Page 30 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter thirty

Phillip

I found Mother in the drawing room upon my return. Despite the short distance between our townhome and the Rigbys’, my chest heaved from running. I hadn’t any idea how much time I would have and could not afford to waste a second of it.

I sat down next to Mother, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “Good heavens, Phillip. Why are you so winded?”

“Never mind that. We must talk.”

Mother set aside the embroidery she was working on, offering me her full attention. I had been so eager to tell her my decision—to tell her all about Grace—but as I looked into her eyes, worry and guilt caught up with me. What if I had made a mistake?

But no, I had not. Deep down, I knew this was the proper course. Neither of us deserved to live under Uncle’s tyranny any longer. He expected much of me, but he had never treated my mother as anything more than a burden. I was done living this way.

“Phillip, what is it?” Her hand settled over mine, her face marred with concern.

“Uncle wished me to propose today.” I continued when she nodded. “I nearly did, but then…well, my heart belongs to another, and I simply cannot marry the woman Uncle expects.”

Mother’s jaw went slack. “Your heart…you must tell me what you mean immediately. How can you go and fall in love without me knowing?”

I chuckled at the indignation in her tone. “I am sorry for keeping so much from you. When Uncle told me of his expectations, and after a week of stumbling through society, I needed help to make a match. Russell Apsley recommended a matchmaker to me—his cousin, Grace Scott. And”—my shoulders lifted and fell, but I smiled—“I can hardly be blamed for falling for her. She is lovely and kind and intelligent. And so, so much more. She is everything. All my hope for the future.”

Mother’s eyes glazed over, and she sniffed softly. “Then let us not waste another moment. I must meet her at once.”

She started to stand, but I held out a hand to stop her. “It is not that simple. I may have made a blunder of things and must make amends with her first, but beyond that, you understand what this means, do you not? I have defied Uncle. Severely. He will not take this lightly and has already threatened to disinherit me. You know as well as I do he will not hesitate to act on the threat, especially when I propose to Grace. According to Sabrina, her family is in his black books as it is.”

I reached for her face and cupped her cheek with my hand. “Mother, he will kick us out. We will have nothing.”

She smiled at me in that tender way that always brought me a sense of peace. “My darling, we will not have nothing. We will have one another. We will have love. That is far more precious than any fortune, and I can think of nothing I want more than to see you happy. If Miss Scott can provide the life you deserve, then the devil with what your uncle threatens.”

“Mother!” I scolded, though my amusement was clear.

“What? I was not raised a lady, I might remind you. If you think since we have lived a life of comfort these last twenty years that my tongue has forgotten all of its vulgarity, then I assure you it is not so. I curse your uncle quite regularly from the privacy of my bedchamber.”

I laughed, and her smile grew. It had been years since I had seen her smile like this.

“We will come about,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “You, me, and Miss Scott.”

I nodded, my confidence in my decision swelling. “We shall. I have a plan, but it will take some time to work out all the details. We’ve been offered a place to stay, but I must speak to Grace before I can proceed with anything else. And I do not know how long Uncle will give us to leave.”

“Not long, I’d imagine.” Sabrina’s voice drew my attention. Despite the topic of conversation, she was grinning broadly. “But he will not have a say in the matter. Before you run off to see your lady, you and I have a matter to discuss. Well, we have a matter to discuss.” She gestured next to her, and with clear hesitation in his expression, a man appeared at her side.

Mr. Barton, the man having private business meetings with Uncle.

Sabrina, Mr. Barton, and I ventured to the library. I had instructed Mother to go to her chambers and begin packing in case whatever news Sabrina intended to give me did not, in fact, keep Uncle from forcing us to leave. With the way she grinned, her expression one of pure delight, she seemed rather confident, but I would not allow myself the same optimism until I had heard everything she had to say.

My cousin closed the door and, to my surprise, slid a chair in front of it. The furniture was not heavy enough to be much of a deterrent, and I could not help but chuckle. “Is our need for privacy so important?”

