Page 29 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
Across the table, the golden-haired Hottentot was rattling in Strachney’s ears, but the old man’s beady eyes were fixed on Errol and the solicitor.
“Tell us, Robillard,” Strachney barked. “What were you doing at Mounth Tower today?”
The marquess looked up. “Mounth Tower? What is Mounth Tower?”
“It is the castle of the Baron of Darleton,” the duke said, with an amused glace at Errol. “A single-tower medieval edifice, I believe. Older even than Castle Kinmarty.”
“It’s a broken-down pile,” Strachney said. “Ought to be torn down.”
“Good fishing there, though, or so says Kinmarty.” Warton poured himself another drink. “When may we visit and cast a line?”
“Fishing,” the marquess cried. “Capital. Can you arrange that, Kinmarty? Or Strachney? He’s your neighbor after all.”
“Darleton’s dead,” Strachney said. “A recluse he was, and the staff trained to turn away all visitors. Why were you summoned, Robillard? Is there fever at Mounth Tower?”
“No,” the duke said. “I’d be the first to know if there were fever, and I otherwise trust that Dr. Robillard will maintain the confidentiality of his patients.”
The other nobleman present, Cottingwith, nodded. “Kinmarty is lucky to have you, Robillard.”
“There ought to be an executor or some such who can allow us access,” Hottentot said. “Noble lords such as ourselves.”
“Well, then, that excludes me.” Warton laughed, warming to the subject. “But perhaps as a nobleman’s heir, I can tag along carrying your kit. Shall we send an express to the Lord Lyon and ask him permission since the heir can’t be found?”
“Damned secretive they all are,” Strachney said. “I had my man checking with the Lord Lyon to find out the name of the heir. Haven’t heard back from him. But Robillard, mayhap you can have a word with the steward, or butler, or housekeeper—whoever summoned you today.”
Strachney had his hook placed and was pulling hard on the line.
“Capital idea,” the marquess said. “One servant to another.”
AN ANNOUNCEMENT
The gilded prick’s comment pulled Errol away from Ann’s father’s glare.One servant to another?
He wasn’t a servant. He’d never been one.
He laughed, and it wasn’t forced.
The marquess raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps some coins to grease the wheels, Robillard,” he said. “How much do you think, gentlemen?”
Oh ho. “’Tis said…” Errol squeezed his brows together and tapped his chin, pretending to think, “that Gordon asks eight thousand pounds for the privilege of taking his salmon.”
Strachney’s eyes widened. The marquess’s mouth dropped open and then he threw back his head and laughed. “You’re having us on, Robillard. Who told you that faradiddle?”
Errol saw that the duke’s lips were trembling, his eyes twinkling.
“As a matter of fact,” Errol said, “I heard it from her grace, the Duchess of Kinmarty.”
Henderson shifted and broke his silence. “’Tis common knowledge in these parts,” he said, “Though perhaps not so well known elsewhere.”
“Eight thousand,” Hottentot said. “Surely we can get the baron’s gamekeeper to take less than that.”
“Come, Hatherot,” Cottingwith said. “I’ve seen you drop almost that much in one night at cards.”
The marquess shot the earl a cutting look, and then glanced at Strachney. “Wild oats. I was merely an earl then. Those days are long past.”
“If Darleton was mine, my lord,” Strachney said, “I’d let you fish there for nothing.”
A look of understanding passed between the two men. If Darleton was Strachney’s, if Ann was Hatherot’s, fishing at Darleton would be all in the family.
