Chapter Twenty
“It’s rather imposing, not to mention huge,” said Kitty, looking around the elegant interior of the Seton-Mowbray travelling coach. “But awfully comfortable too. I can see why you suggested it for Hecate.” She turned to him and touched his hand. “Have I thanked you for that?”
“More than enough,” he smiled, turning his hand and clasping hers. “We have surprised each other, I think. Wouldn’t you say?”
She thought about that as the view from her window drifted from city streets to more open spaces. “Possibly. I didn’t know you, Max. I could say there was a predisposition to consider you remote and unapproachable.” She glanced at him. “Perhaps even stand-offish?”
“Good,” he nodded. “I carefully nurtured that image. Keeps the hoi-polloi away.”
“The what?”
“Sorry, an obscure phrase I picked up from Byron, damn him.” He shook his head. “It means, I think, those who are beneath one.”
“Ah. So you wanted to be viewed as a snob?”
“Was I?”
“Oh no,” she laughed. “You’re not tricking me into answering that question. Besides, I would agree that yes, I really didn’t know you at all. Now I have seen your concern for others, your kindness to me and your affection for your sister. Those are not the attributes of a stand-offish snob.”
“Thank you. I am unmanned by your encomium.” He fanned himself with his free hand.
“If you could manage a blush it would be more impressive,” she informed him dryly.
“Perhaps next time.” He nodded toward the window. “We’re here.”
Stepping down carefully, helped by Max since this coach was quite high off the ground, Kitty found herself in what could easily have been mistaken for a farm. There were cows in a nearby field, the sound of chickens added to the rural air, and the scent of wet grass put the finishing touches to a charming country scene.
“Goodness. Did we come that far?” She stared around. “It’s almost like being home at Ridlington.”
Max shook his head. “No, but there are far fewer carriages at this time of day heading out this way.” He took her arm. “Shall we begin our investigations?”
She nodded and together they walked toward the large barn, where the door was wide and voices could be heard calling out to each other inside. There were questions she’d like answered, and Max had his own list made out in his head.
This was the first step toward an answer, Kitty hoped. It might not help Hecate very much, but it would give the family a measure of satisfaction.
Twenty minutes later, they walked back to the coach together, rather frustrated.
“Well, that was a waste of time.” She stomped up the little steps into the interior, making the entire vehicle bounce. “Almost every question we asked, they couldn’t answer. Try Mr. Singleton, they said. They were charming, and if I’d wanted a pink carriage with cherubs on it, I dare swear they could provide it in the shortest time imaginable.” She sat with a huff, waiting for Max to join her.
“Pink?”
“But ask them if they knew of anyone trying to discredit their business, and they looked for all the world as if I’d stuck them with one of their sharp pointy things.”
Max sighed. “Without the drama, if you please. What you’re saying is we learned nothing, except that this Mr. Singleton would seem to be the man in charge.”
“Who wasn’t there. It all seems innocent enough. They seem innocent enough.” She grunted in disgust. “They weren’t even concerned when we made the suggestion about sabotage, other than to ask if they could see the spokes, and whether the springs held up.”
“Well they did seem quite worried their wheels had failed. It wasn’t until I told them they were deliberately sawn through that they breathed easier.”
“Yes,” she stormed, “it was all about the carriage to them. No concern at all about the victims of the incidents.” Her chin lifted. “I think they’re idiots.”
“They do make good vehicles, and it was interesting to learn their head designer studied alongside other carriage makers. Makes one wonder if a former classmate is at Kanehall now” mused Max, mildly. “But I have to agree. Their focus is on their work, not anyone who might be trying to disrupt it. They have a lot of orders and they’re doing quite well. Why should they worry about a failed wheel or two?”
“Because someone died, for God’s sake. And Hecate was injured. Badly injured…” Kitty bit back a sob.
The coach rocked into motion for the return journey to Mowbray House, and she reached for the leather strap to hold her steady. “I apologize for the drama.”
“No need,” answered Max. “I feel a bit like that myself. But we did elicit one useful thing…”
She sniffed. “We did?”
“Yes. The mysterious Mr. Singleton.”
“Oh. The manager, perhaps? Certainly someone in authority.”
“Or the owner. He might be both Whetstone and Frank. Where does their financial support come from? You can’t start a carriage making business on a few shillings and a dream, you know.”
