Page 28 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)

Chapter 27

A Cash Bonanza

“Y our mother must be turning over in her grave,” Bea’s father declared as he hugged her. “Who would have thought her sister’s boy capable of such treachery?”

“I didn’t trust him or that fop, Odlum,” Glenda muttered, joining the hug.

“There’s more, I’m afraid,” Bea said. “There’s a strong possibility Peter and Odlum killed Malcolm Pickering.”

“I knew it all along,” Glenda declared. “Said so many a time.”

Bea might have laughed had she not been heart-sick about her cousin.

Her father shook his head. “I blame myself for encouraging him. I never considered he might be a murderer.”

Bea cradled her beloved father’s tear-streaked face. “You trusted him because you always think well of people. It’s not a failing.”

“Still. To think what might have happened.”

“But it didn’t, thanks to Roger.”

“Yes. His mother was kind enough to collect us from the Grange. We were in a dither how to get here until she arrived.”

Bea glanced to where Roger stood nearby with his arm around his mother’s waist. She appreciated the concern of both parents and was glad to see them, but the love on Roger’s face echoed what she felt. They’d both moved on from the nest. He had become the most important person in her life. They were already one.

Her father walked over to Roger and offered his hand. “Before you ask, you have my undying gratitude as well as my permission to marry my daughter.”

Roger beamed as he accepted the gesture, but Lucinda didn’t smile. In fact, she stiffened her spine and threw back her shoulders. Bea would have an uphill battle if she hoped to gain Mrs. Sandiford’s approval.

Mrs. Barton emerged from the house and invited everyone inside.

They enjoyed several cups of tea while Roger and Bea related the details of the abduction and rescue. Her father and Glenda fleshed out the story with descriptions of their outrage when Bea was abducted.

* * *

When Bea laughingly mentioned being trapped in a nest of bank notes scattered around the carriage, Roger realized he’d forgotten that detail. It evidently jolted Mrs. Barton’s memory too. “Oh, dear,” she exclaimed. “I completely forgot.”

She hurried out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a satchel. “We put the money we collected in here,” she explained, opening the bag to reveal a cache of bank notes. “As well as the money Mr. Sandiford was able to gather.”

“I’m afraid Peter got away with the rest,” Roger said. “However, what’s left in the bag belongs to you, Baron.”

Beatrice’s father shook his head. “I’m certain you can find a better use for it than I ever could,” he said. “The unemployed need more relief and this windfall can provide it.”

A friendly back and forth argument ensued about who should keep the money. It was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Barton who looked very impressive in his uniform. A hush fell when a heavily whiskered policeman followed him into the drawing room, a dented lockbox tucked under his arm.

* * *

Bea stared at the lockbox, recalling the moment it had struck her. Its retrieval could mean many things. Much as she abhorred her cousin’s actions, she didn’t wish him dead. Her aunt would never understand, and would most likely lay the blame on Bea. There was no guarantee the box contained money. Peter may have ditched it and kept the bank notes when he fled.

“Mr. Leigh is in custody,” Barton announced. “He was in a sorry state when my men found him curled up in the shelter of a rock clutching the lockbox. He could scarcely walk and kept muttering something about a black devil.”

“Folk claim ghostly beings roam them moors,” the policeman said.

“I hate to disappoint you, Constable,” Roger said with a smile. “He was probably cursing Midnight, the horse he stole to make his getaway.”

“As you say, sir,” the policeman replied skeptically.

Mr. Barton took the lockbox and handed it to Bea’s father. “I understand this belongs to you, my lord.”

After staring at the box for a minute or two, her father passed it to her. “I’ll never get used to being a lord. You’ve a better head on your shoulders than I,” he said. “You can decide what to do with it.”

“I already know what we’re going to use it for,” Bea replied. “We’ll spend some on the Grange. The rest is for more relief programs for Roger’s workers.”

For the first time, a trace of a smile tugged at the corners of Lucinda’s mouth.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to count the contents of the lockbox and the satchel,” Barton said. “For the record when Mr. Leigh is charged with kidnapping and theft at the Assizes. I’ll also recommend the Bolton police check with The Pack Horse as to when Leigh and Odlum arrived in the town.”

“I suspect Odlum never left when he abandoned us at the station,” Bea replied. “I have no idea how much should be in the box,” she lamented.

“Well,” Roger replied. “If the late baron hoarded all the payments I made over the seven years of the mortgage, it should amount to more than ￡2000.”

That possibility brought a broad smile to Lucinda’s face.

Roger helped Bea prize the damaged lid open. She gasped when she saw the amount of money the dented box contained. All told, the contents of the box and satchel amounted to ￡1500. “I’ve never seen so much money,” she exclaimed, eyeing the piles of notes on the Bartons’ occasional table.

“Enough to include a fancy wedding in your plans, Miss Parker?” Roger asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Definitely,” she replied.

* * *

Roger decided to ride Midnight back to Bolton, otherwise his spacious brougham would be overcrowded. However, given that the carriage carried two precious burdens—his beloved Beatrice and the large amount of cash—he intended to ride beside the vehicle. Barton provided two constables to ride along with him, so he felt doubly secure.

His decision to ride the horse was based on the hope that Midnight remembered the special bond they’d forged during the frantic ride. It didn’t seem so when Gilbert had a devil of a time getting the saddle on the beast, but Midnight calmed when Roger put his foot in the stirrup. “Good lad,” he murmured with relief as he swung his leg over and settled in the saddle.

“You look magnificent,” Beatrice said, as he trotted into the courtyard. “You belong on that horse.”

“I’ve often thought of selling him,” he confessed, feeling smugly magnificent. “He’s always been impossible to ride.”

“Until now,” she said.

“I think he sensed my urgency.”

“Well, I’m grateful he did,” she replied, turning to follow Lucinda into the brougham.

The Bartons waved and wished them Godspeed as the convoy set off. The journey went smoothly under sunny skies. On the day Beatrice was kidnapped, Roger felt he’d ridden a hundred miles at breakneck speed, yet they reached Bolton at a leisurely pace in a relatively short time.

* * *

As long as she lived, Bea would never forget the sight of Roger mounting the temperamental horse. He claimed not to be a good rider, yet he swung his long leg over the beast’s back, settled himself in the saddle, and gathered the reins as if he’d ridden for years.

She’d overheard him complain of saddle soreness to the ostler, but could see no sign of discomfort in his posture.

He would be a husband she could depend on and be proud of.