The Lord of Lost Causes

by Kate Pearce

  “Where is she?”

  “Well, she isn’t hiding under the bed, so I assume she isn’t here.” Francis replied as he blinked sleep from his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

  “As if I would tell you. This is all your fault!”

  “What is?” Francis sat up with some care and faced Ruby. “If you don’t tell me, how can I help you?”

  She wiped at something on her face, and he realized she was struggling not to cry. “It’s Mr. Ford. He’s been arrested.”

  “Whatever for?” Francis asked.

  “For assaulting you!” She glared at him reminding him forcibly of her sister. “Sir Ian is holding an emergency session of court in order to prosecute those who were taken last night as quickly as possible and send them to the county assizes.”

  “Where is this court taking place?”

  “In the gaol.”

  He pointed at his clothing that was piled up on the chair. “Give me my clothes. Quickly!”

  His body was not willing to conform to his clothing, or his desire to move from the bed, but he forced its compliance, cursing bitterly as he put on the clean shirt Caroline must have found for him, and his well-brushed clothing. She’d even cleaned his dammed boots…

  He set his teeth and lurched toward the door with Ruby at his side. The stairs looked as daunting as a mountain, but he was determined to descend them even if he had to do it on his arse.

  “Where are you going? Ruby, what is it?” He tensed as Caroline’s voice came from the open door of the kitchen.

  “Your sister is taking me home. Thank you for your assistance last night. It was much appreciated.”

  Francis kept moving. The last thing he needed right now was a confrontation with Caroline Harding.

  “But—”

  He made it down the stairs, his ribs aching and the rest of his body complaining in equal measure, and set his gaze on the opposite corner of the square. The gaol wasn’t that far away, and he would be able to walk there if Ruby remained by his side.

  “Come on.” He looked down at her anxious face. “Let’s see what we can do.”

  The street outside the gaol was packed with anxious looking family members and sullen faced workers who were being refused entry into the gaol proper. Francis pushed his way through, and after a quick word with one of the guards, was admitted along with Ruby.

  The largest room in the gaol that acted as the courtroom was at the back of the building above the cells and beside the offices. At the door, Francis found the court clerk and beckoned him over.

  “Good morning. Can you tell me whether Mr. Jonathan Ford has been sentenced yet?”

  “Not yet, sir. As one of the ringleaders, he’s being kept until last.”

  “Ah, then I will have a chance to speak when he is brought before Sir Ian.”

  “If that is your wish, sir. What name shall I put in the record?’

  “Captain Francis Grafton.” He paused. “In fact, make that Viscount Wesley.”

  “Oh! Indeed, Captain, I mean, my lord viscount, sir.” The clerk bowed. “It is good of you to attend to the matter in person.”

  “One more thing before you go,” Francis said. “Where is the officer who collects payment for the fines?”

  “That will be Mr. Woodbine, my lord. He’s sitting in the chamber next door.”

  “Thank you.” Francis smiled at the man. “Please let me know when it is my turn to speak.”

  He made sure that Ruby was sitting comfortably, and then limped into the other room ignoring the scowls and muttered comments from the men lined up for sentencing.

  “Mr. Woodbine?” The elderly man looked up. “May I have a moment of your time?”

  When he’d concluded his business with Mr. Woodbine, Francis returned to the courtroom and sat beside Ruby, rising when Sir Ian came in to continue his sentencing. It was remarkably hard to sit there and listen to the hectoring tone of the magistrate and his unnecessarily harsh sentences for men who would never be able to pay their debts when they also lost their jobs. If he ever took his position in local society seriously, he could probably become a magistrate and perhaps deal more humanely with the people who came before him.

  Beside him Ruby tensed as Mr. Ford’s name was called out and he was led in. He looked remarkably unscathed from his night in gaol and wore his habitually calm expression.

  Sir Ian scowled at the man in front of him. “You are accused of wantonly attacking an innocent man and deliberately inciting a riot. What do you plead?”

