Page 12 of The Incident at Ingleton (Beau Monde Secrets #3)

W alter returned to Selwyn Castle, only to discover that Ingleton had gone up in flames during his absence. Well, more precisely, a single cottage in the village had burned down, along with a nearby shed. No lives were lost, but the widow Jamison’s livelihood was destroyed.

And Neville Butler temporarily moved into Selwyn Castle, since he had nowhere else to stay for his last few days as Frank’s assistant.

“Won’t it be rather uncomfortable having him here, after the incident at the party?” Walter kept his voice down to a near whisper, not wanting to risk being overheard, even though the only person in the room other than him and Ivy was Viscount Elston, who lacked the vocabulary to repeat what they said.

“Yes, but it must have been even more uncomfortable for Hester yesterday. He stayed at the vicarage the day after the fire.” Ivy set aside her knitting to give Walter her undivided attention.

Walter sucked in a sharp breath. “Good Lord, that man doesn’t know when he’s outstayed his welcome!”

How could Butler have the audacity to be a guest at the vicarage after insulting the vicar’s younger sister? Men had been called out for less! Maybe clergymen weren’t allowed to duel, Walter conceded, but he still didn’t understand how Frank could offer shelter to the man who’d tried to compromise his sister. That made it look as if Butler’s actions were to be condoned, or at least ignored. Butler ought to have been publicly reprimanded, not treated as a houseguest!

Ivy studied his face and frowned. “I can’t remember when I’ve seen you this angry, Walter. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

He sighed and looked away, unwilling to admit his fascination with Lady Hester. His attention was caught by the sight of Lord Inglewhite’s heir pulling books off a low bookshelf. “Should Robbie be doing that?”

“Oh dear!” Ivy sprang to her feet and hurried to rescue the books from her son. She tried to distract him with a coral rattle, but he threw it across the room and began to wail as only a toddler can.

That was Walter’s cue to exit. “Would you like me to run up to the nursery to find one of his toys?” If he took long enough doing it, Robbie might calm down before he returned.

“No, thank you.” Ivy scooped her son up. “He’s probably hungry and tired. It’s time to take him back to the nursery for a snack and a n-a-p.”

Robbie abruptly stopped crying. “Snack?” he repeated, sounding hopeful. “Snack?”

Ivy smiled wryly at him. “Yes, it’s snack time. Let’s see what cook sent up for you!” She glanced back over her shoulder at Walter. “Butler will take his meals in his room rather than dining with us during his stay, so you needn’t worry about encountering him at mealtime. I realize the two of you don’t get along.”

Walter snorted, though the door shutting behind Ivy probably prevented her from hearing it. “Don’t get along” didn’t even begin to describe how Walter felt about Neville Butler. It seemed increasingly likely that Butler was behind the falsified ledgers, but even if he wasn’t a thief, he was a scoundrel through and through.

In the middle of his fuming, Walter realized there could be a bright side to Butler’s unwanted presence at the castle. If nothing else, Walter might be able to keep a closer eye on Butler. Maybe he’d even have an opportunity to obtain a sample of Butler’s handwriting.

Still thinking about the embezzlement case, Walter wandered into the library. Lord Inglewhite sat at his desk, spectacles perched on his nose, as he poured over a newspaper.

“I didn’t know you wore spectacles,” Walter observed.

“Hmm?” Inglewhite looked up. “Oh, Haworth. Yes, I had to get reading glasses last year. It was getting too hard to read fine print.” He took the glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Ivy thinks I should spare my eyes by letting my secretary handle more of my work. But back when I was a clergyman, I read and replied to all my correspondence myself. It doesn’t seem right to have my secretary write all my letters just because I’m an earl now!”

Walter pounced on this segue. “Speaking of correspondence, do you happen to have any notes or letters from Mr. Butler? I’d like to take a look at his handwriting.”

“His handwriting?” Inglewhite raised his brows. “May I ask why?”

Walter scanned the room, taking an especially hard look at the curtains framing the window seat. Today they were open, and there was no sign of an intruder. “Perhaps I had better tell you everything.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “It all began when the new matron at the Home noticed some discrepancies in the orphanage’s account books.” He went on to tell the entire story.

Inglewhite’s eyes grew wider and wider as the story progressed. “And the board thought you were to blame for the embezzlement?”

“I don’t think they thought it for very long.” At least, he hoped not. “There really wasn’t a plausible motive for me to steal from an orphanage. I have a perfectly adequate income.”

“Unless you were hiding something,” Inglewhite suggested. “Or being blackmailed.”

Walter was so shocked, he leaned back in the chair, putting some distance between himself and his cousin-in-law. “Blackmailed? What would anyone even blackmail me for?” The worst wrongdoing he could remember was the time he tried to hide a pet rat in his room at Cambridge. He’d been caught when the rat, Nicodemus, escaped and scurried down the corridor. There were certainly no grounds for blackmail there!

“No, no,” Inglewhite said soothingly. “I don’t really think you are being blackmailed. I’m just saying it’s the sort of thing that occasionally happens. Blackmail sometimes explains why a person who seems to be comfortably situated might have need of additional funds. But never mind that. Do you have any idea who did falsify the ledgers?”

“We had a few theories, but most of them have been ruled out by having a handwriting expert compare the writing in the ledger to the various suspects’ handwriting.”

