An Earl Like No Other

by Wilma Counts

  “Oh, Alfred, is that true?” the woman wailed and grabbed her husband’s hand.

  “Gladys, be quiet,” the elder Thompson growled. “They’re just fishin’—ain’t got proof of nothin’.”

  “We’ve enough to go to court, though,” Robert said. “And it could go hard on all of you. You know that, don’t you, Billy?”

  Billy moved to stand closer to his parents and stared belligerently at the intruders. His tone blended defeat and hostility. “Don’t say any more, Pa. The swells own the courts as well as everything else. What this country needs is a guillotine.”

  “You want I should arrest these men and hold them for the next assize court?” Squire Dennison asked Jeremy. “It meets about a month from now.”

  “Leave my Pa alone,” Billy said. “He didn’t have nothin’ to do with that fire. I done it. Just me.”

  “But did he have knowledge of it before the event?” the lawyer Phillips wanted to know.

  “No!” Billy said. Then he tempered this with, “I don’t know. He might’ve guessed what I had planned.”

  Everyone looked at the father, who nodded glumly.

  “Oh, no,” Mrs. Thompson whispered.

  “What I want to know now is why,” Jeremy said.

  “There may be mitigating circumstances,” Phillips suggested.

  “Ah, that’s just lawyer talk,” Billy said. “Do what you’re gonna do, but leave my pa out of it.”

  “It may be ‘lawyer talk,’ as you say,” the squire said sternly, “but it could make a difference—maybe even whether you live or die. Assize judges are trained in the law too.”

  To the three younger children, the father said, “Tillie, take your brother and the babe and go in the house and shut the door.” Tillie clearly did not want to do this, but she did as she was told. Then Mr. Thompson said, “Tell ’em, son.”

  “Please, Billy,” his mother whimpered.

  “Just tell us why,” Jeremy demanded.

  Billy seemed near tears himself as he blurted out, “I done it for the money—and for Mina.”

  “Money? Mina? You’ll need to explain that,” Jeremy said.

  “Go ahead, son. Tell ’em the whole of it.” The elder Thompson’s shoulders slumped and his wife clung to him, hiding her face against his upper arm.

  The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly, but there was a distinct chill of foreboding in this scene.

  Billy began hesitantly. “Things haven’t been good for—for us Thompsons for—for a long time. I was away and didn’t know all of it ’til I come home from the war.”

  “Please get to the point,” Jeremy said.

  Billy shifted from one foot to the other and looked unseeingly off into the distance. “The farm we had on Kenrick—it wasn’t feeding us. So George and me—we took the king’s shilling and joined up.”

  “George?”

  “The next youngest brother,” Robert supplied.

  “Two less mouths to feed,” Billy went on. “Also, George and me was excited to get away to see the world. Couple of kids—what did we know? George died in the battle at San Sebastian.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jeremy said.

  Billy shrugged. “Back home our not being there—here—made little difference. Kenrick and his steward ignored Pa’s pleas for help. The barn needed repair, especially to the roof. Pa lost a whole season’s hay and couldn’t feed his animals. The earl’s older sons were no help either—even when they were in residence, which wasn’t often. Then they died in that boating accident and soon afterwards, the earl died too. There was no one to make decisions. Pa had already agreed to work for Mortimer when you arrived.”

  Jeremy was becoming impatient. “I am sure your family’s hardships—painful as they must have been—were repeated in many a household, not just on Kenrick land, but all over England.”

  “Right,” Billy said. “ ’Twas no better here. Look at this place. See any livestock? Our milk cow died and the rest of the stock has been sold—or butchered—for food.”

  “So you took money to sabotage our wool sales?”

  “Money—and he said he’d replenish our livestock, but he’s real slow doin’ that. Said when Kenrick is his . . .”

  “Let us be perfectly clear about this,” Jeremy said. “You are telling us that Sir Eldridge Mortimer paid you to set fire to my barns?”