  “Not guilty.”

  Sir Ian held up a piece of paper. “I have signed statements from three witnesses who saw you attack Captain Grafton and encourage everyone around you to go out and defeat the oppressors.”

  “We all know those witnesses are bought and paid for, Sir Ian.”

  “You are insolent, Mr. Ford!” Sir Ian glanced around the courtroom as the clerk handed him a note. “I understand that Captain Grafton is here himself as a witness. Are you here, Captain?”

  “Yes, I am.” Francis made his way to the front of the room and stood before Sir Ian.

  “Do you, Captain Francis Grafton, Viscount Wesley promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  Francis placed his hand on the proffered bible. “I do, Sir Ian.”

  “Then tell us what this blaggard did to you.” Sir Ian sat back and waved for Francis to proceed.

  “Quite simply put, Sir Ian, Mr. Ford saved my life.”

  The whole courtroom gasped, and Sir Ian sat bolt upright.

  “What?”

  “I was set upon by two men I didn’t recognize, and it was only because of Mr. Ford’s quick intervention that I am still alive today. He managed to get the men off me and escorted me back to my office about Madame Louise’s dress shop.”

  Francis turned to Mr. Ford and bowed. “Thank you for everything, I will never forget your courage.”

  “Then what of the charge that Mr. Ford encouraged those around him to riot?” Sir Ian demanded.

  Francis smiled sweetly at the enraged man. “How could he do that when he was no longer in the hall, but helping me get home? Do you doubt the word of a peer of the realm?”

  Sir Ian stared at Francis for a long moment, and then banged his gavel. “Despite my concerns, I dismiss the case against Mr. Ford.”

  “Thank you, Sir Ian.”

  Francis turned toward the exit and beckoned for Ruby to join him. Within moments, Mr. Ford was released and striding to meet them in the crowded hall. Ruby ran and wrapped her arms around him crying inconsolably while Mr. Ford kissed the top of her head and murmured soothingly to her.

  Eventually he looked up at Francis who had resorted to leaning against the wall in a last ditch effort to maintain his upright position.

  “Viscount Wesley eh?”

  “At your service.”

  Mr. Ford came over to him and met his gaze. “Why?”

  Francis shrugged, which hurt far more than he had anticipated. “Because I might not like you, but you neither tried to kill me, nor started a riot.”

  “I hear that you are also paying the fines for anyone who was convicted this morning,” Mr. Ford said.

  “If anyone was responsible for starting that riot last night, surely it was I?”

  Mr. Ford studied him carefully. “Aye, it was. Can I escort you back to the George? You look about ready to collapse.”

  “That would be appreciated.” Francis hesitated. “There is one other matter.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Can you not tell Mrs. Harding what transpired here today?”

  “What’s the matter?” Mr. Ford asked. “Don’t you want her to think well of you?”

  “No, I don’t.” He met Mr. Ford’s skeptical gaze full on. “She is done with me, and perhaps it is better if it remains that way. She deserves better.”

  “Agreed. To all of it.” Mr. Ford nodded. “Now come on, and I’ll make sure you get to your bed wi
thout someone trying to kill you again.”

  Chapter 15

  Caroline settled into a pew near the rear of the church and listened as the vicar spoke about her father-in-law as a charitable, God-fearing man. She struggled to picture the man depicted with the tyrant who had inflicted such damage on her. If Mr. Harding had been more generous, she and her family would never had ended up in the clutches of Captain Grafton.

  She hadn’t seen Captain Grafton since he’d staggered out of her bedroom two weeks ago, thanked her for her help and left without another word. According to gossip, he’d left Millcastle and returned to London, leaving Mr. O’Brien to manage his affairs. She had heard nothing more about the fate of Three Coins, and the town had calmed down again. She’d developed a cordial relationship with Mr. O’Brien, but she hadn’t asked him for any information about her employer or attempted to contact him.

