Page 88 of Too Scot to Handle
“The money is gone,” Montague shot back. “Let’s start there. Why shouldn’t I have you arrested, MacHugh?”
Anwen was on her feet and leaning over the desk in the next instant. “I beg your pardon?”
“MacHugh knew where the money was, knows every inch of this building, and has desperate need of coin,” Montague said.
“May I remind you, Mr. Montague, that his lordship has significant independent means, has no more familiarity with the premises than you do, yourself, and unlike you, has no key to this room or to the strongbox.”
“Miss Anwen.” Colin spoke very softly, a warning, though Anwen wasn’t sure of the specifics.
“The lady has a point,” Hitchings said, mopping his brow. “If opportunity and motive are at issue, I had every opportunity, and my means are very modest, compared to his lordship’s.”
“As are yours, Montague,” Colin said. “You have more financial motive than I do, and greater opportunity. Your social aspirations are beyond your means, and you are passionate about obtaining them. You have a key to the building, the office, and the strongbox, while I have none of those, nor am I frustrated by financial inability to obtain my goals.”
Anwen suspected Colin referred to Mrs. Bellingham, and clearly, Montague hadn’t been expecting his reasoning to be challenged.
“I want the boy John questioned,” Montague shot back. “The little sneak thief has been up to tricks again, and he’s probably recruited the other boys to assist him.”
Colin leaned back against the windowsill and folded his arms. “All of the boys should be questioned in case they heard or saw something last night or this morning. Miss Anwen is best equipped to do that. They trust her.”
“His lordship has a point,” Hitchings said. “The boys love Miss Anwen, and if they were to confide in anybody, it would be her.”
“You think a batch of little criminals will confess to Miss Anwen?” Montague snorted. “We fed them, clothed them, housed them, educated them, kept them warm, and that will mean nothing to that lot. They’ll protect their own and to blazes with justice. If MacHugh didn’t take that money, then the boys did.”
For the first time in Anwen’s life, she understood the compulsion to do violence, to destroy the source of an offense and render it incapable of offending again. She was about to tell Montague as much, when Colin spoke.
“The children did not take the money. They have had months to steal from this place, and they well know how to turn stolen goods into coin.”
Colin didn’t mention that the boys were too honorable to steal. He’d resorted to the same argument Anwen had made weeks ago. Montague might listen to him, whereas Anwen would have been dismissed out of hand.
“Any money was carefully secured,” Montague retorted, “or was prior to last night. What could they possibly steal?”
“Oh, my goodness,” Hitchings said. “They could steal the glass from the windows in the unoccupied wing. They could take door latches, bricks, marble from the fireplaces in the old library, brass fittings, almost anything associated with an intact structure can be sold to the builders. London is mad for new housing, and that takes finished materials.”
Anwen hadn’t known that, and clearly, Montague hadn’t either.
“I’m off to question MacDeever,” Colin said. “Miss Anwen, please interview the boys. Hitchings, you’ll want to inventory the jewels. Moreland has a list of what should be in the strongbox, and we can compare lists.”
Hitchings hoisted the strongbox and bustled out, Colin on his heels. Anwen would have followed him, except Winthrop Montague stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry you’ve been embroiled in this mess, Miss Anwen. A private discussion between us has become imperative.”
Anwen didn’t want to be alone with him, much less endure another instant of his posturing and bloviating when the orphanage was imperiled. He’d just threatened Colin and the boys, and she hadn’t forgotten his nasty threats to Colin the previous night.
“I can spare you one minute, Mr. Montague, but time is of the essence, and finding that money my priority. It should be yours too.”
“Well, it’s not. Not exactly.”
Then he closed the door.
* * *
The mother of all bilious stomachs plagued Win, along with a pounding head, a few gaps in his recollection of the previous night, and a mood fouler than the London sewers. Everything associated with the damned orphanage became a problem, and yet, he could only pity Anwen Windham.
She genuinely cared about this place, and a corner of Win’s heart genuinely cared about her. Mostly he cared about her settlements, though, and her ducal connections. No need to dissemble on that point.
If all went according to plan, Winthrop Montague would soon be invited to the Windham menfolk’s Tuesday night card parties, and to hell with the charitable version.
“My dear, your loyalty to Lord Colin as a member of your extended family and to the children here does you credit,” Win said, tucking his hands behind his back. A thoughtful pose, if he did say so himself. “And I am aware that to be behind a closed door with you flirts with impropriety, despite our families’ long connection. What I have to say is for your ears only, and meant with your best interests in mind.”