She took that in and digested it. “Good point,” she said slowly.
“So asking ourselves who has the most to lose from accidents like this…” He looked at her. “I would suggest the man who controls the money.”
“And possibly reaps the rewards.”
“Exactly.” He leaned back as the ride smoothed out over London’s outskirts and paved roads. “It makes me wonder who might be in a similar position at Kanehall.”
“Businessmen, you think?”
“Possibly.”
“Max, you’re frowning.”
“I have something…a suspicion, if you will…born of the idea that it takes a lot of money to set up this kind of business.” He glanced at her. “More than the average cit could afford.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re thinking someone of high rank?”
“The more I do, the more I like the notion. The whole thing…sawing through wheels…it reeks of personal attacks. It’s the kind of vicious behavior I associate, unfortunately, with many of the Ton. A total lack of concern for others, greed perhaps, or vengeance. All good motives for the sawn wheels, and if there’s more than enough money to secure a villain to perform the deed…”
Kitty’s eyes were wide. “Goodness, you do have a low opinion of the Ton, don’t you?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Overall, yes.”
She had to wonder at that, but decided to pursue it at a later time. Max was turning out to be a mystery she would like to unravel. The more time they spent together, the more she found attractive about him, as a person. As a man, he was everything any woman could desire, but for Kitty his appeal grew not just from his masculinity, but also his honesty, his intelligence, and his willingness to treat her as someone who could think. It showed respect for people on a level she’d not experienced very much before, and it filled her with gratitude.
On an impulse, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “For what?”
She grinned. “For being you.”
*~~*~~*
Upon their return to Mowbray House, both Max and Kitty were surprised to be greeted by Deery with a somewhat concerned—for him—expression. “Welcome home, sir, Miss Ridlington,” he said as the door opened. “Company arrived while you were absent. Mrs. Chaney was in the parlor…I wasn’t quite sure what to do with him.”
Max’s pulse accelerated at the thought of his sister, so hermit-like in her choice of life, closeted with a man. “Who, Deery?” He struggled from the caped cloak.
“Sir Peregrine Hawkesbury, sir.” Deery took both Max’s and Kitty’s outer garments. “I can only hope I did right?”
Max relaxed. “You did, Deery. Thank you.” He turned to Kitty. “Come on. I’d like you to meet Perry.”
She followed him as he strode the length of the hall and opened the parlor door.
“So Max said to him…by all means, sir. Perhaps you can bring it back to life…I hear your caresses are magical.”
This was followed by a peal of laughter from Grace, the likes of which Max could barely remember hearing. “Perry. Stop telling my sister disgraceful stories.” He walked in and crossed the room shaking hands with his friend.
“Oh, Max. So funny.” Grace hiccupped. “I haven’t laughed so much in an age.”
“I told you that you should get out of the house more, my girl,” grinned Max, noting the veil was in place, but her eyes were sparkling with delight.
Kitty cleared her throat.
“Forgive me…Perry, this is Miss Kitty Ridlington. Kitty, this is my oldest friend, Sir Peregrine Hawkesbury.”
One full eyebrow rose over dark eyes that surveyed Kitty from head to foot. “So this is the scandalous Miss Ridlington.” He bowed. “May I say it is an honor to make your acquaintance?”
Kitty dropped a polite curtsey. “You may indeed, sir.” She twinkled at him. “And thank you for not fainting or immediately quitting the room at my presence. I am aware you have every right to give me the cut direct.”
“Nonsense.” Sir Peregrine glanced at Max. “I have it on the best authority that you are far above that sort of Society silliness.”
Kitty grinned. “I would guess Max is more above it than I am, but thank you all the same.”
Sitting opposite his sister on the sofa, Max crossed his legs and stared at his friend. “So, other than warming your backside at my fire and making Grace laugh, what has encouraged you to exchange your hearth for mine?”
“I was bored,” he sighed. “Thus your recent visit intrigued me.”
“Do you find yourself often bored, sir?” Grace tipped her head to one side as she asked the question.
“Sometimes, Mrs. Chaney. When the woes of our world weigh heavily on my shoulders.” His head hung with weariness.