“Ah.” Inglewhite steepled his fingers together and nodded. “Hence your request for Mr. Butler’s writing? He is one of the suspects?”

“One of the ones who has not yet been eliminated, yes.” Neville Butler was number one on Walter’s suspect list, but he kept that information to himself. He wasn’t sure he could easily explain why he’d grown to dislike Butler so much. How much of it was envy over the ease with which Butler conversed with young ladies?

“I don’t know that I do have anything in writing from him,” Lord Inglewhite warned. “I never met the man until he started working as Frank’s curate, you know, and I haven’t had reason to correspond with him myself. I’ll have my secretary look through my papers just in case there’s something I’ve forgotten, but I can’t promise anything.”

“I appreciate your looking all the same.” Walter felt unreasonably disappointed. He’d thought getting a piece of Butler’s writing would be easy. Well, maybe it still would be. Frank must have notes or letters in Butler’s hand.

“Speaking of Butler and charitable institutions, though...” Inglewhite left the sentence hanging, as if he expected Walter to intuit what he was hinting.

Walter had absolutely no idea where the earl was trying to take the conversation. “Yes? What about charitable organizations?”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever met Sir Henry Skelton, but he’s planning on turning one of his family properties into a hospital for sick children.”

“Oh, yes! Based on the one in France?” When Inglewhite nodded, Walter added, “I haven’t met Sir Henry, but I’ve heard a little bit about his proposal. It seems like a promising idea.” Some of the children who’d arrive at the Haworth Home in poor health might have benefited from a hospital that specialized in children’s illnesses.

Walter thought he knew what Inglewhite meant to say next, so he hurried to cut him off. “If you are looking for donors, I’m sorry to say that all of the funds from the Haworth charitable trust have already been dedicated to other projects. We just helped endow a school for freedmen in Barbados, so we’re not able to take on any new philanthropic work.”

“Oh, right, Ivy told me about that. I believe that was Mr. Robinson’s idea, wasn’t it?”

Walter nodded. Prior to the 1791 sugar boycott, Haworth a Bible and prayerbook on the nightstand next to the bed; and a small metal box that rattled when Walter shook it. It sounded like it contained only coins.

Walter scanned the room one more time, but he couldn’t see any paperwork at all. He picked up both the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer and flipped through them, thinking there might be a note stuck between pages to serve as a bookmark. Nothing! Had all Butler’s notes and records gone up in flames?

As he turned to leave, Walter thought of one last possibility. Feeling foolish in the extreme, he squatted down beside the bed and peered beneath. Success! Something blocked the light streaming in from the other side. He reached a hand through and encountered leather—a satchel or bag, perhaps.

Heart pounding, he dragged it out. Yes, it was a leather satchel, the sort sometimes carried by schoolboys. Walter opened it and began to sort through the contents. It primarily contained letters, none of which seemed to be signed with Butler’s name. Well, of course not! Naturally, the correspondence Butler kept would be letters to him from other people, not letters from him.

Walter’s heart sank as he realized that even this find looked like a dead end. He half-heartedly flipped through the letters, just in case there was a scrap of Walter’s writing somewhere.

He stopped flipping when a familiar name caught his eye. He pulled a thin piece of notepaper out so he could see it more clearly. Yes, he’d correctly read the name “Bracknell,” though he struggled to make out the surrounding words. He folded the case shut, rose to his feet, and stepped closer to the window, hoping the afternoon sunlight would make the writing more legible.

“ ...the Bracknell family is particularly vulnerable now ,” the letter said, “ in the wake of L.’s attempt to blackmail C. He still has the stolen letters and is prepared to use them if C. ever returns from America. ”

Walter would have kept reading, but the sound of a nearby door clicking shut reminded him that there were other people in the house. He couldn’t allow himself to be caught searching Butler’s things! He folded the letter up and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. Then he shoved the satchel back under the bed, doing his best to leave it exactly where he’d found it. He didn’t want to leave any signs that he’d been here.

Before he left, he glanced around the room to see if he’d left anything out of order. Was the stack of books on the nightstand crooked? He hastily straightened it, although he could not remember for sure what it looked like before he searched the books. He could only hope that any disturbance in the room would be insignificant enough to go unnoticed.

Feeling rather foolish, Walter rested an ear against the door, listening for sounds from the corridor. When he heard nothing, he slipped out the door, shut it quietly, and hurried back towards the staircase.

On the way down the staircase, he ran into Neville Butler again. Quite literally this time, as their arms bumped in passing.

“My apologies, Mr. Haworth. I did not mean to intrude on you.” Butler sketched a mocking bow.

Walter bit back the angry retort he wanted to make. This was no time to provoke Butler! He’d left Butler’s guestroom not a moment too soon. A minute later, and Walter might’ve been the one caught in wrongdoing.

He pasted a contrite smile on his face. “No need to apologize,” he replied. “I’m as much in the wrong as you are. I ought to’ve watched where I was going. I’ll keep my eyes open in the future.”

“As will I.” Butler’s lopsided smile looked more like a sneer. “I’ll watch out for you, Haworth. You can be sure of that.” He inclined his head and hurried up the stairs.

Walter stared after him. That sounded more like a threat than like a promise. What, exactly, would Butler be on the watch for? Could he have figured out that Walter was investigating him? If so, Walter’s task had just gotten even more difficult.