Chapter Seven

Rory

Six weeks previously

I met Lord Westville in a hotel in central London. He was younger than I had imagined, in his late twenties, I estimated, tall, slim and very fair. Though it was a pleasant summer's day, his handshake was icy, and throughout our conversation he would every now and then give a violent shiver and complain about the room being cold. His eyes were the strangest colour, a blue so pale it was almost translucent, what diamonds would look like if they were blue, hard chips of precious stone glinting under his thin, arched brows. The Marquess was what passes for handsome in a man of his class, especially when what they call good breeding was accompanied by wealth. I found him as distasteful as all of his entitled ilk.

‘I have spent a great deal of my life in sunnier climes,' he said to me, examining the contents of the teacup he had graciously allowed the maidservant to pour. ‘If I am to settle in this country, I shall have to acquire a more suitable wardrobe.' He took a sip of his tea, shuddered and pushed it aside. ‘That is one English habit I doubt I will acquire. You come highly recommended, Mr Sutherland.'

‘Do I, now?'

‘You are wondering by whom, and how I, who am almost a stranger to these shores, can have known how to set about finding you,' Lord Westville said, forcing me to reappraise the man. He smiled thinly. ‘I am not the dilettante you imagine me to be, Mr Sutherland. My father was an extremely rich self-made man of independent means long before he inherited the Westville estates, and while it is true that I have been raised in what you might call the lap of luxury, I am not the idle type. My father instilled a strong work ethic in me. Diplomacy has been my calling, and it is one that has provided me with a great many contacts. I am told that discretion is your watchword, and discretion in this case is paramount.'

He had surprised me again. ‘And what is this case, Lord Westville?' I asked him, pushing my own cup of tea aside, it being of the fragrant variety that tasted like perfume.

He steepled his fingers, studying me with those strange eyes from under deceptively languid lids. ‘Tell me first what you have uncovered, Mr Sutherland, of my own circumstances? I give you credit, you see, for having carried out due diligence before this meeting.'

That was true enough, and I gave him the credit for that. ‘Not very much,' I admitted reluctantly. ‘Your father inherited the title and the estates from his distant cousin about seven years ago, but he remained abroad and has shown no interest in either. I understand the lands and estates are managed by a family lawyer.'

‘His name is Eliot.'

His tone gave me pause. ‘The way you said that implies you have some reservations about Mr Eliot.'

‘You are on the right track, Mr Sutherland, but it is not the estate itself that causes me most concern. It is the...'

‘Money,' I finished for him, since it was always at the root of everything.

‘The crux of the matter, indeed. Filthy lucre, Mr Sutherland, and a great deal of it, which is why I must entreat you to tread very lightly with Mr Eliot. He must not know that I suspect him.'

‘Misappropriation of funds, is it? That is not really my field of expertise, Lord Westville.'

‘What I'm rather more concerned about is the misappropriation of a person. Or, more accurately, the absence of a person. That, I believe, is your field?'

‘It depends upon the circumstances,' I said warily, but I have to admit I was instantly intrigued.

‘Then let me enlighten you, Mr Sutherland, but first...'

‘You have my assurances, Lord Westville, that whether I take the case or not, the content of this conversation will go no further.'

He smiled his thin smile. ‘That I took for granted. What I was about to say was, first let us have something more refreshing to drink than tea.'

It was the kind of tale I'd have found difficult to believe, had Lord Westville not produced the evidence for me to read—including the will written by the cousin from whom his father had inherited the title. That previous Lord Westville had lived as a bachelor, but it transpired that he was a widower and moreover the father of a daughter.

‘He secretly married a woman named Anne Little,' the current Lord Westville informed me. ‘And she, rather inconveniently for the infant, expired in the process of giving birth to her. The child was handed into the care of a couple, and a stipend was paid to them every month for the raising and education of her. When she was twenty-one, arrangements were made to pay the stipend directly to her.'

‘Arrangements were made? Was she aware of who her father was?'

‘Though she was baptised, and undoubtedly legitimate, I am afraid we must conclude that her father did not wish to know her,' Lord Westville said, a slight frown marring his pale brow. ‘She was raised under the name Marianne Little, and if she ever enquired as to the identity of her benefactor, the arrangements ensured that she would receive no answer. Which makes her father's will very odd indeed. Lord Westville—my father's cousin, that is—really, there are too many Lords Westville in this tale—was extremely rich.'

‘Railways, I believe, and canals.'

‘Very good, Mr Sutherland, that is it exactly. Railways and canals and also coal. The lands, the estate and the title were inherited by my own father, but the money—and there is a vast amount of it—the money was left to the daughter.'

‘Making her a considerable heiress, I take it?'

