She sketched a hasty map and image of the location, but she found no artifacts that might interest the earl. Plants probably didn’t matter to him if he was asking about Roman coins.
When she returned to the castle with her sketchbook, Mrs. Merriweather called to her.
“You must have intrigued Calder Castle with your bees. You have another letter.” The librarian waved an envelope.
Iona’s stomach plummeted to her feet. Isobel was endangering both of them to write directly again. Managing a smile, indicating her dirty gown, she took the letter and hurried off with it.
Once in her room, she hastily unsealed the missive, lit a candle, and copied the secret code that appeared.
Too many suspicious inquiries. Must leave soon. Where?
Iona began packing her valise.
Twelve
Gerard sprawled his boots over the carpet of the inn room he and the banker had hired for this meeting. He yawned as Avery’s mistress wept and employed her charms for the sake of the bespectacled businessman. The Berwick banker merely polished his spectacles and glanced to Gerard for aid.
“Bess, the house does not and never did belong to you, no matter what Avery told you,” Gerard reminded her with his best aristocratically bored drawl. He had learned from an early age that people expected things of him that he could not give. It got old. “We are doing our best to be fair. If you paid rent, Avery did not record it on the estate books. I will not question the past two years that you have apparently lived at my expense. But going forward, you must make choices.”
Still young and beautiful in a round-faced, cherubic way, Bess blinked her long fair lashes at him. “But I have nowhere to go,” she pleaded. “It is my home! What shall I do?”
Gerard had a multitude of sisters, female cousins, and aunts, along with all the ladies at Wystan, and was not swayed by feminine attempts to garner his pity. He knew perfectly well that Bess was as much of a businesswoman as the banker or she would not have landed herself a substantial cottage in the village where she entertained men and dressed herself in fine gowns.
“You may follow Avery, I suppose, if he wants you. Otherwise, we have offered you two respectable choices. Mr. Pettigrew here will buy the property from me, and you may pay him rent, with the understanding that the house is his to do with as he wishes. Or he will arrange a loan so that you may buy the house and make payments at a very fair rate of interest, with the understanding that if you miss payments, he can take the house away. I cannot make it any more clear than that.” Gerard impatiently jingled the coins in his pocket.
“How will I ever make payments of any sort?” she asked with a quivering lip, dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “Avery managed all that sort of thing for me.”
Gerard wanted to return to the castle before nightfall. Once he concluded this transaction, he’d have funds to begin repairing the orchards. He wouldn’t be any wealthier, and the castle maintenance still had to be paid, but his duty in Wystan would be done. He supposed he should linger longer to oversee Mary Mike, but she was doing a better job than he ever would. He’d simply have to come back more often until he was sure the men continued to respect her.
For the sake of expedience, he leaned forward and glared at the weeping, calculating wench. “You make the payments the same way you paid Avery, bought your pretty gowns and jewels, and pay your servants. You may have to cut expenses, but I’m sure you will figure it out as most people must. If you feel you are not capable, I’ll let you know where Avery has gone and help you sell your household goods so you may follow him, and Mr. Pettigrew may sell the property. Now choose, so we may all move on with our lives.”
She shot him a baleful glare. “You have no understanding of what—”
“On the contrary, madam, I have a complete understanding of what you require. I’m not unfamiliar with the needs of courtesans. I’m simply not interested. This is business. If you wish to run a business, then you must learn to be practical and not weep like a child. That only works on feeble-minded fools who think with their lower parts, and that is decidedly not me.”
Every once in a while, it paid to show how he felt. Bess pressed back in her chair as if he’d shouted at her. He hated being a bully, but sometimes, it was necessary.
Gerard stood. He could not help that his height was an additional intimidation. “I need to ride on. Pettigrew, I rely on you to see the funds are transferred to my account. You have the deed, and she’s your problem now.”
Despite his milquetoast looks, the banker had a heart of solid granite. Gerard had offered him a good price just to be rid of the property and have the funds for his orchards. He could rely on Pettigrew.
He needed to be in Edinburgh, determining what was happening with the louts attempting to locate Iona and her sister. Leaving the inn, heading for the stable, Gerard was striding down the market street when the mercantile owner ran out, waving a paper.
“My lord, a telegram just arrived. I was about to send my boy out with it.”
Gerard’s innards ground. Telegrams were seldom good news. Murmuring a few pleasantries, he handed the shopkeeper a coin and continued on. Not until he was alone did he tear open the envelope. From Rainford.
Twins Age 23 Runaways Any newcomers?
The marquess had evidently reached Edinburgh and was searching for the missing heiresses—rather than court his own, of course. Gerard