A Penniless Prospect. Joanna Maitland
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five minutes after the door had closed behind the butler, Lady Calderwood entered the saloon and extended her hand politely to her visitor. ‘Lord Hardinge,’ she said, with a hint of enquiry in her voice, ‘you have come on a matter of some urgency?’
‘Lady Calderwood.’ Damn the woman! The last thing he wanted was to discuss his business with Calderwood’s wife. Surely the man was not too cowardly to meet him? Richard managed to conceal his annoyance as he bowed over her immaculate white hand. ‘How kind of you to receive me, ma’am. I hope Sir John is not indisposed? I shall not take up much of his time, I assure you.’
Lady Calderwood took her seat in a wing chair near the fire and motioned her guest to sit opposite. ‘I am afraid my husband is suffering from a severe chill,’ she said silkily. ‘His doctor has forbidden him to leave his room—or to receive visitors. It seems you have had a wasted journey.’ She smiled. ‘But you must be cold after your hours on the road. Perhaps I can offer you some refreshment before you leave?’
Richard shook his head, returning her false smile. He had not the least intention of leaving empty-handed. If Calderwood did not dare to face him, then he would have no choice but to get to the man via his wife. She was just one more calculating society woman—he would put the fear of God into her, if he had to. By the looks of her—he could tell at a glance exactly how much had been spent on her lavish attire—she was deeply involved in her husband’s spendthrift habits. He was going to enjoy putting her in her place.
He relaxed slightly into his chair and lifted his chin. The smile still played around his firm mouth. ‘You must be wondering about my errand, ma’am,’ he began. ‘It is a matter of business, you understand.’ He paused. ‘Normally, I would not dream of discussing business matters with a lady…so few men confide in their wives. And yet…yet I feel somehow certain that Sir John is one of those rare men who knows how to value a shrewd and intelligent helpmeet. I cannot doubt that you are in your husband’s confidence.’ Lady Calderwood was smiling broadly now. Excellent. Just a little flattery and she had given herself away. Her husband would have been more on his guard, Richard was sure. Perhaps it was as well that the man was indisposed, after all. ‘It is a matter of some delicacy, I fear, ma’am, but I am sure I may rely on your discretion.’
Lady Calderwood inclined her head graciously.
Good. Now he had her. ‘I should explain, ma’am, knowing that I may speak in complete confidence to you, that I am in the process of settling my father’s affairs following his recent death.’
Lady Calderwood murmured condolences.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Richard looked innocently at Lady Calderwood, keeping his expression unreadable. ‘You will be aware that my late father lent a very large sum of money to your husband,’ he said bluntly. ‘I have come to collect that debt.’ Lady Calderwood had become suddenly paler. He bent forward so that his face was near hers. In a low voice, but with every syllable absolutely clear, he said, ‘The debt is repayable on demand.’
Lady Calderwood flushed. ‘How can you possibly know that? Your father had no—’ She stopped and bit her lip.
He held her gaze for several seconds without speaking. ‘No papers?’ he said gently.
He gave her time to speak, but she did not. He found he was not really surprised. ‘The debt is, none the less, due. And I intend to collect. Every last penny. You may tell your husband that he has fourteen days, otherwise…’ He let the threat hang in the air. Without written evidence of the debt, Richard had very few legal avenues open to him, but the Calderwoods might not be aware of that. And there were other ways.
Lady Calderwood had been outmanoeuvred and she probably knew it—but if she felt any chagrin, she did not allow it to show. ‘My dear sir, I shall naturally convey your message to my husband, though I am not sure… I cannot say what his reaction will be. He has never mentioned to me any financial transactions with the Hardinge family. Indeed,’ she added with a titter, ‘as far as I am aware, the only dealings we have had were in the matter of references for my present abigail. She was previously employed by your lady mother, I collect.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Richard vaguely. He was not surprised by her ladyship’s attempt to turn the conversation. ‘A tall woman, I recall, though I do not remember her name.’
‘Smithers,’ said Lady Calderwood.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Richard again. ‘I believe she was with my mother for some years. A first-class dresser, I think my mother said, but really only suitable for a lady who is prepared to spend a fortune on her back every season.’ He looked her up and down appraisingly. It was a studied insult. ‘No doubt Sir John makes you a very handsome allowance, ma’am.’ He was being incredibly rude, but he was determined to shock this woman into some kind of action which might prove useful to him. Otherwise he might indeed leave empty-handed.
Lady Calderwood’s eyes flashed dangerously as she rose abruptly and started for the door. ‘I do not think my financial arrangements can be of any interest to a stranger, sir,’ she said icily. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall go and tell my husband of your visit—and give him your message.’ With the faintest bow, she passed through the door he was holding for her.
Richard smiled faintly as he closed it on her. He had struck a spark, right enough, but would the tinder catch?
The butler soon returned with a decanter of madeira and some biscuits. Richard was glad to see that he added some wood to the pitifully small fire in the grate, but it was still far from generous. Her ladyship obviously practised strict economy in her household—especially on unwelcome visitors. Richard was still pondering the inconsistency between the mean fire and her ladyship’s extravagant attire, when the door opened once more. It was the abigail, Smithers. Now, why on earth…?
Richard took a few moments to scrutinise the young woman. He had barely noticed her when she had been part of his mother’s household. She was about thirty, tall and slightly angular, with rather wiry, dark red hair and a host of freckles across her nose and cheeks, but she was dressed with the quiet elegance of a top-class lady’s maid.
Smithers returned his gaze for a moment before making a quick curtsy. Richard fancied she looked uncomfortable. ‘Her ladyship’s compliments, my lord. She…she has asked me to tell you that, since Sir John is likely to be convalescing from his illness for some time, it would not be…advisable for you to make another visit. She will write to you when Sir John is recovered enough to receive visitors.’
So neither of the Calderwoods would dare to face him now. Damn them! Richard fixed the abigail with a hard stare. She coloured slightly. Obviously she was embarrassed at having to tell such downright lies, especially to the son of a previous employer. He should feel sorry for her. It was not her fault, after all. ‘My mother will be glad to know that I have seen you, Smithers,’ he said, adopting an affable tone. ‘I hope you are well?’
The abigail visibly relaxed. ‘Yes, my lord—and thank you for your enquiry. Her ladyship was kind enough to write that she hopes I am well settled here. I admit I did not expect to receive such a mark of attention.’
Richard refrained from asking whether the woman was happy in her new position. It was none of his concern. On the other hand, she might be a useful source of information about this appalling household. She might even know some detail of her master’s financial dealings. With an engaging smile, Richard deliberately set about exercising his charm on the abigail.
He did not succeed. It seemed that Smithers was too clever to let fall anything really helpful. Eventually, he gave up.
‘I am keeping you from your duties, Smithers. My apologies to your mistress—and my thanks for her hospitality.’
Smithers curtsied herself out, looking somewhat relieved to escape.
Richard sat quietly sipping his madeira while he reviewed his meagre store of information. Precious little so far. In fact, almost a wasted journey. Almost.
Chapter Three
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