Page 2 of Miss Morton and the Missing Heir (A Miss Morton Mystery #4)

After stopping in Lincoln’s Inn Fields to obtain a key from the solicitors, Caroline and Mrs. Frogerton set out for Cavendish Square where Morton House was located.

The last time Caroline had been there, the bailiffs had arrived to claim the deceased earl’s unentailed possessions.

She’d sat on the front steps while the bailiffs carried everything out as she’d tried to explain to her much younger sister why the bad men were taking all her toys.

At one point Susan had cried so much that one of the bailiffs had given her back a doll.

Caroline had tried to thank him, but he’d held his fingers to his lips to indicate she should keep quiet, and she’d done as he asked.

She’d already sewn her mother’s pearl necklace and a silver bracelet into the hem of her travelling cloak, but she didn’t have the ability to take anything larger.

As they’d waited for Aunt Eleanor to collect them and their pitiful belongings, even the head bailiff felt sorry enough to invite them back into the house to share their midday meal.

It had been strange going past the empty rooms, the furniture now stacked high on the two carts outside.

None of the neighbors had come to inquire after the girls’ welfare—Caroline’s first indication that her social status had irrevocably changed for the worst. She’d expected her fiancé to appear, but despite her recent letter informing him of their current predicament, Lord Francis Chatham had not come.

“Caroline?” Mrs. Frogerton’s voice intruded on her memories. “We have arrived.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She shook off the past and descended the carriage step, offering her employer her hand to help her alight in her turn. “I have the key.”

They went up the steps, Caroline carefully avoiding staring at where she and Susan had waited on their last day at the house.

The knocker had been removed from the door, there were cobwebs everywhere, and the windows were dirty and shuttered.

Caroline set the key in the lock. It squeaked in protest and refused to turn.

Eventually, Mrs. Frogerton called on her coachman to use his superior strength, and the door opened with great reluctance.

Caroline stepped inside and immediately recoiled at the smell of damp and mildew.

“Good Lord!” Mrs. Frogerton, who was made of stronger stuff, went past her. “It looks like the roof must be leaking.” She pointed at the ceiling where a large patch of black mold coated the peeling plaster. “It’s probably come right through the house.”

Caroline wandered down the central corridor.

The rooms on the ground floor had been used by the earl’s secretary and for receiving visitors who didn’t merit a trip up the stairs to the drawing room, where the countess and her daughters had received callers.

The basement housed the kitchen, scullery, butler’s pantry, and housekeeper’s sitting room.

There was a floor dedicated to the earl and countess’s bedroom suites, a nursery floor, and attics above for the live-in staff.

She paused at the bottom of the staircase, her thoughts in turmoil. It was hard to believe that when her mother was alive, this house had been a warm and loving home. Now it was as ruined and desolate as the Morton family itself.

“I don’t think this place is fit for ghosts to inhabit, let alone guests.” Mrs. Frogerton joined Caroline, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “If this gentleman is the new Earl of Morton, seeing his inheritance in this state might encourage him to run away again.”

“I agree.” Caroline drew an unsteady breath. “It used to be quite elegant, ma’am. My mother had a way of … making a place a home despite its grandeur.”

Her employer squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry, lass. This can’t be pleasant for you. Let’s go back to Half Moon Street. I’ll compose a letter to Mr. Potkins telling him that his idea to open up Morton House is as ridiculous as most of his suggestions.”

“I can write to him, ma’am.” Caroline turned back to the front door.

“I wish you’d let me do it.” Mrs. Frogerton followed her out. She paused beneath the imposing, white-pillared portico guarding the front door. “I do so enjoy offending his sensibilities.”

They returned to the carriage, and Mrs. Frogerton chattered away about inconsequential things, allowing Caroline to regain her composure.

If the claimant was indeed the new Earl of Morton, Caroline wished him well.

The task of restoring the estate would be enormous.

If the new earl didn’t have funds of his own, it would be virtually impossible to succeed unless the banks took pity on him.

And, if he was anything like his predecessor, or if the banks feared he might be, they would be extremely reluctant to lend him a penny.

To Caroline’s surprise, shortly after sending off her note, a rather agitated Mr. Potkins arrived at the house and begged to speak to Mrs. Frogerton and Caroline. He appeared in the drawing room and bowed low before sitting in the chair Mrs. Frogerton offered him.

“I was shocked to receive your note, Lady Caroline. I had no idea that the bank had allowed the property to fall into such a state of disrepair!”

Mrs. Frogerton looked as if there was a lot she might say about that, but after a glance at Caroline, she held her peace.

“It is certainly not suitable to receive guests,” Caroline agreed.

“Why can’t Caroline meet these people in your office, Mr. Potkins?” Mrs. Frogerton asked.

“We thought that a more … social approach with family might reveal more about the claimant than a series of documents,” Mr. Potkins said.

“You thought ‘the pretender’ might give himself away when he was more relaxed,” Mrs. Frogerton commented. “And that meeting a real member of the Morton family might shake his resolve.”

“There might be some truth in that, ma’am.” Mr. Potkins turned to Mrs. Frogerton. “But as the house is obviously uninhabitable, perhaps the meeting will have to take place in my office after all.”

“You could invite them to meet us here,” Mrs. Frogerton suggested.

Both Caroline and Mr. Potkins turned to stare at her.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?” Mr. Potkins was the first to find his voice.

“I’m considered a very good judge of character, Mr. Potkins,” Mrs. Frogerton said. “It is one of the reasons why I’m a successful business owner.” She smiled at Caroline. “Wouldn’t you agree, lass?”

“That is very … generous of you, Mrs. Frogerton.” Mr. Potkins shot to his feet with alacrity. “I’ll set up the meeting and send you the details as soon as possible.”

“Excellent.” Mrs. Frogerton nodded at the solicitor. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Caroline waited until Mr. Potkins was heading downstairs before she studied her employer. “That was very kind of you, ma’am, but you do not need to put yourself out for me.”

Mrs. Frogerton sighed. “I must confess that I wasn’t just thinking about you, my dear. Since Dotty’s departure, I fear I am likely to suffer from a lowering of spirits, or at least a lack of things to do. Perhaps this might take our minds off our troubles?” She looked inquiringly at Caroline.

“I, too, feel somewhat at a loss,” Caroline acknowledged. “If you are willing to receive the claimant to the earldom, I can only appreciate and applaud your good nature.”

Mrs. Frogerton sat back with a contented smile. “Then let’s wait to hear from Mr. Potkins, and perhaps you might consider what questions you need to ask to ascertain whether this claim is valid.”

“I’ll ask Mr. Potkins to provide us with any information he has on the matter,” Caroline said. “He is very much in your debt and owes us that.”

“I’m actually quite excited, Caroline,” Mrs. Frogerton said. “I cannot imagine what kind of a person he will be.”

Caroline rang for some tea and resumed her seat. “I wonder if I have ever met this person. If he is a distant connection, he might have attended family events in the past. Perhaps I might recognize him and make Mr. Potkins a very happy man.”

“From what you’ve told me previously, Caroline, the Morton family weren’t close. It’s possible that this particular branch might have little connection with your own.”

“That’s probably more likely, ma’am.” Caroline was pleased to see the interest in her employer’s eyes and relieved to have something to occupy her own thoughts rather than worrying about Susan. “But if that is the case, I doubt I will be able to offer Mr. Potkins much assistance at all.”

“Let him worry about that, lass. All you can do is your best,” Mrs. Frogerton advised as she beamed at Caroline. “I must admit I’m quite looking forward to it already!”