Page 11 of Taming of the Rake
“And Mr. Wren?”
“Will be dealt with the moment I have … proof.”
His half-eaten biscuit dropped to the desk as a line in the journal caught his eye. He took up a pen and dipped it in the inkwell. Under his mother’s watchful eye, he circled the passage that had sent alarm bells ringing through his mind.
She leaned forward to watch him scan the page, finding another entry and circling it, as well.
“David? What is it?”
“I’ve found something, I think. Wren kept records of the money I sent, but so did Father. I don’t think the man counted on that, otherwise he would have never … well, I’ll be damned.”
She didn’t bat an eyelash at his coarse language, standing to round the desk. David was frantic, his jaw winding tight as he circled line after line of his father’s handwriting.
“This doesn’t add up,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “The amounts Mr. Wren recorded are easily two or three times what your father has written here.”
The page snapped as David turned it, his movements stiff and jerky from the rage winding through him. He’d had his suspicions, but here it was right in front of him: proof that his father’s steward had been stealing from them for years.
“Son of a … apologies, Mother.”
“Oh, hang niceties. If you will not say it, I will. That bastard … damn his eyes!”
David’s pen flew over the page as his gaze caught sight of the figures. At times, the funds were barely enough to keep the family fed and the hearths stocked with wood. It was no wonder the house was crumbling around them and the farm had been nearly bankrupted.
“Oh, Noel … you fool.”
David glanced up to find his mother backing away from the chair, hands balled into fists. She did her best to keep her composure, but he could see her chin quivering and her eyes blazing with fury. He came to his feet just as she burst into tears, sobbing into her hands and slumping against the wall. Pity lanced through him at the sight she made, so broken and worn down. His mother had always been a force of nature—strong and stiff-backed, able to weather the worst of times with poise and dignity. It would seem she had reached the end of her forbearance.
He took her into his arms and let her weep on his shoulder. “It’s all right. I will make this right, Mother. Give me time to make it right.”
David could not allow Wren’s treachery to stand, but there was still the matter of his family to consider. They didn’t just need his presence, they needed money … and despite a gentleman’s education and a wealth of high-society connections, David only knew of one surefire way to get his hands on a large amount of capital in a short period of time.
The morningafter the unearthing of his father’s journal, David sent for the nearest constable and took the ride across the estate to the small plot and house intended for the steward. There was no time to waste if he wanted to ensure Wren paid for his crimes. Then, David could mend what had been broken.
They found the modest cottage vacant—save for a household staff comprised of a housekeeper who also functioned as a cook, and a chambermaid.
“Mr. Wren took himself off in a hurry early this morning,” the housekeeper informed them, wringing her hands around her apron. “Before the sun was even up, if you can believe that.”
The evidence of the man’s flight showed itself from what he could see of the interior of the house. The walls had been stripped, every surface cleared.
“I assume he took just about everything he owned with him?” he asked through clenched teeth, trying his damnedest to keep from releasing a volley of epithets. He’d only just taken over managing the estate, and had already bungled his first important task. “And, I take it he made no mention of where he was going?”
The woman’s eyes went wide as if she hadn’t given the matter any thought. “Why, yes sir, you’re right! He set off in a wagon heavy with trunks and such. Made no mention of when he would return or where he might be headed.”
“Goddamn it,” he whispered, spinning away from the housekeeper and pacing across the small entrance hall.
The constable merely stood near the door, glaring at David and pursing his lips. The man had been awakened from the sort of sleep induced by too much gin, and his breath still reeked of the stuff. He’d been coerced into doing his duty, but made his displeasure clear—grumbling all the way here about the breakfast he had been deprived of as well as his pounding head. Now, it seemed David would be the recipient of his ire and not the actual criminal who had absconded with thousands of pounds of his money.
“Is there something amiss, sir?” the housekeeper asked. “Begging your pardon, but you coming with the constable cannot mean anything good. Has Mr. Wren been up to some kind of mischief?”
“Mischief is a rather mild word for what he has done,” David snapped. He paused, took a deep breath and gentled his tone. The poor woman had no idea what was going on, and none of this was her fault. “You should not expect him to return. Another steward will be hired to replace him. In the meantime, we could use you at the manor. The maid, too. Your pay will be the same, and you can work there until there is a need for you to return to serve the new steward.”
The woman ceased wringing her hands and beamed at him. “Thank you, sir. Marjorie will be glad to hear it. She worried what would become of us if Mr. Wren never returned.”
“Gather your things and report to the manor. Mrs. Moffat will receive you and see you settled.”
“Bless you, sir. I just know things will turn around now that you are here. Everyone says so.”
At the sharp look he leveled at her, the woman seemed to shrink several inches, lowering her head and blushing.
