Newbold conceded grudgingly. “But he sails close to the wind, and there are rumors that Mercer Shipping’s involved in some dirtier ventures. Stolen antiquities, forged artworks, arms-running, even drugs. No one’s caught him red-handed, but the smell lingers, all the same.”

“He seems to be more circumspect here,” James observed. “Neither my solicitor nor my inquiry agent has turned up rumors of this sort. At least, not so far.”

Mr. Newbold grunted. “Makes sense he’d pass himself off as an honest merchant at home. Abroad is another story. How did your cousin get involved with him in the first place?”

As briefly as possible, James summed up what he knew of Gerald’s dealings with Mercer Shipping. “Mercer’s being very persistent about buying back those shares, but I want to know more about his dealings with my cousin before I make any decisions about that. And then there’s that missing shipment to find—if it can be found now, after almost six months.”

Andrew spoke for the first time. “Do you think your cousin sold everything off?”

“That has been my theory so far,” James replied. “Gerald tended to live beyond his means. He’d have wanted money as quickly as possible. My guess is he’d try to find a buyer for the most valuable goods right away and pocket the profits for himself.”

“But what if there wasn’t enough time for that?” Aurelia asked. “You said the shipment arrived just before Christmas. Your cousin was dead by New Year’s Day. Surely he wouldn’t have had the chance to dispose of everything unless he had a buyer right there on the spot.”

“Perhaps not,” James conceded after a moment’s thought. Gerald would also have needed time to sift through the cargo and pick out what was most profitable before Mercer could catch him. Time—and a place, he realized. “So that leaves—hiding it?”

“That would be my guess,” Mr. Newbold said, nodding.

“But where?” Aurelia wondered. “I shouldn’t think big crates of tea and china would be easy to hide. Your cousin would’ve had to put them somewhere he could get at, but Captain Mercer couldn’t. And someplace where no one else could stumble on them by accident.”

“Maybe he buried them in the garden,” Andrew suggested with a crooked grin. “Shall we get out the shovels and start digging?”

“He wouldn’t have buried them,” James said, ignoring the younger man’s facetiousness. “Too much chance of damaging the goods. No one’s likely to buy broken china or tea that smells of damp earth. Besides, the groundskeepers would have noticed.” He got to his feet. “I think it’s time I looked into exactly what my cousin was doing just before he died. My thanks to you all.”

***

In all his years at Pentreath, James had never entered Gerald’s chamber, nor wished to. He felt like an intruder now—worse, almost a grave robber—as he stood outside the locked door. Locked since the morning of Gerald’s funeral and not disturbed since.

It had surprised James, initially, that Gerald hadn’t moved into his father’s larger rooms, but perhaps he had not been ready to accede to the earldom either. Perhaps remaining in his old chamber had been a comfort, a way to keep the responsibilities of his new position at bay. James felt a reluctant twinge of sympathy at the thought; he kept to
his
old chamber as well.

No putting it off any longer. James turned the key and let himself into the room. Close, musty smell—that was only to be expected. He strode to the window, wrestled it open enough to let in some fresh air, then turned resolutely to his task.

Unlike Gerald’s room in the Belgravia house, this contained few of his cousin’s belongings. Gerald had arrived at Pentreath just before Christmas, with only enough clothes to see him through a fortnight or so. His valet had testified at the inquest that his lordship meant to leave for the Shires in January, to enjoy the hunting season. But what clothes Gerald had brought to Cornwall still hung in the wardrobe or remained packed in his trunks. James supposed it would fall to him, eventually, to dispose of them, whether to secondhand shops or missionary barrels. He pushed away the depressing prospect to concentrate on his present business.

It seemed unlikely that Gerald would have stashed the missing shipment in his chamber, but James searched dutifully through the wardrobe, chest of drawers, and dressing room, all to no avail. Finally, he sat down at his cousin’s desk and opened the topmost drawer.

An unprepossessing collection of items met his view: pen, paper, and ink, stamps, a box of cigars, and a handful of pennies. He closed the drawer, opened the next.

A stack of maps, loosely folded—now that looked more promising. He spread the first open across the desk. A map of Cornwall: the Cornish coast, to be precise. Not too surprising that Gerald should have such a thing. He’d never known Cornwall that well, after all…

The door burst open behind him, and a strident voice assailed his ears. “What are you doing in Gerald’s room?” Helena demanded.

Forcing down his annoyance, James turned in his chair to face her. “Spying now, Helena? I’d have thought that was beneath you.”

She drew herself up, affronted, but did not deny the charge, he observed. “I have a right to know when you’re pawing through my brother’s personal belongings!”

James kept a firm hold on his temper. “Would it placate you to hear that I’m actually trying to discover more about his last days?”

Helena’s mouth opened, then closed as his words registered. James resumed before she could get her second wind, “I’ve spent this morning speaking to a man, the owner of a shipping company, with whom Gerald had done business in the last months of his life.”