She glared at me. “It is. Once you see the evidence Mr. Barton has brought me, you will understand.”

My amusement faded, giving way to hope. Dare I allow it?

Sabrina gestured for us to follow her to the table in the corner, and we all sat down. Mr. Barton put a stack of papers and a wrapped parcel before me, and Sabrina slapped a familiar red ledger down with a smack .

“What are you doing with this?” I asked, panic lacing my voice. “If he finds out you have it—”

“It shan’t matter. By the time he realizes it is missing, the magistrate will have ordered him off to gaol to await trial.”

Confident, then, was an understatement.

“You said this contained only numbers,” I reminded.

“It does,” said Sabrina. “And while those numbers mean nothing to us, Mr. Barton is familiar with every transaction it details. Every. Single. One. Both the legal and illegal.”

My heart pounded. If Barton truly knew what those records meant and we could prove they were fraudulent, Uncle would stand trial.

“Everything I have here”—Mr. Barton tapped his finger on the stack of papers—“will show how your uncle has swindled people out of money and has been doing so for the last six years. In addition, I am in possession of the old engravings he used to forge banknotes. That is how it is done, you see. Your Uncle has fake notes created and then the signatures are forged. He’s hired a calligrapher specifically for this. The man has been perfecting the practice for years.”

“Banknote fraud?” I shook my head. “But why would he take such a risk? I have looked over the other ledgers. Many of our investments are quite profitable, and my uncle has never been a spendthrift.”

“Does it surprise you that his only motivation is greed?” Sabrina asked incredulously. “It is all the man requires to take a risk. Clearly, it was worth it to him, and given how much he has gotten away with, I see no reason to think he will stop. His most recent scheme is to cheat Mrs. Ellis out of money. Her husband invested with Father for years, so he continues to make investments on her behalf, all the while claiming them to fail and require more funds. Really, though, he is putting the money straight into his pocket, and Mrs. Ellis is none-the-wiser for it. Her mind is going, you know. She forgets things. Why, just yesterday she came here believing it was May.”

My brows furrowed. “It is nearly May.”

“May, eighteen hundred fourteen. She asked if I had heard any news of Napoleon.”

Ah. Sabrina was not wrong about the woman. Mrs. Ellis did seem frequently confused, though that had done nothing to alter her kind disposition. That Uncle would see such a woman as someone he could manipulate for gain ignited my ire.

“So, what now?” I asked. “Are you certain we have enough evidence?”

“Yes,” Sabrina said firmly. “Between what we have physically, and Mr. Barton’s testimony, my father will go to trial. We can also track down the calligrapher. I suspect he would turn on Father in exchange for a sentence that does not include hanging.”

I met Mr. Barton’s gaze, studying him closely for perhaps the first time. He was older than me, likely in his late thirties, but his expression looked worn and tired, like a man nearing the age of fifty.

“You’ve been working for my uncle, fulfilling his demands and executing his schemes for years,” I started slowly. “Why come forward now? If Uncle is convicted, there is a good chance you will be arrested as well.”

The man laughed lightly. “I did not come forward on my own, but I was convinced in the proper direction.” He looked at Sabrina and smiled, diluting any venom the accusation might have carried. “I might never have done so without her support. What you say is true, however. I could easily be arrested. I am not proud of what I have done. None of this was illegal when Mr. Perry first hired me on. I was sent to find a calligrapher without being given the reason. Then an engraver willing to forge what we needed. Paper to match whatever the bank was using. Once I realized what it was all for, I attempted to back out. Mr. Perry threatened me. Threatened my family. I saw no way out of it. Who would believe me over someone as wealthy as him?”

I leaned forward, catching his attention again. “You realize that, by testifying and admitting your involvement, you might well be hanged?”

Mr. Barton nodded with a solemn frown. “I know, but I cannot go on like this. The threats against my family wear on me, never mind the guilt. If something is not done, how many more will lose their security or livelihoods? I do not wish to be a part of it any longer.”