  “As God is my witness—and my Pa too. Sir Eldridge stood right where you’re standin’ now an’ made the deal.” Billy looked at his father for corroboration. The elder Thompson nodded.

  Robert broke into the discussion at this point. “And you just—willy-nilly—agreed to do it? Fine sense of honor you Thompsons have, eh?”

  Billy flushed a deep red. Dismay marked his mother’s face and his father’s hands were fisted in anger.

  Billy sneered. “Honor? A Chilton is a fine one to talk of honor after what you did to my sister.”

  Robert stared at him in outrage. “You sister? Mina? I haven’t even seen Mina in what—five? six? years!”

  “Not you. Your brother Charles. That Chilton got her pregnant and refused to do right by her. Then he was dead and your father just laughed at her and Pa.”

  Mr. Thompson cleared his throat and said bitterly, “The earl just said, ‘boys will be boys and who’s to say the brat is a Chilton anyway? ’ ”

  Robert shared a look of understanding with Jeremy. Given the character of their father and older siblings, this revelation came as little surprise to either of them.

  “So Mina’s in service in London now?” Robert asked. “What about the babe?”

  “The babe died. Mina couldn’t feed herself properly to produce milk for her babe, so it died.” He emitted a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Oh, yes. Mina’s in ‘service’ in London. In Covent Garden!”

  Robert stared at him. “Oh, my God! Mina is—”

  “A whore,” Billy said on a strangled sob. Jeremy thought perhaps this was the first time the young man had admitted this aloud. “My sister is a whore—and your brother, your father made her that way.”

  Tears streamed down the faces of all three Thompsons.

  CHAPTER 22

  Though not terribly surprising, the Thompsons’ revelations were still appalling to Jeremy. He hastily conferred with Robert, then asked Phillips and the squire to join them, as Lawrence kept the Thompson men under surveillance.

  “Obviously there are mitigating circumstances here to some extent,” Jeremy said. “Robert and I agree that we cannot just ignore the roles our father and brother played in the hardships this family suffered.”

  Dennison’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean to just let them get away with what they did. This is a hanging offense!”

  “Not at all,” Jeremy assured him. “But it does not appear that they have gained much from that act of perfidy—and we should not forget that there is a third party involved here.”

  “Proving his involvement in court will be difficult, perhaps impossible,” Phillips cautioned.

  “In a court of law,” Jeremy said. “But there are other courts where one’s actions might bring consequences.”

  “Hmm. You’re right, but we have to act quickly.”

  Ever the lawyer, Walter Phillips, solicitor, never went anywhere without two important tools of his trade: blank paper and a writing instrument, in this case a graphite pencil. He sat on the bench and, using a saddlebag and its contents as a portable desk, quickly produced a record of what the Thompsons had said of the fire, including details of why and how it was started. When he finished, he read it aloud and the Thompson men signed it, then Jeremy and his companions signed it as witnesses. The Thompson men affixed their names to the document with a marked degree of reluctance and apprehension. Their doing so was the price Jeremy and Robert had exacted for not prosecuting them on what Dennison again pointed out was a hanging offense.

  Mrs. Thompson, who had been standing on the sidelines through all this, burst into open sobs. “Alfred! What is to happen to us now? Yo
u? Billy? Me? The children? Sir Eldridge will find out about this—you know he will. We’ll be evicted.”

  Her husband and son moved next to her and patted her shoulders awkwardly. “Don’t take on so, Gladys. We’ll figure somethin’ out,” the older man said, sounding none too confident.

  Seeing and hearing this exchange, Jeremy looked at Robert in one of those silent communications family members or close friends often share. “What do you think?” Jeremy asked softly. Robert nodded and the two of them moved nearer the Thompsons.

  “Mr. Thompson,” Jeremy said, “the farm you had on Kenrick is still vacant. You can move your family back there. I have to tell you, though, it might be only a temporary situation. Still, it would give you a few weeks to find something else.”