‘Well now, here we reach the crux of the matter. It would make her husband a considerably wealthy man, but until she married, then she was to continue to receive her stipend, but nothing more.'

‘And what was to happen if she didn't marry?'

‘As I said, matters were to continue as before.' Lord Westville poured himself another glass of Madeira, shrugging at my refusal to join him. ‘My own father did not, I'm afraid, cover himself in glory in this matter. He was not interested in the estates, though he was happy enough to assume the title. I fear we must conclude that Anne Little, the mother of our heiress, was of humble origins, and therefore not a connection my father would have wished to acknowledge.

‘The will nominated Eliot, the lawyer, as both Executor and Trustee, which as far as the law is concerned, made him effectively legally responsible for the woman. She would of course have been oblivious to this, just as she had been oblivious of the fact that her father—our first Lord Westville—was previously, legally her guardian. And my own father—the second Lord Westville in this little drama—was happy to let matters be.'

At this point in the tale I was tempted to take a glass of the Madeira, even though it's not my kind of drink. However, I made do with a cup of coffee. ‘Just to be clear then, as matters stand with you—the third Lord Westville—the woman in the case is still legally under the guardianship of Eliot, who is also her Trustee?'

‘In the matter of her inheritance, that is correct.'

‘Was she contacted, then? Made aware of her inheritance when her father died?'

Lord Westville shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. ‘You need to understand that these events are almost as new to me as they are to you. My father never mentioned her existence to me. The first I knew of her was when I met with Eliot last week. I've decided to move back to England for a while, at least, and intend to do what my father did not, get to grips with my inheritance. I am told that my cousin—for she must be some sort of cousin—has disappeared.'

‘Disappeared! What do you mean by that—exactly?'

‘Alas, I cannot be precise,' he replied, looking pained. ‘I am reliant entirely on the testimony of Mr Eliot. He tells me that he attempted to contact her when her father died, in order to make arrangements to continue the stipend or to pass on her inheritance to her husband, were she married. Apparently she could not be found.'

‘So he's not had any contact with her for—how long?'

‘He was rather vague on the subject. It is about seven years since her father died and the trust was set up, delegating power to Eliot.'

‘What age would the woman be now?'

‘She was twenty-five or six when her father died, so that would make her thirty-three, I think.' He consulted a piece of paper, on which a number of dates were written. ‘Yes, she was born in June forty-four, so just turned thirty-three.'

‘She's most likely married years ago with a clutch of weans—children. And what has this lawyer been doing? Sitting on his backside twiddling his thumbs and making no effort to find her? There's more holes in his tale than a fisherman's net.'

‘You express yourself more colourfully than I, but we are of one mind, Mr Sutherland.'

‘Your own father, he wasn't exactly an old man when he died, was he?'

‘He was fifty-two, in robust health until typhus claimed him, and importantly, persistently uninterested in Mr Eliot's management of his affairs. The circumstances are most—conducive—to exploitation, alas.'

‘And has there been exploitation? Have you looked at the accounts?'

‘It is a delicate situation. The money in question is not part of my inheritance, and I did not wish to make Mr Eliot suspicious. I have therefore feigned my father's indifference to the matter.'

‘You did the right thing there, but we'll need to find a way to take a look at what he's been up to.'

‘Thank you, Mr Sutherland. I am not an idiot.'

Clearly he wasn't. ‘So you'll make arrangements, will you, to authorise me to do a bit of digging with the bank?'

‘As soon as you agree to take the case and provided you can do so without alerting him.'

‘I've a few contacts myself, obviously, that will help me find out if he has money problems. Or too much money. Talking of which, what happens if the woman isn't found?'

‘Nothing at all. The money continues to be held in trust, unless she is dead, or declared dead.'

‘She's been missing nearly seven years, after which, if no trace can be found of her, you can have the law declare her dead. And if she is already dead, then the money...'

‘Unless she has legal progeny, then it will default to me,' Lord Westville said. ‘Am I then also under suspicion?'

‘Suspicion of what?' I countered. ‘If you were in cahoots with the lawyer, then the last thing you'd want to do was find the woman. And if you wanted to pay lip service to trying to find her, you wouldn't have come to me.'

He laughed at that, a surprisingly hearty sound. ‘Because you will succeed where others might fail, you mean? That was your forte, was it not, back in your days as a policeman north of the border? To go boldly where other men feared to tread? Until you fell on your sword.'

His words made my blood run cold. There had been a couple of times, when I first settled in the south, when my infamy lost me work, but few people in the south were much concerned with what happened north of the border. I had made my name afresh, and put it behind me. Or so I had thought.

‘You are surprisingly reticent, Mr Sutherland. You don't leap to your own defence?'

‘If you believed the accusations, you would not be here, Lord Westville.'

