Page 15 of Undercover with the Heiress
Seven years.
‘We also eat our meals in this room,’ she said as she stepped into the dining room. The small breakfast table sat central, and she paused before it. ‘Our table stretches the entire length of the room. Mama had it made after Ottile was born. Father constantly bangs his chair against the wall when he stands to cut the roast or to help one of the younger children master their knife.’
She looked left, then right, and in her sway, he followed the length of the table in her thoughts. Despite never having seen it for himself, he could draw it in his mind: long and filled with love and life. And although he was looking at the back of her head, with her hair tousled by their escapade across the park, he felt her gaze as keenly as if it were concentrated on him, slow and lingering.
How curious that she moved with such familiarity, yet was a stranger. How easily he could read her life, although he had never set foot inside the house next door apart from this morning.
Strangers, occupying identical spaces, separated by a double row of bricks.
‘On the rare occasions I eat dinner at home, I do so in the library,’ he offered. ‘It’s a little nicer. Perhaps we could dine there?’ And before she could agree—or more likely, disagree—Phineas crossed to the small sideboard to open the cupboard, retrieved the decanter of whisky and two glasses, and headed back to the front of the house, towards the library with the window that overlooked the street.
The glasses clinked as he sat them on the table. Rosanna’s dress rustled as she followed. She paused in the doorway for a long time. When she finally entered his favourite room, he had just poured himself a second glass.
She had divested herself of every society pretension that had survived the journey across the park. No veil, no gloves. Nocharm bracelet. She slouched into the chair beside him, and when she crossed her feet at the ankles, her stockinged toes poked from beneath her dress hems. She took the whisky he’d poured for her and placed it on her chest. Then, like him, she stared into the cold hearth. The silence between them sat hard and angry, the air tense with frustrations and questions. Phineas took a hefty swig.
‘I can’t touch your money,’ he blurted out. Rosanna turned her head but otherwise stayed unmoving. ‘I thought you should know. Your father has the best solicitors in London. You’ll keep everything when we separate. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I’d not be able to claim a penny. This really is just for show.’
‘You said many things to Father the other night. He wouldn’t have agreed to your plan if he didn’t think it mattered.’ She clutched her glass between her palms as she stared into its depths. ‘Why must my life be upended?’
Phineas pressed his glass to his temple. ‘Clerk is not quite the right word for what I do. Nor is spy. But then, neither are far from the truth of the work I do for the bank.’
‘Which bank?’ she asked.
No one had bothered to ask him before. ‘Empire Savings and Loans. It’s a small outfit, funded by a man who made his money speculating on shipping routes, here and in America and Canada. Not as grubby as some places, but large enough to attract people who think they might be able to beat the system, or clerks who think they can sneak a bond here, transfer a few pounds there. My job is to look for problems in the books. Anomalies that might be a sign of fraud. I report what I find. Usually, the managers find a way to keep it quiet to preserve the bank’s reputation. Public trust and all that.’
‘That man said Lord Richard owed a man named Pennington money. What has that got to do with the bank?’
‘Your Lord Richard is a recent addition to the board of Argonauts Trading, formerly Abberton & Co. That’s why their books caught my attention,’ he explained, inwardly chastising himself for his curiosity. ‘They’ve changed direction since they removed Iris and Albert from the board, and they’re seeing spectacular returns.’
Her face brightened a little. ‘Lord Richard didn’t need my money?’
‘Toospectacular. It’s a sign that someone is manipulating the figures. Maybe someone in the bank, maybe someone inside the company. Two things are going on, but through Lord Richard, they’re connected. I think Lord Richard borrowed money from Pennington to buy his seat on the board, and now he’s come to collect. For some reason, Lord Richard can’t pay.’ He spun his glass in his palm. ‘Pennington has no mercy. He’ll use anyone to get what he wants.’ He looked to the calotype of Imogen, captured in sepia by a photographer in Edinburgh, now framed on the mantlepiece. ‘I’ve come across Pennington before, although I’ve never met him. He was at the centre of another problem I was looking into a long time ago, at a different bank. An enquiry that went bad.’
‘Who is she?’ Rosanna asked.
‘Imogen. She was providing us with information. One day, she went missing.’
‘And why would Pennington know where she is?’
Phineas downed his last inch in a gulp. ‘Because she was his wife.’
Imogen Pennington, who’d come into the Edinburgh National to ask questions about her accounts, had been dismissed by everyone as a woman who should leave her husband to manage their financial affairs. Phineas had instead made her tea and given her space to tell her story. Through her, he’d learnt that Pennington had a stock trade in smuggling, false tickets, opium,bootleg liquor, and cruelty. Over time, he’d discovered that fraud and corruption riddled the entire bank. And when Imogen had come in one day with a bruised cheek, he’d known he had to get her away. Stupid him—he’d thought he could protect her. He’d secured false documents and booked tickets abroad so that they could both start anew. But when he’d arrived at the bridge where they’d arranged to meet on Christmas Eve, he’d only found wheel ruts in the snow.
Phineas poured another glug into his glass. ‘I know it’s not the best plan, but it was all I could think of in the moment. If Pennington thinks Lord Richard can’t touch your money, he’ll likely leave you alone. Thwarting Mrs Crofts was a bonus.’
Rosanna shot him a conspiratorial smile. ‘She did look disappointed, didn’t she?’
‘Crestfallen. I walked down personally to invite her to the wedding. She said she had a prior arrangement.’
He smiled to himself while Rosanna settled into the corners of the chair and laughed, loud and deep, her mirth filling the room. Had these walls ever heard such pure joy?
The front door shuddered, and Felix hollered into the hallway.
‘In here,’ Phineas called.
For all his grumbling on departure, Felix was jubilant on his return, grinning like a schoolboy who had caught his first frog. He held a stuffed basket with two hands. ‘I have caviar. And dried fruit. And cake. And ham. And look at these…’ He juggled the bundle against his hip to retrieve a box of bread squares. ‘Just like toast, only very small, and very crunchy. Andchampagne. Such delicacies. I’ll need to plate them. I’ll need to—’
Felix had an overinflated sense of loyalty, which made him perfect as the only household attendant at Number 1. He’d always been diligent and set everything how Phineas liked it, which meant the same things in the same order, every day. Butwith this slight alteration to his duties, the man had practically… Phineas squirmed with discomfort… he hadblossomed.
