In theory, he should applaud the fact that she'd recovered the asset, particularly at a deep discount.
But he was the Bargainer. She'd kept the holding company's books for months, been to visit the granary, seen Morgan with the farmers and residents of Crowshaven. She knew he could make deals with the locals and get it filled in a short time…if his stubborn masculine pride would permit him to accept the opportunity.
Even as she had that thought, the solution dawned. She quickly perused several other documents, signed a few, and left instructions with Mr. Deacon as to what to do about the rest of the funds that would soon be transferred from America.
Then she and Violet had tea in a local establishment before returning to greet Lorella once more.
Violet had naturally been surprised to find Richelle accompanied by an unattached young American girl. Richelle insisted she'd been a maid at Hardwick House and cautioned Lorella to admit to nothing beyond that. Violet actually seemed to take a liking to Lorella, and wasn't pleased when the very next morning Richelle announced over breakfast that they would need to pack and get ready for the trip overland to Yorkshire.
"You can't go so soon," Violet protested. "You and the girl only just arrived. You'd been on that ship for weeks. All this traveling can't be wise in your condition. I know you're anxious to be reunited with Morgan, but—"
"Anxious isn't the word for it, Aunt."
Late that afternoon, with the luggage loaded onto a hack and Lorella already boarded, Richelle turned to Violet. "You've done so much for me. There's something I'd like you to have." She held out a small jewelry container padded with satin. "Elaine left these behind. They're diamond earrings Papa bought her."
Violet's eyes widened. "Richelle, I can't take these. You should have them."
"I'll never wear diamonds, Violet. Please keep them in memory of your late brother. Keep them in our family."
Violet silently nodded, clutching a handkerchief to weeping eyes as she waved farewell to the coach. Richelle fought her own tears. She had a peculiar feeling she wouldn't cross paths with her aunt again, but the dismay that inkling stirred was tempered in part with the knowledge that Violet would soon be receiving a nest egg to help ensure she maintained her London home and comfortable style of living.
Much of what Elaine forfeited in Philadelphia would be deposited into Violet's account in the coming weeks. Minor justice.
* * *
The two American women boarded a train for Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. Richelle was exhausted by the time they finally settled into rooms in a tavern near the train station there. Lorella flopped down on the narrow bed across from her mistress.
"How much farther is Crowshaven?" Lorella asked with a yawn.
"Another couple hours' ride up the road."
"Too bad we couldn't make it this evening."
Richelle shook her head. "I knew we'd be done in by the time we arrived here. We'll get a good night's rest and set out in the morning."
They shared a pot of tea and a basket of raisin scones the next morning as Richelle outlined her plans. "You must learn to call me Mrs. Tremayne, or Rachel—not Richelle."
Lorella looked nonplussed. "I don't understand. I thought your name is—"
"It is, but here I was always known as Rachel. It's a long and dark story. Suffice to say that due to some peculiar circumstances, I had to present myself as a common frontier widow named Rachel Cordell. It will be enough having the villagers adjust to the fact that I'm now Mrs. Morgan Tremayne. I don't want to have to explain about the first name, as well. So just keep that between us."
"I understand," her friend replied, blushing slightly. "It's a little like me being a housemaid in Philadelphia, right? We're not going to divulge where I lived and what I actually did when you first met me."
"Exactly. We both have the chance to make new lives here, but you're accustomed to large American cities. This is a small English village, with people who can be rather clannish in their outlook. They won't be eager to accept you at first, and wouldn't at all if we told the whole truth."
Lorella dropped her eyes. "I guess that's not so unusual."
"And there's something else. We may as well talk plainly. I don't know how Mr. Tremayne is faring. He can be very…intense and ill mannered when he's focused on business."
Now Lorella grinned. "I remember a bit of that, yes."
"He also doesn't know about the child." Lorella's eyes went huge and she nearly choked. "You didn't write and tell him? I know you didn't find out until he'd already sailed." Then she offered a weak smile. "Oh, I guess it's the sort of news you'd prefer to share in person. Boy, he's going to be shocked, huh?"
