Page 63 of The Truth About Dukes
“And how many cases of epilepsy has Warner treated?”
“That hardly matters. The course of the disease is notorious enough.”
Weatherby let out a slow, rumbling belch. “You don’t anticipate any trouble from Cranmouth? He’s at least the fourth generation in his family to serve the Rothmere interests. Even to Ebenezer, that ought to mean something. He must put on a case for the defense, and a case that holds up to scrutiny. Declaring a duke mentally incompetent ain’t for the faint of heart.”
Phoebe always said one mustn’t be too patient or too understanding with the lower orders lest they take advantage of their betters.
“Scruples at this late date do not become you, Weatherby.”
Weatherby smiled. “I bend rules, Philpot, as we all do. The solicitor who breaks rules can soon find himself without a practice. The prior cases you’ve brought to me were all heading for a guardianship eventually. My petitions might have been a few years premature, but I’ve also kept an eye on your management of the clients and their wealth. You bend rules too, but you’ve yet to actually break them—as far as theavailableevidence suggests.”
A threat for a threat, because evidence could be manufactured, taken out of context, and twisted to assure a particular judicial outcome.
Neville fortified himself with another long drink from his tankard. Damned fine stuff, if he did say so himself.
“If you win this case,” he said, “I will never ask you to bring another petition before a board of competency examiners. Cranmouth won’t be a problem. I established that much before I even thought of approaching you. Cranmouth said he’d be joining us today, in fact.”
“Then he’s a fool. I can be seen having a meal with you—we occasionally share a table in the ordinary course—but I do not regularly break bread with Ebenezer Cranmouth. His clientele is too exalted for him to sit at the same table with a lowly squire’s son from west of town. If the three of us are seen together, it will be remarked.”
“When the dining room is this crowded, nobody will remark anything save whether their steak was properly cooked.”
The crab legs arrived, adding their characteristic fishy odor to the scent of cooked beef and baked potatoes.
“These fellows ain’t stupid,” Weatherby said, glancing around the room. “The usual run of solicitor has worked hard, studied hard, and means to do good while doing well. You and Cranmouth have airs above your station. That catches up with a man.”
Neville pushed the plate of crab toward Weatherby. “Is Ebenezer Cranmouth begrudging his daughters their every hair ribbon? Does he have to borrow the funds to keep his wine cellar stocked? Is his coach nearly as old as his firstborn?”
Weatherby seized the largest of the crab legs. “No need to be petty, Philpot. It’s the damned marriage settlements that keep me up at night. My girls are lovely young women, but they haven’t a serious thought between them and their mama’s no better. I cannot expect a nabob to come along and fall in love with a chit who’s neither bright nor wealthy nor beautiful.”
“At least you’ve only the two,” Neville said. “They are quite lovely.”
Weatherby sent him a look that said he knew placatory platitudes when they were served up with the crab.
“Cranmouth’s ears must have been itching,” Weatherby said, gesturing with a crab leg. “Yonder he comes, and with a bee in his bonnet, if I’m not mistaken.”
Cranmouth danced between tables and dodged waiters as if they bore contamination rather than good food.
“Philpot,” Cranmouth said, nodding and leaning his walking stick against the table. “Weatherby. Might I join you?”
“Please,” Neville said, pushing out an empty chair with his foot. “I’ve acquainted Weatherby with my concern for our mutual neighbor.”
Cranmouth sat and hunched forward. “The poor fellow is barmy, all right, or the next thing to it. Your mutual neighbor, that is. A few years ago, he bought a certain property out on the Dales. He recently sold that same property to somebody looking to set up a home for navy pensioners. Do you know what price he commanded for a large home with outbuildings, home farm, stables, and twelve acres of park?”
Neville let Cranmouth draw out the pause.
“One shilling,” Cranmouth said, banging the table. “He accepted one shilling in payment for the lot of it, furnished, as is, with all fixtures, livestock, appurtenances, and stores, in fee simple absolute. An uncomplicated property sale like this one is normally handled by my younger cousin. Had he alerted me to the peculiar terms, I would never have allowed such a failure of consideration to pass unremarked.”
Weatherby picked up another crab leg. “The quality can be generous, and navy pensioners are a worthy charity. What else have you got?”
Neville peered into his tankard rather than let his interest in the question show, for there had to be more. There had to be.
Cranmouth was not given to smiling, but he smiled now. “Oh, yes, Weatherby. There is more. Given the recent upheaval with the ducal title, I was prompted to review some of the family’s older files and ledgers. The property His Grace most recently sold has a very interesting provenance, one that goes back to His Grace’s boyhood.”
Thank the merciful powers.“Do tell,” Neville said, “and shall we order you some sustenance?”
“Please. The tale is long and sad, and the ending, I fear, will be none too happy for my unfortunate client.”
Rothhaven rapped his knuckles on the coach roof, then settled beside Constance on the forward-facing seat. “The courtesy of a night journey is appreciated, your ladyship.”
