Page 48 of The Paid Companion

“Who managed it? Your father?”

“No. My father died when I was an infant. I never knew him. My mother and my grandmother managed the land and the household. I learned the skills from them. The property was to be my inheritance. My mother eventually remarried, but my stepfather was only interested in the income that came from the farm.”

“What did he do with the money?”

“He fancied himself a skilled investor. But he generally lost more than he made. His last financial venture involved a certain mine in Yorkshire.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “I recall that project. If it is the one I am thinking of, it was a swindle from the outset.”

“Yes. Well, unfortunately, my stepfather lost everything in it and the shock brought on a fatal fit of apoplexy. I was left to deal with his creditors. They took everything.” She paused. “Or, almost everything.”

He made a minute adjustment to the reins. “And your fortune hunter? What became of him? Did he simply disappear?”

“Oh, no. He showed up almost immediately, having received word that I was no longer due to inherit. He promptly ended our engagement. Two months later I learned that he had run off with a young lady from Bath whose father had settled a great deal of money and some very nice jewels on her.”

“I see.”

There was a short silence during which she became acutely aware of the muffled thud of the horses’ hooves, the clatter of carriage wheels and the sounds of voices drifting across the park.

She suddenly realized that she had said far more than she had intended about her personal affairs. They had started out discussing a murder. What in heaven’s name had led her to this subject?

“My apologies, sir,” she muttered. “I certainly did not mean to bore you with my personal history. It is an exceedingly dreary topic.”

“You said that your stepfather’s creditors got almost everything?” Arthur asked, sounding curious.

“On the day I was confronted with the creditors, things were a bit hectic, as you can imagine. I was obliged to pack my personal things under the eye of the Runner who had been brought along to oversee the eviction. I used my grandmother’s trunk, the one she had acquired in her acting days. It had a false bottom.”

“Ah.” A small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. “I begin to see where this is going. What did you manage to smuggle out of the house, Miss Lodge?”

“Just the items that I had hidden in the trunk: my grandmother’s gold and pearl brooch, a pair of earrings and twenty pounds.”

“Very clever of you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not nearly as clever as I had hoped to be. Do you have any idea how little the pawn dealers will give one for a perfectly lovely brooch and a pair of earrings? Only a few pounds. I managed to get myself to London and find a post through Goodhew and Willis, but I assure you, there was very little left over.”

“I understand.”

She squared her shoulders and adjusted the parasol again. “Enough of that depressing topic. Let us return to the matter of your investigation. How do you intend to proceed?”

He did not respond immediately. She got the impression that he wanted to continue discussing her deplorable financial situation.

But he flexed his gloved hands on the reins, sending a subtle signal to the grays, and returned to the subject of his great-uncle’s murder.

“I’ve been thinking about that problem,” he said. “I believe my next step will be to try to locate the third member of the Society of the Stones, the one who called himself Saturn. In addition, I think it might be a good idea to keep a close watch on Ibbitts.”

“Ibbitts?” She was startled. “Why is that? You assured me that he could do us no harm.”

“I am not concerned with any gossip about your position that he might attempt to spread,” Arthur explained. “But I would be very interested to know if anyone attempts to contact him now that he is no longer employed in my household.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

Arthur looked at her. “If I were a killer who was trying to remain hidden, I would be extremely curious to know if someone from my victim’s family was making inquiries and, if so, whether or not I was a suspect. Who better to interview than a disgruntled servant?”

She was impressed. “That is a brilliant notion, my lord.”

He grimaced. “I’m not sure that it qualifies as brilliant, but I do feel that it should be considered. It is possible that Ibbitts overheard more than a conversation concerning your status as a paid employee.”

She suddenly understood. “We talked about John Watt and your investigation last night in the library. Yes, of course. Ibbitts may well know that you are hunting a killer.”

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