“Bravo. Sir Peregrine Hawkesbury delivered a perfect performance last night on the boards of Drury Lane,” drawled Max, his lips curving into a grin. “I find myself beset with drama these days. Could we just have a conversation, straightforward, with no digressions into Hamlet?”
“I was going more for Lear, but I do take your point.” Perry waved a hand. “You asked about a variety of topics, Max, but the entire matter of the sabotaged spokes caught at my attention.”
Crossing the room, he picked up a neatly tied roll of papers, and held it up. “This, ladies and gentleman, is the culmination of some quite ingenious digging around.”
“Or what our government likes to call intelligence gathering?” Max’s eyebrows rose with the question.
“If you don’t mind using the words government and intelligence in the same sentence, then yes. Same thing.” He replaced the papers. “I looked into the carriage business. Quite fascinating. Barker’s, of course, is the cream of the crop, followed closely by Rowley, Marshall and Cook. Both organizations have sterling reputations, a solid background of years of carriages, and are bowling along quite nicely, if you’ll pardon the obscure pun.”
“We will,” promised Kitty, leaning forward with eager attention. “Do go on.”
“Then there are the newcomers, two companies new to the business, both of whom have designs that are not dissimilar. This might result from the fact that the men who run the actual workshops apprenticed together.”
“Aha. You’re speaking of Whetstone and Frank, and Kanehall?”
“Yes.”
“We just came from Whetstone and Frank,” said Kitty. “It seems we’re travelling the same roads on different vehicles, Sir Peregrine.” She glanced at Max. “If that makes sense.”
He nodded. “Indeed. Perry, did you happen to learn of anyone named Singleton?”
Perry gave a slight smile. “Interesting you should mention that name. I learned it is the company holding the financial resources for Whetstone and Frank.”
“So there isn’t an actual person named Singleton?”
“Not to my knowledge. I traced the company to a reputable bank with a record of well-known investors, so it all looks legitimate.”
“But we don’t know who is behind the funding then,” said Kitty thoughtfully.
“How about Kanehall?” Max looked at his friend. “Anything there?”
“Now that’s where it gets much more than just interesting.” Perry glanced around the room. “The financial setup is superficially the same as Whetstone, but this time I was able to trace the business to an actual person. Louis DuQuesne.”
“Really?” Max’s eyes widened. “Of course. DuQuesne. Kanehall. Similar pronunciation, different spelling.”
“This is a familiar name?” Grace glanced at Max and then at Perry. “Do you know this man?”
“I know the name,” said Max.
“I met him once,” added Perry. “And there’s a story there.”
“A dubious one, if he’s the DuQuesne I’m thinking of.” Max shifted in his seat.
“It is.” Perry stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. “Here goes. Many years ago, fortunes were being made—and lost—during the early Napoleonic invasions…Egypt and so on. If you knew the right investment to make at the right time? You won. Louis DuQuesne was rumored to have done just that, although his windfall came from a surprising source…the French.”
“Oh my goodness.” Kitty looked puzzled. “How on earth did that happen?”
“Well I cannot speak to the exact details, but at the time it was believed Mr. Duquesne leaned of Napoleon’s plan to take Egypt before the fleet set sail. He invested heavily in armaments. French armaments. There were agents crossing the channel all the time who could easily have accomplished that for a small fee.”
“But the British won that battle, Sir Peregrine.” Grace shook her head. “Wouldn’t that have meant a loss for DuQuesne?”
“If you put money into the production of weapons, Mrs. Chaney, what happens to them after they are installed doesn’t really matter.”
“I see.” She shrugged. “I suppose one could applaud him for taking money from our enemy…”
“One could, and he did. But there was still that taint of association with the French. It lingered. He never really found his way into Society, although he probably could have bought St. James’s and had guineas left over for a nice little country estate. He lurked on the fringes of both Society and some of the less pleasant parts of London. His reputation was not one of gentlemanly affection for his fellow man. Rumor has it he shot a rival to prevent him from purchasing a certain piece of land.”
“Oh dear,” said Grace. “Not a nice man, by the sound of things.”
“Reputation notwithstanding,” Kitty squared her shoulders. “We should speak with him.”
“Sadly, that is impossible,” said Perry. “He died three years ago.”
“So who is behind Kanehall Carriages now? Who took over from DuQuesne upon his death?” Max stared at Perry.
“A certain Mr. Dancey Miller-James.”