Richelle knew only too well. "I'm positive he will be, and he doesn't take surprises particularly well."
Now Lorella drew herself up and glowered. "Well, he'll take this one and be happy about it, or he'll answer to my rolling pin! There's no reason he should be anything but thrilled. Why, if he only saw how you endured that voyage without so much as peep, when everybody else was hanging over the railings, green as unripe tomatoes, and—"
"It will be all right, Lorella. I've arranged a private meeting with him to deliver the news about the baby and address some of his business concerns. You'll wait at the cottage and get it cleaned up. I suspect Mr. Tremayne's been living there, so undoubtedly it will be in need of a good sweeping."
They left the inn to search out someone to give them a ride to Crowshaven village. It took some asking around and visiting several establishments before they hit a livery stable where the hostler nodded. "Field has me looking after his rig and horses while he does some business hereabouts. Said he was heading north tomorrow. You can pay a fair rate?"
"I'll pay whatever he requests. As you can see, I certainly can't walk there. Any price he names would be fair to me. We just need to get there as soon as we can."
"All right. I'll tell him you'll be going along. Where should he call for ye?"
Richelle named the inn where they were staying and he nodded again, but then scowled when he saw Lorella bending down to pet a stray dog that had wandered up.
"Who does he belong to?" Richelle asked, reaching tentative fingers toward the animal. He sniffed cautiously before he let her stroke his matted fur.
"Nobody, as far as I ken. Been hanging 'round for past week or so. Filthy and underfed. If he ever had a home, ain't seen it in a spell. Git, now!"
The dog shied and backed away.
"No, it’s all right." Richelle bent and patted her knees. "Come on, fellow," Richelle spoke gently. Lorella also clucked at the dog to come back. "We know what it's like being stranded. We're nice ladies. We won't hurt you," Richelle promised.
The dog edged closer. "Wouldn't trust him," the stableman cautioned. "Might have the foaming madness and turn on you."
"He's just frightened and hungry. Do you see his eyes, Lorella? He has good eyes. He's a good dog. A little boy should have a dog."
"Yes, that's right!" Lorella said, beaming at Richelle. "Come on," she urged, grasping a tuft of fur behind one ear as she began heading up the street. They slowly made their way back to the inn, but instead of marching through the front entrance, Richelle slipped around back.
"We better take him in here. I'll make sure no one's likely to see us sneak him into our room."
Richelle slid inside and glanced around quickly, then dashed back to signal Lorella. They quickly took the dog upstairs and into their room.
That evening Lorella went downstairs and convinced the innkeeper's wife to let her take supper up on a tray. "You know my mistress is carrying a babe. Gets strange cravings. You wouldn't have any scraps or a bit of beef suet out in the kitchen, would you? She's off potatoes and leeks this week. Now it's beef, the greasier the better."
The woman stared at Lorella as if she'd gone crazy, but piled up some scraps of beef alongside a teapot and a bowl of stew for Lorella. "Oh, you better give me another bowl of that stew, too, and biscuits if you've got them. You can'
t believe how that poor lady can eat!"
They had a good laugh over that, giggling even harder when Lorella went back down with the empty tray and replenished it with even more victuals and scraps.
"This dog is eating like a king tonight," she observed as the mangy mutt wolfed down the additional helping. "You know," she ventured, clearing her throat, "considering that you say Mr. Tremayne doesn't much care for surprises, you're showing up with yet another one. A big, smelly one."
"I know," Richelle said with a sigh. "But I think this is going to be a little like the dog's first bath. We're just going to have to hit him with the bucket of water and start scrubbing, never mind how he growls."
Chapter 25
They arrived at the cottage a little after noon the following day. As she'd anticipated, Richelle found it in disarray. "Clean the house and the dog…if he'll let you," she instructed Lorella. "There's a tin tub. Maybe he'll agree to a bath, now that you've won him over with all the food."
