Wary of Isaak Morrison’s cramped, dirty apartment, Terrence Strachman took him for a late-night drink at the Almanat Alehouse, where they sat for hours trading tales about the old days. After Morrison had explained his situation, Strachman shared his own sob story about how Poleax Longworth had done him wrong.
Strachman explained that he was the owner of four seagoing vessels, with a fifth soon to be commissioned. During Longworth Cotton’s last few months in business, Poleax had arranged for the overseas shipping of several thousand bales of ginned cotton. He had promised payment upon delivery, rather than upfront, as per the usual arrangement. Strachman had agreed, based on the solid transaction history between them. Not only had Poleax failed to provide more than a few hundred bales of the promised total, leaving Strachman’s ships half-empty for the entire voyage; in the end, he had not paid Strachman for shipping a single one of them.
“So you see, Mr. Morrison,” Strachman said. “You and I are of one accord.”
“Though our reasoning is different… I’ll admit it feels good to have an ally in this,” Morrison responded. “However, my question remains. Poleax Longworth has disappeared. Where do we begin looking for him?”
“The same place one ought to look for anyone who is lost,” said Strachman. “With his closest friends.”
***
Numeaut’s was an out-of-the-way little restaurant situated beside a railroad track along a winding country road. Jonathan stepped out of his horse-drawn taxicab, tipped the driver, and lugged his suitcases down onto the rain-soaked drive. Lamp posts guided his way past an outdoor patio where couples and trios were enjoying the crisp autumn evening at small round dinner tables. He shouldered through the doors and entered a candlelit interior where voices echoed and shadows danced in high-raftered ceilings.
It wasn’t long before Jonathan spotted his quarry. Thaddeus Eggleston was sitting alone in an upholstered booth, fidgeting with a glass of seltzer.
“This seems a rather romantic place for a business meeting, don’t you think?” Jonathan asked as he tossed his luggage into the opposite seat and slid in after it.
Eggleston’s head wilted into his hands. “Why are you here?”
“I asked you to wait for me on the Wonderliner.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t do that, could I? Not when you’re up to no good.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well you are, aren’t you? Something in the way you left abruptly after we took off and then ignored me the rest of the trip.”
“I happen to be very close with Alex—Mr. Atwell. We grew up together. You can’t say I’m up to no good if my only intent was to see my old friend.”
“Is that all it was?” asked Thaddeus, a hint of suspicion in his voice. “It seems you can forget it. Mr. Atwell is late. Very late. Our dinner reservations were for six-thirty. It is now quarter-past-seven.”
“Heavens. Is it that late already?” Jonathan checked his pocket watch. It was.
“Somewhere you need to be?”
“Never mind that. There’s no sense beating round the bush any longer, so I’m just going to tell you straight out. This… toaster idea of yours. It is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I can’t, in good conscience, allow my best friend to invest in some cockamamie scheme that’s going to cost him his fortune—or what’s left of it.”
Thaddeus was about to tell Jonathan that his newest idea wasn’t actually the toaster—this was a cover he told all but the most critical people, lest someone steal his true idea before he found funding for it—when Alexander Atwell arrived.
“Jon? Why, this is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing in this neck of the woods, old bean?”
“It’s a long story, and I haven’t the time to explain it all now. Might I have a word with you in private?”
“I don’t see why not. You must be Mr. Eggleston.”
Thaddeus stood and shook Alex’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Atwell.”
“Likewise. Eh—just one moment, please.”
Jonathan pulled Alex aside. “What are you doing here, Alex?”
“Hearing a pitch about an investment opportunity. Why?”
“Are you sure this is a wise thing for you to be doing right now?”
“What business is it of yours? And how did you wind up in the middle of all this?”
“We met on the flight over. Now listen. I haven’t much time. You cannot invest in this man’s invention. You need to concentrate on preserving what remains to you.”
“It’s a simple proposal, Jon. What’s the harm in hearing the man out?”
“He’s a quack.”
“Seemed rather intelligent to me.”
“Some people are good at faking it, as you well know,” said Jonathan. “Don’t get me wrong, Alex. He’s a very smart man. He just has incredibly dumb ideas. This particular idea—the new one he told me about—is a bloody disaster. If you’re smart, you’ll walk away now, before you do any more damage to yourself.”
“Jon. You know I trust you implicitly.”
“And I would never steer you wrong.”
Alex glanced around as if worried he’d be overheard. “Then I should tell you… I’m in trouble. They’ve done a full audit of all my assets in the wake of the bankruptcy filing. Do you remember that blue motorcar? The one I got rid of?”
Jonathan did.
“They’ve found the ownership records, and they asked why it wasn’t in my garage.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That I let you borrow it.”
Jonathan nearly lost his lunch right there on the floor. “Are you completely mad?”
“So you see, I’m in need of some quick cash.” Alex gestured toward the table where Thaddeus was sitting.