  Thompson’s head jerked up in wonder. “You’d do that? For us? After—”

  “Yes,” Jeremy said brusquely. He was slightly embarrassed at being caught out in what was, after all, an incredible act of magnanimity. He gestured at Robert. “My brother is the Kenrick steward now. He will see to it.”

  The Thompsons all spoke at once. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you. Thank you.”

  Robert said, “You were always a good farmer, Thompson. Surely you can be again.”

  “Oh, yes, sir.” Years of defeat seemed to fade from Thompson’s eyes and posture.

  Jeremy turned away from the Thompsons’ stark emotion. Mrs. Thompson’s tears flowed freely and both the men had watery eyes. Well, Jeremy thought, was this not what people of his class were supposed to do—use their power, their wealth to help others?

  “Careful there, Kenrick, you’ll be signing on with that other Jeremy—Bentham—and his compatriot reformer, Robert Owen. Next thing, you’ll be writing treatises on ‘the greatest good for the greatest number’ and building model communities.”

  And would that be so very bad?

  He gave himself a mental shake and turned back to the Thompsons. “Uh . . . Mr. Thompson?”

  “My lord?”

  “I cannot do anything about the loss of your grandchild, but so long as I retain control of Kenrick, should you wish to bring your daughter home to this area, I can assure that her service in London will be whatever you say it was. Nothing said here today will be repeated.” He glanced around to see his companions nod.

  Now the tears spilled over and ran down the cheeks of the Thompson men.

  Reasoning that the five of them might immediately overwhelm the knight, Jeremy thought an interview with Mortimer would go more smoothly if he were accompanied only by Phillips as a man of law. So, leaving Robert and Major Lawrence to sort out the logistics and timing of the Thompsons’ return to Kenrick, Jeremy and Phillips bade good-bye to Dennison and rode the short distance to the main house on Mortimer’s estate.

  “You treated that family most generously, Jeremy,” Phillips observed as they rode. “What’s to keep them from bolting?”

  Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “The fact that they gave their word? I refuse to believe that honor and integrity are limited to a single segment of English society. God knows that greed and chicanery aren’t.”

  Arriving at Mortimer’s ostentatious architectural wonder, they dismounted at the side of a wide expanse of steps, tied their horses to posts set there for that purpose, and climbed the steps to a set of double doors that could have graced a cathedral. A footman in purple and gold livery answered their knock, then left them in a huge, three-storied entrance hall as he took their cards to present them to his employer. Jeremy and Phillips sat on ornately carved chairs with seats covered in brocade. Ebony wood and pink marble abounded in the entrance. Lighting came from windows in a cupola in the ceiling.

  “Good Lord!” Phillips said, craning his neck to look above. “One is reminded of St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

  “I’m told that was the plan,” Jeremy said. “New wealth cries out to be spent, you know.”

  A good fifteen minutes later, the footman still had not returned.

  “This wait must be designed to impress upon us that we are intruding on a very important man,” Phillips said.

  “That or to give us time to admire this setting.”

  A very proper butler appeared and announced, “Sir Eldridge will see you now. This way, gentlemen.”

  He showed them into the library where Mortimer sat behind a large mahogany desk with some papers strewn about the blotter in front of him. He looked up as they entered, then rose and gestured to two chairs set in front of the desk, and resumed his seat. Jeremy glanced around. On previous visits, he had seen an ornate “Chinese” dining room, elegant drawing room, and, of course, the orangery, but never the library. The room was much larger than the library at Kenrick and lined with shelves of matching sets of books. The furniture, stiff and uninviting, boasted hand-carved wood and rich fabrics; it was arranged in several formal groupings. On the ceiling were carved geometric symbols covered in gold leaf, interspersed with medallions of paintings depicting stern Bible figures. It was not a room for a comfortable read. Jeremy wondered if any of the books had even had their pages cut yet.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. To what do I owe this unexpected—and somewhat untimely—visit?”

  Ah, Jeremy thought, the great man is a headmaster grilling errant schoolboys. Aloud he said, “I’m sure you remember Mr. Phillips.”