Indeed, since she'd fed him to the point of nearly bursting the night before, the dog followed Lorella like a devoted lover.
"I've got to go over to the holding company office. Don't worry if I'm late."
Richelle found Boyd alone at the office. "Rachel! Good heavens, Morgan never said a thing about you arriving today. Did he—wait, he's not in the district. Said he was going to be away until tomorrow after lunch some time. Did he not get your message? Don't tell me you made your way here alone? Surely that—"
Her cloak had parted enough to reveal her condition. Poor Boyd seemed to literally swallow his tongue. He just gaped and pulled out a chair without saying another word.
Richelle sat down and drew a deep breath. "I don't think Morgan was aware of the precise time I'd be arriving. We exchanged letters, but my departure from the States got delayed, what with one thing or another."
"Yes, I can see that." Boyd had the grace to flush.
"I bought the granary, Boyd." He flushed even deeper. "I want him to have it back, and I know he won't accept it as a gift from me. He was very emphatic about not accepting any part of my inheritance. So I know he's going to be stubborn. But you need it. I know you're still working your way back from that trouble you had with the freight line. My banker said the granary was empty. It's nearly harvest. He could fill it, you know he can. What do I do?"
"Does he…er, this is rather indelicate, but—"
"He doesn't know about the baby, no. And I'm aware that Morgan likes to be in control over everything and bark out orders. He won't like me showing up, changing everything. That's why I'm glad to see you first."
She explained that she wished to help the holding company with funds, despite Morgan's strong refusal. She'd instructed her London banker to make a bank draft payable to Boyd Atkinson. The funds should arrive within a few weeks.
"We mustn't tell Morgan," Boyd said, still flushing bright red. "But I appreciate the gesture. More than I can say."
"Morgan can be so obstinate! You've been friends for years. Surely you've had to get his mind around something—like that Colonial female clerk he didn't expect you'd hire."
Richelle broke into a huge smile. "You just spring it on him, is that it? You don't cajole or give explanations in advance."
She was positive Boyd now was as red as he could possibly flush. "Well, I wouldn't put it quite that way, but generally that seems as effective as anything else."
They announced together, "Because Morgan's going to be Morgan whatever you do."
They had a good laugh, and then Boyd sobered. "You came all this way alone, in that condition?"
"No. Actually Morgan and I hired a maid in Philadelphia, and she made the trip with me. She's cleaning up the cottage as we speak."
"Ah, good plan. He wasn't keen on moving in there, but we needed the additional income from renting out the rooms he always claimed for himself at the inn. Proved quite popular accommodations, at our top price, so he's had to make the best of things."
Boyd's whole demeanor softened. "This is wonderful, Rachel. The child. A family. It will completely change Morgan's life. The granary, though…that is a sticky bit. Because you're quite right, he's not going to just thank you and go on as if transitions had never happened."
Richelle looked thoughtful, and then she dared make the suggestion that had been swirling around in the back of her mind. "What if you don't tell him the new owner is me? If he thought some man had purchased it, and was willing to hire him as agent to fill it, he'd do it, wouldn't he? Say some man doesn't know local farmers, doesn't want to be directly involved, but has learned the area has this fellow called the Bargainer. If a stranger were to dangle a commission, would Morgan be interested?"
"We need the funds. Of course he would. And it would play into his traditional role…you know, you're rather too clever, Mrs. Tremayne. You want me to bait this trap, don't you?"
"He'll be back tomorrow afternoon, you said. Tell him the new owner of the granary wishes to meet with him. Just don't say who that person is. I'll take it from there."
Boyd had been seated at her former desk. Now he got to his feet. "I can get him to go, but you know he's liable to go off like a powder keg once you light his fuse."
Richelle accepted his arm and let him see her to the office door. She pecked his cheek. "I know. And believe it or not, I've missed the fireworks. Say hello to Chrissandra for me. Your wife now, isn't she?"
Boyd nodded, smiling warmly. "Indeed, and we're very happy. I wish the same for you and my recalcitrant partner. Best of luck to you."