“His threats…do you have a record of them, or were they all verbal?”

“I have letters. Kept them in case. Not sure how useful they are or if the courts would even consider them.”

I nodded absently. “They might if Sabrina and I testify on your behalf. We have both heard Uncle threaten you ourselves, though I did not understand the extent of it at the time. I cannot promise it will disabuse the courts of punishing you, but I will advocate as best I’m able.”

“You have my gratitude,” said Mr. Barton. “But I am willing to face the consequences. I just want my freedom from the man. My family’s freedom.”

I understood that far too well.

“We move forward then,” I said.

Sabrina’s hand fell on my shoulder. “We can move forward, but you must consider one more thing, Phillip.”

The fearful look in her eyes gave me pause. “What is it?”

Mr. Barton clasped his hands in front of him. “While I doubt the courts will demand a forfeiture of all assets, they will likely request restitution on behalf of those who were harmed by Mr. Perry’s scheme. Six years’ worth of fraudulent income will be a heavy tax on any estate.”

Bile rose into my throat, and I swallowed. “I hadn’t considered that, and as heir…”

“As heir, you would be responsible for paying off the debts.” Sabrina tilted her head, her expression ridden with sympathy. “And you would be the one to bear the social consequences. The shunning from Society.”

“And that is not the worst of it,” said Barton. “All assets will fall to you, into your care, but they will never legally be yours so long as Mr. Perry lives and breathes. Once his sentence is served, he has every right to return and reclaim what is his. Every right to then disinherit you.”

I stood, rubbing a hand over my face, and walked over to the empty hearth. The air in the library held a heaviness that threatened to suffocate me. We could hold off on turning in the evidence until Uncle had removed me from his will, but that would only serve to throw the responsibility onto someone else. Someone who was likely young and too na?ve to understand how to wade through such a swamp.

I could not, in good conscience, do it.

“The responsibility to manage it all falls to me then,” I said, my voice almost a whisper. “And after working to maintain the estate and pay off whatever sum the court decides upon, I then stand to still lose everything?”

The situation was almost laughable.

Sabrina rushed to my side. “It is unfair, I know. You should not have to suffer the repercussions. None of this is your fault.”

But I will have Grace.

The lift of my lips seemed to surprise Sabrina, which drew laughter from me. Indeed, it poured out in a way that likely made her question my sanity.

“Do you not see the irony in it?” I asked. “No matter what choice I made today, I would have been financially ruined. At least I had the mind to reject your father’s demands. At least now I face everything with someone I love. The situation is not ideal, no, but it never was to begin with.” My smile grew into a grin. “I can marry Grace.”

Assuming she would have me, of course.

Sabrina returned my smile. “Well, then, let’s call for the Runners and the magistrate so you can propose to your lady.”

It was fortuitous that Uncle spent nigh on three hours smoothing things over with Mr. Rigby. At least, I assumed he remained there. Regardless, the man would not leave me alone for long. A scolding, severe and fuming, awaited me upon his return.

I paced the study, stopping occasionally to peer out the window. Mother was still upstairs. Whether she had finished her packing, I did not know, but I had sent one of the servants with word to keep her in her chamber, in addition to having my valet pack my things. Both had looked at me quizzically when receiving the instruction, and my odd request was sure to create gossip below stairs. But it hardly mattered. If all went as planned, Mother and I would not be going anywhere.

Mr. Barton had accompanied Sabrina to see the magistrate. Before an arrest would be made, enough evidence must be presented. Thanks to Mr. Barton, we had it in spades, but still, it would take time for the magistrate to look over everything and make a decision.

Time that Uncle could, in truth, use to change his will.

No matter what, I would eventually end up penniless, but I much preferred time to work out a path for my future rather than having a rug pulled from beneath me today . Besides, if Uncle faced trial, it would alleviate my lingering concerns for Miss Rigby. She had stated her mother would advocate for her to marry someone else, even if my uncle asked for her hand, but I was not entirely convinced.