‘You were held in such high esteem, and your fall from grace was so very—so very complete—that it struck me as simply too dramatic to believe. A contrivance, in other words, Mr Sutherland. Am I correct?'

Aside from my da, he was the first person to give me the benefit of the doubt. Guilt made me cringe inside, for I'd judged him in a way he had not judged me. ‘I thank you for your faith in me,' I said, swallowing the embarrassing lump in my throat.

‘I hope it is not misplaced.'

‘You do want her found, then?'

‘Dead or alive. Married or unwed. One way or another, I wish the matter resolved for her sake as well as my own.'

His tone was cool, utterly lacking in emotion. Dead or alive, he said, seemingly quite indifferent to which. If this had been simply a matter of fraud, of a lawyer giving in to temptation and dipping into funds, I wouldn't have been interested. But the funds in question were huge and besides, it was really about a missing woman and her missing heritage.

I couldn't help but think of that other missing woman I had let down seven years before. My one failure. It was daft, there was no logic behind it, but from that minute, I linked the two cases in my head. I would find this heiress and remedy my failure in the other case. Bloody stupid thinking, completely illogical, but that's what I thought all the same.

Decision made, it was down to business. ‘You're sure the lawyer doesn't know you're set on this course?' I asked the man who was now my client. ‘No,' I added hastily, ‘forget I asked you that, you're not daft.'

‘I am positive. If that changes, rest assured that I shall let you know. For now, I have him focused on my own concerns—the lands and the estates, I mean. Those, he has in fact managed competently. I plan to keep him busy while you investigate the other matter.'

‘Good, make sure you do. Of course, it might be he's guilty of nothing other than a lack of care in trying to find the heiress himself.' I said it, because it needed said, though I didn't believe it.

Nor did Lord Westville. ‘That may be the case, but there is, as we have both remarked, a great deal of money at stake.' He drained his glass. ‘It sounds to me as if you have decided to take the case, Mr Sutherland. Or am I mistaken?'

I ought to have taken the time to consider, but I did not. The stakes were extremely high. It was, besides, a puzzle that might be tricky to resolve, something that might stretch me a bit. That's how I explained it to myself later, mind. At the time, all I could think about was, if I get this right, it will balance out that other one, at last. ‘I'll need you to give me what little information you have on her.'

‘I came prepared.' The Marquess pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it over. ‘Here are the details of where the stipend was last paid to, and the address of the people who raised her. She was known as Marianne Little, but she was baptised Lady Mary Anne Westville. I have no desire for regular updates nor any interest in your methods. When you have significant progress to report, let me know.'

This suited me very well. ‘And when I have an answer for you,' I asked him, ‘what then?'

‘Then your work will be done. I'll take care of the matter from there.'

With that, I was less happy. ‘If I find her alive, what should I tell her? I need to tell her something.'

‘Do you know, I haven't thought of that?' Lord Westville frowned down at his long-fingered hands. ‘I suppose you must tell her the truth. I will provide you with copies of the will, her birth certificate.'

‘It's going to come as a hell of a shock. Not only the money, but presumably all she thinks she knows about herself is wrong. She doesn't even know her own name.'

‘Dear me, when you put it like that.' He shuddered dramatically. ‘I detest emotional scenes. I suppose, as her only known relative, I should be the bearer of good news, but the problem is, the news as matters stand is not necessarily good.'

‘You mean the money may not be hers, if she is alive but unmarried?'

‘That is precisely what I mean. Contrary to what you may think, Mr Sutherland,' the Marquess said, looking pained, ‘I have no desire to benefit from my predecessor's lack of foresight—I mean the first of the Lord Westvilles. Why he did not make provision for the possibility of his daughter eschewing the marital state, I do not know. If you find her, if she is alive, if she is a spinster, then she deserves her legacy. I do not know how I shall go about it, but I am sure the terms of the will can be altered. Until I have confirmation that this can be done, it seems to me that we should tread lightly. Say nothing, in other words, without consulting me.'

It pained me to be told what to do, but I knew he was right. Besides, it was quite a turnup for the book, hearing that he was promising to do himself out of a fortune, admittedly under highly unlikely circumstances. ‘That seems sensible.'

He laughed lightly. ‘Quoth he, through gritted teeth. I shall take account of your advice on the matter as we proceed, rest assured.'

I believed him, and so was satisfied. I had no idea where the quest would take me, what horrors I might uncover. Marianne Little was a name on a piece of paper, a lost woman I was set on finding. It was all about the money, I thought, and it was, in a sense. Lies and deception were at the heart of it, as they had likely been central to that other case of mine. And in both cases, it was the woman who had suffered. This time, I was determined to serve up justice. As subsequent events would prove, it would turn out to be far from straightforward.