Richelle took her time crossing the village square, soaking in the sights and smells, the ambience of the place she hadn't realized she'd genuinely missed until her return to it. Dear Boyd. Chrissy, who was now his bride. The cottage.
She'd truly become attached to the place, and was certain Lorella would like it too. Along with the stray dog, who seriously needed a name as well as a bath. Otherwise he'd be thrown right back out by his new master.
At that thought, Richelle pictured Boyd's expression and sincerity as he wished her the best of luck in dealing with Morgan. She'd need it.
* * *
"Morgan! I thought I might have to visit the pub and hunt you down," Boyd announced as his partner entered the office the next day. "I've been contacted by the new owner of the granary, some London investor." Herding Morgan toward his private office, Boyd went on. "We've been made an interesting proposition. Sit down."
Morgan scowled, a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat. The last thing he wanted to hear about was someone else holding his granary. "I've just made it back and feeling not at my best. Can't we discuss this tomorrow?"
"This won't take long," Boyd assured him. "Seems your reputation precedes you, my friend. The new owner asked if you'd lease out storage for a commission."
"Piss on him! He bought it, let him lease it."
"At this juncture we can hardly turn our noses up at any opportunity for revenue, can we? We both know that exercise in the Colonies cost us dearly, along with the freight setbacks. This could be a chance to regain at least part of what we lost. And I think it would be good for you to be out circulating. You can easily fill that granary."
Morgan narrowed his eyes at his partner. "You already committed me to this nonsense, didn't you? Told the man I'd do it."
Boyd shook his head. "I merely promised you'd ride out for a meeting there this afternoon. Can't hurt to at least discuss the offer."
"Since when do you make promises for me? We've always made our decisions jointly. Except for when you hired that bloody Colonial clerk. And since you brought it up, I feel compelled to remind you that the whole American debacle can be laid at your feet," Morgan groused. "I suppose I've no other choice than to participate in this 'commission' scheme. I still owe you a tidy sum, as we're both well aware."
"That's not what's behind this," Boyd argued, looking genuinely insulted at Morgan's comment. "Perhaps you won't get along, or the commission suggested won't be
worth your time and effort. I'm not complaining about your debt. I know you're good for it. On the other hand, pride doesn't pay operating expenses."
Morgan scowled. "Who the hell is this popinjay, who thinks I'll lick his boots after he bought the place out from under me?"
"Morgan, this is the..." Boyd counted on his fingers, "third owner since you held it. Your name's recounted as the only one to have success with it! You know the farmers. We have connections to help market crops in Newcastle or Sheffield. Don't be so quick to resent someone who only thinks the best of you."
"Hmm. This fellow indicated he knew so much about me?" Boyd mutely nodded. "All of which is why I don't see why you'd stubbornly refuse to even greet the buyer, particularly having come all the way from London. I believe there was some other personal business involved, but still, it's most gracious—"
Morgan was sick of the manipulations. "Fine, I'll ride out there and at least discuss it. Would have been nice to be given a decent notice. I'm covered in road dust and my shirt positively stinks."
"Perhaps you might go home and…oh wait, you likely don't have anything clean at home, either. Morgan, old chap, you've fallen into a rut. A ride to the granary is probably just the thing."
Morgan paused with his hand on the office doorknob. Boyd's last words sounded too cheery by half, and there was a distinct gleam in Boyd's eyes that Morgan distrusted. The granary's new owner was probably half deaf, wrinkled as a prune, incapable of riding around the district to meet with local farmers. Unless Morgan's instincts were misleading him due to exhaustion, there was definitely something not right about this whole scenario.
He was road weary and in no mood to conduct business with a newcomer. Particularly a Londoner, to whom Yorkshire was just some vague farmland to the north, its people naught but silly peasants.
Sighing, he mounted Phantom once more and headed out of the village. He would listen to this Londoner's offer and try to be polite.
Then he'd come back to Crowshaven and tell Boyd to go straight to hell.
Lady Fugitive Page 21