When he wanted something, Uncle could be very persuasive.

And, of course, there were the people who would be harmed if Uncle were permitted to continue his schemes. The events of today would affect so many lives. So many futures.

Please let them return soon. I sent the silent prayer heavenward. Waiting was a torturous endeavor. There was only so much to occupy my mind with, and having already sent a note and a fresh bouquet to Grace—perhaps a little too soon given I did not know how the remainder of the day would fare—I had nothing else to entertain me but endless scenarios, many of which were unappealing. What if all the hope I had garnered since leaving the Rigbys this morning was misplaced? What if the magistrate found our evidence lacking?

Doubt had a way of disturbing the mind when it was left without something to give it focus and purpose.

The front door opened, but any relief I might have felt faded in an instant at the heightened, angry tone of Uncle’s voice. From here, I hadn’t any idea what he said, but it was not difficult to determine his mood as he stormed up the stairs.

He entered the study, his face red with both fury and the exertion of climbing the stairs at such a pace. Fear coiled in my chest, and I fought the urge to shrink back against the wall as he stomped toward me.

“Insolent boy!” Uncle grabbed my arm and wrenched me forward, but I resisted. His fingers slipped over my coat, and he nearly stumbled over.

I resisted. Never had I done such a thing. My stature dwarfed his, but that had never mattered because I had always obeyed. Always allowed him to drag me about. Demand. Control.

Not anymore.

With my feet rooted in place, he could not so much as budge me.

Uncle, seeming to come to this conclusion, glared up at me and poked his finger hard into my chest. “You dare disobey me? I told you what would happen if you did not marry that chit.”

I swallowed. Had he proposed to Miss Rigby? Had her father forced her to accept? His next words quieted those concerns. “Rigby is furious, as is his wife. The whole of Town will know of your insufferable ailment by next week. Nothing I said would convince them otherwise, not even my proposition of marriage. You’ve ruined everything! But never again.”

He gestured toward the door where a man with neatly combed, mousey hair stood. Mr. Grenville, Uncle’s solicitor. I hadn’t even noticed him before now.

“Come, Grenville!” Uncle waved him inside, and the man obeyed, his expression contorted with hesitancy and the grip on his brief-bag so tight his knuckles had turned white. I did not blame him. I had no desire to be in this room either.

I stood in place as Uncle led the man to the writing desk near one of the tall windows. There was no sense in asking why his solicitor was here, and I had already accepted that my future would bear the burden of financial difficulty, no matter today’s outcome.

But still, I silently pleaded for Sabrina to return. No one else deserved to deal with the ramifications of Uncle’s crimes any more than I did.

As if I had summoned her, a flash of dark hair drew my attention to the doorway. Sabrina stepped inside, her dark eyes filled with rage as they settled on the man who had sired her. She shifted out of the way to allow four men to pass. One was Mr. Barton, who remained next to Sabrina. Among the others was an older gentleman with a bald patch at the top of his head, and two younger men.

The older gentleman spoke first, pulling Uncle from his discussion with Mr. Grenville. “Victor Perry?”

“Yes, who are you?” Uncle’s brows furrowed as he looked between the man and the two men to either side of him. I could only assume they were Bow Street Runners, recruited to assist in the arrest. Perhaps I should have advised Sabrina to bring an army of them. Uncle was unlikely to go quietly.

The older gentleman retrieved a paper from his pocket and unfolded it, reading it aloud. “Victor Perry, you are hereby arrested on numerous counts of fraud, the charge being brought forth this twenty-seventh of May, eighteen hundred seventeen, by the following individuals: Sabrina Stafford, Duchess of Rochester, William Samuel Barton, and Phillip Montfert.”

Uncle’s gaze shot to me. He looked nearly unhinged, a fury in him I had not witnessed even after refusing to marry Miss Rigby.