  “Of course. But let’s get right at the business that brought you here,” Mortimer said coldly. “Kenrick, you might have saved Phillips the journey up from London. Given your announcement of a couple of nights ago, I see no reason at all to renegotiate these loans.” He tapped the papers on the desk. “I thought I had made my terms very clear to you . . . on more than one occasion.”

  “Yes, you did—”

  “Well, then. I shall expect you to vacate the property so that I can take possession on the previously established date.”

  “That will not be happening,” Jeremy said calmly. “And you may want to rethink your refusal to renegotiate certain aspects of the arrangement you originally forced upon a sick, grieving old man.”

  “A deal is a deal,” Mortimer snapped. “I did not get where I am today by knuckling under to every hard-luck story thrown my way.”

  “No. I don’t suppose you did,” Jeremy replied. “I imagine your tactics run more to having paid informants in others’ businesses and hiring out any work of a nefarious nature.”

  “Now see here.” Mortimer half rose in his chair, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his desk. “I will not be insulted in my own home.”

  Phillips audibly cleared his throat. Jeremy took the hint and changed his approach. “As you know, Sir Eldridge, my brother and I have been investigating the circumstances surrounding that fire in the barn on the Kenrick home farm.”

  “Ah. I did tell you, did I not, that you would find that unfortunate incident to have been an accident?”

  “But it was not.”

  Jeremy watched Mortimer’s face closely and noted only a slight twitch in the jaw and mild curiosity in his “Oh?”

  Jeremy went on: “We have just come from a rather interesting visit with Alfred Thompson and his son Billy.”

  This time Jeremy thought the man visibly blanched beneath his ruddy complexion, but Mortimer leaned back in his chair and said, “I cannot see that where you may ride of an afternoon has anything to do with me, though I should have thought it a matter of common courtesy to notify me—ask permission—before hunting on my property.”

  “Actually, we weren’t hunting. Not for animals or birds, at least,” Jeremy said. “We did find something of interest, however. Phillips, would you mind reading that document? I never could read your handwriting.”

  Phillips took carefully folded sheets from a flat leather case on his lap and began to the read the Thompsons’ confession in a professionally neutral tone. Mortimer sat through the reading with no more outward show of emotion than a recurring twitch in his jaw.

  When Phillips finished, Mortimer shrugged. “Lies.
All lies regarding any part they say I had in this. And you’ll have a very tough time proving that in any court of law.” He rose. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me—”

  “Hold on, sir,” Phillips said. “It is true that hard evidence is somewhat weak as to your role, but circumstantial evidence is quite strong. Your intentions regarding Kenrick holdings are a matter of public knowledge. My client is prepared to take the matter to open court and air the whole of it—including a supposed match you desired between him and your daughter.”

  “Well, let him do so. He won’t win such a case and I still intend to foreclose on the mortgaged properties.”

  “Not if the money is repaid by the stipulated date,” Phillips said.

  Mortimer addressed Jeremy directly. “Are you telling me you are prepared to repay the entire amount—principal and interest?”

  “Principal and reasonable interest,” Jeremy said.

  “Eh? What does that mean—‘reasonable interest’? I negotiated these loans in good faith.”

  “No, sir, you did not,” Phillips said calmly. “Since your rather surprising and generous agreement to extend the due date while we tried to locate the new earl, my staff has spent a good deal of time and effort investigating the exact circumstances under which the original loans were undertaken. The current Lord Kenrick’s father was in extremely poor health at the time.”

  “His debauchery was killing him. So, was that my fault?” Mortimer asked.

  “Not at all.” Phillips sounded affable, but then more stern as he added, “However, you may be faulted for the usurious terms you squeezed out of a dying man.”

  “He got the funds he wanted. He knew what he was doing.”

  “He may have thought he knew what he was doing, but it is abundantly clear that it is highly unlikely he knew what he was actually signing.”

  “You cannot possibly prove such an allegation,” Mortimer said with a dismissive wave of his hand.