Page 40 of Mercy Fletcher Meets Her Match
“I received a letter informing me that my accounts had been closed—at my solicitor’s request, onmybehalf, allegedly—some weeks earlier. That my solicitor had informed them I intended to take my business to a new institution.” Somehow his fingers had ended up interlaced with hers, seeking a comfort which could only be provided by the delicate pressure of those soft fingers in his. “I have been trying,” he said, “to unravel the muddle I have made of my finances. Half the documentation I have got is full of falsehoods and half is blatant embezzlement. Investments that were never made as requested—though funds had been requisitioned for them—or investments already made then sold off piecemeal, a bit at a time. I’m certain I’m not yet through the half of it. My guess is that he had been stealing from my family for quite some time,” he said. And he hadn’t noticed. There had been no obvious discrepancies, nothing overtly concerning. He had not even managed to determine when, exactly, genuine accountings had become false ones.
Mercy inclined her head, edging closer to his side. “Have you received an accounting from those places?” she inquired. “Your bank, and those institutions at which you were meant to have funds invested? They certainly must keep such records. You will need them, for evidence.”
“No, I—” Thomas shook his head, momentarily perplexed. “I spent so much time in ascertaining whether those things had ever existed to begin with, so much time trying to track down the villain, that I never thought to ask for a proper accounting. I should have done, shouldn’t I?” A rough laugh scraped out of his throat, and he scraped his free hand over his jaw.
“Were I you, I would make it a priority to revisit those places,” she said. “And request of them whatever records they might have on hand. Even a signed acknowledgement that no such funds were ever tendered beneath your name will be useful, you understand—sworn testimony, as it were, that your solicitor did not conduct the business he had promised to on your behalf.”
Fraud, she meant to say. It would be proof of fraud, provided he had the proper documentation. “All the proof in the world will avail me nothing if I cannot find him, I’m afraid,” he said. “The investigator has come up with a few leads, of course. Some regular haunts Fordham has been known to frequent, though he has not been seen publicly for some time. I’ve—spent rather more time there than I would have preferred.”
“Cheapside,” she said.
“Yes. The last place he was seen. His office has been closed; his home has been abandoned. To the best of our knowledge he has not yet left the country, but—”
“It would behoove him to do so swiftly,” she said pensively, fretfully. “It’s almost certain that he knows you’re in London. He’d be a fool to remain for long. What about banknotes?”
Thomas blinked, startled. “What about them?”
“Unless I miss my guess, he’s got a not-insignificant fortune at his disposal,” Mercy said.
“My fortune, in point of fact.”
“Yes, but—Thomas, he’ll need somewhere to keep it. No one is fool enough to keep a fortune in coin in their home. He has gotto have a bank. The nobility might live on credit,” she added, “and have their men of business pay the bills when they come due, but most everyone else will pay in ready cash. Coin is well enough for small purchases, of course, but for anything more than a few pounds he would need—”
“Banknotes,” he said. Of course. Too much coin could become cumbersome quickly. Banknotes—issued by the bank at which the bearer held an account—were far easier to carry. Easy to spend predominantly in London, where they could be exchanged at the issuing bank for the coin designated. “I hadn’t even considered it.”
“I didn’t expect you would have done. I’d wager you have accounts practically everywhere you shop. But if your investigator can determine where your solicitor might have done business, and if the proprietors of those businesses can tell you the provenance of any banknotes he might have passed there, then you’ll know where your funds are being kept.”
Thomas let out a sigh and squeezed her hand. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve no idea how much you have helped me already. I’ll send a note round to the investigator and ask about banknotes at the tavern Fordham is known to frequent when I go tomorrow evening.”
Mercy sprang up from her seat. “I’ll go with you,” she said in a rush. “I can take notes—”
Ah,hell. “Mercy,” he said with a sigh.
“Perhaps I could produce a sketch,” she continued, undeterred. “Or conduct interviews—”
“Mercy. You can’t go with me.”
She paused, her brows drawing together. “I could be an asset to you,” she said, wringing her hands. “Please, Thomas, let me be of use.”
“You already have been,” he said, and reached out for her hand once again. “But you cannotgo to a tavern. Do you knowwhat is said of women who frequent taverns?”
“I beg your pardon,” she said dryly. “Women stay in taverns often enough.”
“Yes,” he said. “When traveling, and they keep to their rooms. Ladies do not stay below, in the public rooms.” That little pleat between her brows deepened, and she opened her mouth to dissent— “Youarea lady in every way which matters,” he said, hoping to avert that argument before it could begin. “I will not risk your reputation to save mine, nor will I risk your safety for any reason.” Another consoling squeeze of her fingers, and her shoulders fell as she looked down at their joined hands. “Besides,” he added, “you have got an engagement tomorrow evening.”
With a plaintive little sigh she wilted once more to the couch, slumping back against the upholstery. “I suppose I had forgotten,” she admitted, and turned her cheek into her hand as she faced him once more. “Has anyone ever told you that you are no fun at all?” she asked in dry, doleful tones.
“Yes,” he said, with a half-smile. “You. Frequently.” But one of them had to be reasonable. To weigh the risks and act appropriately according to them.
“Have I, then? That was not well done of me, I suppose.”
“But true,” he acknowledged. “I have never been tempted to repair a hot air balloon and take to the skies. Probably I never will.”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “You might surprise yourself one of these days.”
He already had. He’d surprised himself more in the past few weeks than he had in the whole of his life. She had changed him in ways he had never expected, could not have anticipated. And he looked down at her long, elegant fingers entangled with his own and wished he might keep hold of them forever.
Chapter Fifteen