The older man continued, detailing the most egregious of Uncle’s charges before finishing with, “You are hereby remanded to Newgate Prison to await trial.”

A calculating look swept over Uncle’s face, mere seconds of consideration before he stormed to the bookcase nearest the desk. In a rage, he threw books from the shelves, his fingers moving along the spines with increasing panic, an emotion reflected in his expression.

“You will not find it,” said Sabrina with a calm I envied. “I discovered your hiding place in the false compartment days ago.”

Uncle spun around, books scattered at his feet. His eyes darted from her to the Runners, and the color drained from his face as if he realized the severity of the situation. “My ledger.”

“The red one?” Sabrina asked innocently. “Oh, yes. The magistrate found it particularly informative. He was also highly interested in some engravings that looked very much like the ones commissioned by the Bank of England. But do not worry. The magistrate has sent Runners to collect your calligrapher. I am sure he will clear all of this up.”

Uncle’s eyes rounded. “This is a mistake. They’ve lied! You have no evidence of any of this!” His voice quivered with doubt, and a frantic panic settled onto his expression as the runners stepped forward. “Traitors, all of you! This will never stand, and once I am released, I will see all three of you ruined!” He turned toward me, and his features twisted into a snarl as if he held me particularly responsible. I could not fault him for the assumption as I had the most to gain from his arrest.

Or he would see it that way. In truth, Mr. Barton stood to gain the most—freedom for him and his family.

A Runner rounded the desk, and Uncle shot forward, shoving his solicitor out of the way. He raced for the door, but it was blocked by the second Runner. Uncle retreated a few steps, then rounded on his heels and marched straight toward me.

I froze, my eyes catching on the glint of his pocket watch as he retrieved it from his coat. He gripped the time piece firmly and swung the chain. My arm lifted, a defensive mechanism so deeply instilled in me it required no thought. The chain whipped around my arm, and I felt the sting there first, and then across my cheek.

“Phillip!” Sabrina screamed.

I staggered back, pressing a hand to my face, already feeling the skin welt beneath my fingers. Uncle raised his arm to strike again but halted when he realized the chain was missing. One moment of confused distraction allowed the Runners to subdue him, each taking an arm. He fought against them as they dragged him from the room, his muffled demands filling the stairwell.

The older gentleman’s attention swept to me. “You will likely receive a summons to testify in court, Mr. Montfert.”

“Of course,” I said.

He bowed with impressive stoicism. “Thank you for your time. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

Job completed, he turned and left. Mr. Grenville excused himself as well, his eyes wide. The poor fellow. I was eager to leave myself.

He paused at the door, however. “Forgive me, sir, but I should like to inform you that I intend to go out of town for a time, immediately, and will be unavailable for…adjusting any sort of documentation pertaining to the estate for the foreseeable future.” He gave me a significant look, and I understood his meaning. By law, Uncle still held the right to change his will while in prison.

If his man of business could meet with him. A shame Mr. Grenville planned to go out of Town.

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

He nodded once, then disappeared into the corridor.

“Phillip, are you all right?” Sabrina crossed the room to me and placed a hand on my arm, her eyes full of concern.

I smiled softly at her. “I will be well. It is over now, and this is not the first time he has struck me in such a way.”

“Well, at least he cannot ever do it again.” She stooped over and retrieved the gold chain resting on the floor and offered it to me.

I inspected it closely, noting one of the links had snapped when Uncle hit me. The break was likely what had sent the piece whipping across my face, and I would have a mark for some time because of it.

I slipped the chain into my pocket and found Sabrina watching me in confusion. “A reminder,” I said, patting my coat. “I fear I might question whether all of this was real, and this…this will reassure me I did not imagine it.”

“That welt on your face is evidence enough. I would cast the chain into the first fire I saw if I were you. A reminder of my father helps no one.”

Perhaps she was right, but for now, I would hold onto it.