She stared at him. “What could Gerald have possibly wanted with a shipping company?”

“I gather it was a profitable venture, though perhaps less reputable than it first appeared.”

Helena bristled. “Are you implying that my brother was involved in something shady?”

“I am implying nothing of the kind.” Stating it outright would be closer to the truth, but James knew better than to fan the flames. “I wish only to discern the full extent of his involvement and to determine whether it might have played a part in his death.” Holding her gaze with his own, he continued with steely resolve, “And if you truly desire justice for Gerald, you will not impede my efforts to find answers. Now, unless you have some insights to offer that might illuminate the situation, I suggest you leave me to my task.”

Helena flushed, and James braced himself for another explosion. Instead, much to his astonishment, she pressed her lips together, cast him a last fulminating glare, and flung out of the room with nearly as much force as she had entered it.

Would wonders never cease? Perhaps Helena was indeed sincere about what she claimed to want. All the same, it was a relief not to have her breathing down his neck while he searched.

He sorted through the rest of the maps, all of which were of Cornwall. Too much to hope that any would be handily marked with an “X” denoting the stolen shipment’s location. But Gerald’s reliance on these maps did appear to suggest that the goods hadn’t left Cornwall.

Pushing the maps aside, he looked into the drawer again. Pencils of varying lengths and what looked like a black handkerchief, knotted around something else. He picked up the latter, frowned when he felt something hard and heavy concealed in its folds, and untied it at once.

A large iron key dropped with a clank upon the desk.

***

Making his weary way along the passage an hour later, James paused as a familiar air, accompanied by a familiar voice, floated out to him from the drawing room:
“I love the white rose so fair as she grows. / It’s the rose that reminds me of you.”

Smiling, he peered into the drawing room and saw Aurelia seated at the piano. She glanced up then, caught sight of him, and her hands faltered momentarily on the keys.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I just found this book of old Cornish songs—”

“Please, don’t stop,” he urged, coming into the room. “That was one of my mother’s favorites. She used to sing it with my father.”

Aurelia gave him an uncertain smile, but resumed playing and singing. James sat down and let the music and the sweet, sentimental words wash over him. There was comfort for him in that, and in the picture she made at the instrument: poised, graceful, her gilded hair contrasting with the pale lavender of her morning dress. Just so had she looked that morning in Grosvenor Square, when he’d first learned of her musical abilities. It seemed a lifetime ago.

“Well done,” he said, when she had finished.

“Thank you. I feel the merest novice next to Sophie; she plays and sings so beautifully.”

“No need for comparisons. Piano and violin are like apples and oranges. But Sophie’s always been passionate about her music. Harry’s thinking of sending her to a conservatory in London, as well as giving her a Season.”

“Sounds like the perfect plan for her.” Aurelia laced her fingers together, regarded him soberly. “Trevenan, I hope you won’t mind my asking if you found anything upstairs?”

“Not a great deal, I’m afraid. Some maps of Cornwall, and a key, which may mean nothing, or everything. I’ve already spoken at length with the butler, the housekeeper, and my aunt,” he added. “The key does not appear to unlock any room or cupboard in the house.”

Aurelia frowned. “So, maybe it’s to something outside the house. A shed?”

“Or one of the tenants’ cottages—there are a few standing empty, I understand. Although,” James paused, frowning, “my estate manager tends to inspect them regularly. I should think he’d have found the shipment by now, if Gerald hid it in one of those.”

“Might Gerald have paid one of your tenants to hide it for him?” she suggested. “I’m sure they’d know all sorts of convenient hiding places in the area.”

“Not a bad theory, but I can’t see Gerald taking anyone that deeply into his confidence. Nor would he have wanted to share a penny of whatever profits he got from that shipment.”

She pulled a face. “I know it’s not proper to speak ill of the dead, but your late cousin sounds just awful.”

“An opinion held by many, I’m afraid.” And one of the many might well have done for Gerald that night on the cliff, James reflected. “Well, once Mercer sends me that inventory, I’ll ride over and check out the cottages myself. It’ll help to know exactly what I’m looking for.”

A footman entered then, carrying a silver tray laden with letters. “The post, my lord,” he announced, presenting the tray to James. “And there’s one for you as well, Miss Newbold.”

Intrigued, James watched as Aurelia accepted her letter. Who could be writing her here?

She glanced up, flushing slightly. “A friend of mine from France. I wrote to her just before we left London, and gave her your address in Cornwall. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” James’s curiosity grew as she slipped the letter into her pocket. But before he could ask any further questions, Lady Talbot entered the drawing room.

“Ah, James, there you are!” she greeted him. “I needed to ask you whether you’d be willing to set luncheon back an hour or so. Cook’s beside herself because the galantine hasn’t set properly. I told her not to worry, and just serve the salmon poached with that lemon and herb sauce she does so well. But she says she needs more time.”