  Which was why she’d ended up attending the delayed funeral of a man she’d detested. She needed some distraction from her own thoughts about the infuriating nature of one Captain Francis Grafton, Viscount. Apparently, the gravediggers had been unable to penetrate the ground due to the hard frost, which meant that several burials had been delayed including her father-in-law’s.

  Despite the vicar’s claims of Mr. Harding’s warm and caring nature, there were very few people present at his funeral. She recognized his widow and daughter at the front of the pew, and some of the town’s businessmen but that was it.

  When the coffin proceeded down the aisle toward the hearse outside, Caroline stood and lowered her veil over her face. She waited until everyone left before she stepped out of her pew. Unfortunately, when she reached the church door, Miss Rebecca Harding was waiting for her.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Harding, Caroline. Perhaps you would care to accompany my mother and I back to the house while the men attend the burial.”

  “As you wish.” Caroline allowed herself to be tenderly assisted into the family carriage by a footman. After years of taking care of herself she’d almost forgotten how it felt to be treated like a precious object.

  When they reached the house, she followed Mrs. Harding and Rebecca into the spacious drawing room on the ground floor where a sumptuous buffet had been laid out on the long dining room table.

  “Would you care for some tea, Mrs. Harding?” Rebecca inquired. “I doubt they will linger at the cemetery for long in this weather. We will speak to our solicitor after the guests have departed.”

  Caroline drew back her veil and took off her gloves but kept everything else with her. She still hadn’t decided whether she would be able to play her part in this particular charade and wanted the means to escape without calling attention to herself.

  She took some time exploring the drawing room, pausing at the portrait of her late husband Nigel as a child in a sailor suit. Even though his father had opposed his wishes, he’d always wanted to join the Royal Navy, and had eventually got his way, only to die fairly soon afterward. His father had blamed that tragedy on Caroline as well, but she wasn’t sure why.

  The sound of male voices in the hallway drew her attention back to the present, and she braced herself for the ordeal to come. She would channel some of her employer’s arrogance and not pretend she was anything other than herself. Several of the men had business dealings with Captain Grafton, so she knew more about them and their finances than they would ever realize. That knowledge helped her raise her chin and refuse to be cowed.

  An hour or so later, Caroline had a headache and a stiff neck, but she was proud of herself. Neither the blatant curiosity nor rudeness of the other guests had bothered her. Her late husband’s family’s ability to pretend she had not existed until the moment she popped up in their drawing room to be grudgingly acknowledged was quite remarkable.

  “Mrs. Harding?” Rebecca came to find her. “Please follow me.”

  She went into what must have been Mr. Harding’s study and took the offered seat. It still smelled of tobacco, newspaper print, and wet dog. The solicitor waited until everyone was seated before putting on his spectacles and picking up the will with its official seals dangling from it.

  Having developed a keen interest in finance since her fall from grace, Caroline listened intently as each bequest was read out and idly calculated her father-in-law’s worth. He’d claimed to be barely surviving when Caroline had approached him, but that didn’t seem to be the case at all.

  “And finally, before we get to the accommodations made for Mrs. Miranda Harding and her daughter Rebecca, we shall turn to the subject of the late Mr. Nigel Harding.”

  Caroline sat up straight.

  “There appears to have been some… misunderstanding about the contents both of Mr. Nigel Harding’s will, and that of his maternal grandmother’s who left the bulk of her estate directly to him.”

  “Misunderstanding?” Caroline spoke up.

  “As in that monies that should have come to you, Mrs. Caroline Harding, were inadvertently kept by Mr. Harding’s estate.”

  “Mr. Harding informed me that my husband’s will made no mention of a wife. He attempted to claim that my marriage was invalid despite evidence to the contrary.” Caroline raised her eyebrows. “Are you suggesting that he deliberately deceived me?”

  “Oh, hardly that,” the solicitor rushed to reassure her, but Caroline remained unmoved. “It was merely a trifling detail that somehow escaped him.”

