Page 2 of Miss Determined
“Jones,” he said, snapping his fingers at the papers on the floor, “make yourself useful.”
Jones scurried over to clean up the mess, a much easier task than cleaning up the marquessate.
“From now on,” Trevor said, “I’d also like for Smithers and Purvis to send me an itemized quarterly invoice rather than the usual lump-sum request. I want to see who is working for me and how many hours they spend on what tasks.” Colonel Sir Orion Goddard—Step-mama’s brother—had suggested that measure, which among the shop-owning classes was standard practice.
Purvis rubbed his brow with pale, manicured fingers. “But, my lord, assembling such detail will take additional effort that will only increase what we must charge you.”
Nice try.“Oh, perhaps,” Trevor replied, “but without that detail, you cannot possiblyknowhow to accurately bill me for your services. To make one more copy of what must already be in your files wouldn’t take Jones but half an hour. Isn’t that right, Jones?”
Jones rose, a stack of papers in his hands. “My lord is correct, of course.” He set the documents on the table and began organizing the cups, saucers, plates, and napkins on the tea tray.
“Another half hour’s effort will be well worth the additional expense,” Trevor said, lest Purvis trot out more sermonizing and prevarication. “Let’s start with this quarter’s billing and, as Jones has the time, work backward for a year. I’m at the town house for the nonce and will expect that list of properties and names by… tomorrow afternoon, shall we say?”
Purvis offered up a martyred sigh. “A week from today would be more reasonable, my lord. With everybody returning to Town, the clerks are kept quite busy. Leases to be signed for fashionable rentals, first-quarter reports assembled, marriage settlements discussed in anticipation of happy news later in the Season… We are at springtide, my lord.”
Bollocks to that.“Purvis, you have my deepest sympathies on the surfeit of business your firm is enjoying. Nonetheless, if the request of a client of long standing for the simplest information takes you a week to prepare, then perhaps that surfeit has become a mixed blessing.”
Purvis stared at him oddly for a moment, and Trevor thought perhaps he’d spoken in French. He still did that, when tired or vexed or taken by surprise.
“I’ll have the list to you by sundown, my lord. Jones, fetch the marquess’s coat.”
“I’ll see myself out.” Trevor bowed politely and accompanied Jones from Purvis’s office. The other clerks were all bent over their desks, scribbling away, suggesting Purvis had spoken honestly.
“Is the firm truly deluged with work this time of year?” Trevor asked as he accepted his coat from Jones.
Jones sent a glance back in the direction of his fellows. “Smithers and Purvis needs more staff, my lord. You work a fellow too long and hard, and he makes mistakes, and then the work has to be done over, and apologies have to be offered all around. Mr. Purvis the Younger tries to reason with his pa, but Old Purvis won’t hear of it. Says clerks with time to linger over their nooning are clerks who get up to mischief.”
“Are the wages adequate?” Maintaining a vineyard required skilled labor. A slip of the shears, negligent watering, haphazard harvesting… all very costly. Working exhausted was a recipe for regret. One paid well for a job done properly, according to any self-respecting vintner. Anything else was a false economy.
“Oh, aye, the wages are decent.” Jones passed over Trevor’s hat. “That’s how Young Purvis gets us to sign on. Offers good pay. What he doesn’t say is that we’ll never see the sun once Old Purvis gets hold of us. We have the information you’ve requested, my lord. I collect it up myself and do the figuring, but we’ve been on forced march since the new year, and the errors have started. Somebody forgot to list one of your properties, for example.”
Trevor tapped his hat onto his head. “Thank you for keeping a sharp eye out, Jones.” Better another hog wallow to inspect than another grand ball to attend. “Add it to the list, and I’ll get around to calling there. Where is it?”
“Right next to Twidboro, my lord, which is why leaving it off the list was such a glaring mistake. The two were one property a couple of centuries ago, then the fourth marquess divided the parcel and put a new manor house on the prettier half. If you want to see the marquessate’s little jewel, drop in at Lark’s Nest.”
Trevor pulled on riding gloves. “You’ve seen it?”
“Gone past. I’m Berkshire-born and bred, and my granny dwells out that way. She was on staff at Lark’s Nest years and years ago. You’ve plenty of good lumber in the Lark’s Nest home wood too.”
The rain had let up, which meant it would come down in torrents before Trevor reached his own doorstep. The weather was much better behaved in Paris.
“When was the last time you saw your granny, Jones?”
“Not since I started work here, sir. I do write, but Gran isn’t much for trusting the post. You haven’t a coach, sir?”
“I prefer to stretch my legs rather than make a coachman and team loiter about. Please say nothing to Purvis about the omission of Lark’s Nest from my list of holdings. I wouldn’t want to see anybody castigated for a harmless oversight.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Trevor ducked lest his hat hit the top of the doorway and moved off up the street. The list had been prepared in Purvis’s hand, and the oversight had to have been his. Trevor had thus set a trap for Purvis, which was bad of him.
Nonetheless, when the list of properties and stewards and whatnot arrived, Lark’s Nest had once again been omitted.
“I’ll go to Town in your place,” Diana said, striking her favorite pose by the hearth, a hand resting at her throat, her adoring gaze on Papa’s portrait. “We still have time to hem your new dresses to fit me, and I know all the dances. My French is good, and I’ve been rehearsing my sonatina for the musicales.”
Amaryllis DeWitt continued knitting and sent up a prayer for patience—anotherprayer for patience. Sixteen was so very much younger than twenty-five. “That’s a noble offer, Di, but you’ll have to convince Mama to approve your sacrifice.”
Diana flounced off to the sideboard, a hint of coltishness about her stride. “Mama’s determination makes Wellington look like a ditherer in comparison. You have to ask her for me. Mama listens to you. We need a fresh pot.”