“This inventor is not going to achieve that for you. He told me his invention would take ten years to earn out, minimum. And that was a hopeful estimate. Rather a blind one, at that.”
“Anyway,” Alex continued, “I’ve had to pull my funding for the recovery of that poor girl from the accident.” The way he said the word ‘poor,’ it meant impoverished, not pitiable. “I must cut all ties to that event. With these Regency auditors breathing down my neck, it’s only a matter of time before they start talking to the constabulary.”
Jonathan was disappointed to hear it on Lydia’s account, though he did think it was the right course of action for Alex. “You ought to stop funding anything that isn’t helping you get out of this mess—including that inventor over there.”
Alex considered this. “You’re right. I’ll find some other way to come up with the money.”
“Alex, you must get this idea out of your head. There’s no such thing as quick cash. Not for you. Not anymore. You don’t have the kind of money you once did. The sooner you get used to that idea, the better off you’ll be.”
“Easier said than done, old bean.”
“You’ll be living on the streets if you don’t start taking better care of what you have. Now listen, I must be going. I suggest you do the same.”
“How long will you be in Hemmingshire?” asked Alex.
“For the foreseeable future, I should think,” said Jonathan. “That is, if I’m not late.” He drew out his pocket watch. Seven forty. “Oh, dear. Alex, I’ve got to run. Please take my advice. I’ll see you soon.” He shook Alex’s hand and darted outside, hailed a cab, and offered the driver a little extra to hurry it up.
It wasn’t until they were a few miles down the road that Jonathan looked around and realized he’d left his luggage in the booth at Numeaut’s. He checked his watch. Seven forty-six. No time to turn back now.
The cab pulled up to the Earl’s estate at twelve minutes past eight o’clock. Jonathan felt around in his pockets for the wallet he now realized was tucked away inside his luggage. He let out a sigh of despair, then dragged himself out of the cab. After briefly considering a full retreat from his new post with his tail between his legs, he explained to the driver what had happened. “If you’ll wait just a few minutes, I’ll ride back with you and pay what I owe when we get to Numeaut’s.”
The driver scowled down at him. “You were supposed to be my last fare of the evening. I should think the missus will have supper ready and steaming for me at home by now.”
“I really am so sorry,” said Jonathan. “Please. Just one moment.”
The driver shifted in his seat. “I reckon it’s that or bugger-all, eh? Right then. Be quick about it.”
A welcoming party consisting of servants and household guards were waiting for Jonathan when he entered the grand foyer. The Earl and his family stood in a neat line in front.
“Welcome, Captain Thorpe,” said the Earl, a slender brown-haired man dressed in white tie. “My, you travel light. Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Hemmingshire, and my two sons, Nathaniel and Dylan. Our youngest, Elizabeth, has gone to bed. I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough.”
Jonathan greeted each of them in turn. “I must apologize for my tardiness, Your Lordship.”
“Think nothing of it,” said the Earl. “Say. Why is your cabbie still out front?”
Jonathan gulped. “I’ve left my luggage behind at the restaurant where I stopped this evening, I’m afraid. The rigors of travel have left me so scatterbrained, I forgot my bags at the table. I thought I might go back for them when we’re done here.”
The Earl and his wife shared a look. “Nonsense. We’ve too much to do here this evening to suffer the interruption. I shall send a footman on your behalf.”
“Well, that’s the thing, you see. I’ve left my wallet in my bags.”
“I’ll have it taken care of. Not to worry.”
Jonathan was red with embarrassment. “Thank you, Your Lordship.”
The Earl introduced Jonathan to the butler, the valets, the wait staff, the housemaids, and the ten household guards of whom Jonathan was now in command. The Earl was a political activist, he explained, and the enemies of freedom were everywhere. He and his family excused themselves for their evening activities, leaving Jonathan in the hands of his second-in-command, a Lieutenant by the name of Edmund Shrop.
Shrop took Jonathan on a tour of the manor, including its gallery, servants’ quarters, and each of its seven entrances. They would circle the exterior and tour the grounds in the morning, when it was light out, Shrop explained. Last, he brought Jonathan to his apartments, a sparsely furnished set of rooms where the Captain of the Guard lived alone.
“Your uniform is hanging up in the bedroom,” Shrop explained. “There’s a spare overcoat behind the first. Don’t let the Earl see you with a stain on your garb, or he’s apt to give you a mouthful.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Jonathan let the Lieutenant out and went to the bedroom, where he turned on the light and stood staring at the uniform for several minutes. It was pure white with dark blue stripes down the sleeves, gold epaulettes on the shoulders, and matching white gloves. “I’m a bloody toy soldier,” he said to the empty room. He was a prop; an empty display of power, working for a man who never expected to see the smallest hint of harm come to his household.
Oh well, Jonathan thought. At least the job will be easy.