  “A detail that left me, my mother and my sisters with no money and nowhere to live.” Caroline stared at the solicitor and rose to her feet. “Perhaps we might discuss this matter more privately before I make certain that any future legal matters concerning myself are removed from your jurisdiction.”

  The solicitor stood too, his face flushed. “I quite understand, Mrs. Harding.” He handed her an envelope. “The details of your inheritance are in here as is my card. Please do come and visit our offices at your earliest convenience.”

  “Thank you.”

  After a brisk curtsy to the Harding ladies, Caroline left the house. She reckoned it was less than a mile to walk back to town and decided the time to reflect on what had just occurred would be beneficial to her somewhat ruffled temper.

  She’d barely reached the end of the drive before curiosity overcame her and she opened the envelope. Five minutes after that she slowly read the letter for a second time. If the information were accurate, she would never have to worry financially again.

  Tears filled her eyes as she folded the letter and put it back in her reticule. She could buy a small house in town—or they could move away completely and live off the income the trust would provide. She would be free for the first time in her life…

  It started to rain, and she increased her pace, glad that she had remembered her umbrella. She would go to the solicitors’ office in town tomorrow and make absolutely certain that she understood the terms of the bequests and what her annual income would look like. After that, she would break the news to her mother and sisters—and make it clear that her mother could never touch the capital and beggar them again.

  They certainly wouldn’t be rich, but they would live well enough. She came to a halt. If Mr. Harding had done the decent thing and given her access to her husband’s finances right from the start, she would never have learned how it was to be poor or how much of a fighter she was. She would never have encountered Captain Grafton.

  But that wasn’t quite true was it? She might have met him at the Hardings, or at a ball, or dinner party. What would he have thought of her then? She doubted she would’ve merited a moment of his fastidious attention. She hadn’t known herself back then, hadn’t survived the worst that life could throw at her. When they had met, during one of the worst moments of her life, he’d recognized that fight in her, challenged her, and made her earn his respect.

  She started walking again.

  By the time Captain Grafton returned to Millcastle, she might be gone.

  She’d never get the satisfaction of telling him what
had happened to his face. The thought that she could now throw his offer on employment back at him was surprisingly unsatisfying. He’d probably laugh, be immensely proud of her, and then attempt to persuade her to invest her capital in one of his many financial schemes. Mayhap she could write him a letter, but it wouldn’t be the same.

  The rain drummed harder on her umbrella as she skirted a large puddle. There was much to think about and many decisions to make. But until then she would hold the news close to her chest and enjoy it.

  “This will do very nicely for us I think.” Caroline walked over to the window and studied the small front garden of the property. “I believe I can buy it outright from the interest accumulated in the investments.”

  She turned to her new solicitor Mr. Melksham who nodded.

  “Indeed you can, Mrs. Harding, and seeing as this house is quite close to the town square when the railway opens it will surely rise in value.”

  He turned to the door and waited for her to precede him down the corridor. “On this floor you also have a dining room, a parlor, a study and a large kitchen with a new stove. Below there are cellars and above, four bedrooms, and two attic rooms.”

  “I think I will employ a full-time cook and a housemaid.” Caroline almost sighed with pleasure at the very thought of it. “Perhaps you might help me find some trustworthy persons?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Harding.” He paused. “I understand that the current owner has no wish to take the larger pieces of furniture with him, so you might be able to negotiate a deal on them if you like.”

  “What an excellent suggestion.”

  Caroline liked the way her new solicitor didn’t treat her like an ignoramus. He’d listened to her ideas about how she wished to manage her inheritance, and introduced her to the manager of a new bank just setting up in Millcastle. Evidently, being a widow of means was far preferable to being a wife, or an employee of anyone. Both men had understood her concerns about not allowing her mother access to any of the funds without Caroline’s express approval. She had no intention of allowing Marie to bankrupt them twice, and hadn’t even disclosed the exact sum of her inheritance to her mother.