CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Daniel wasted no time but set off early the following morning for London. He took the curricle and froze, even with a heavy driving coat, scarf and leather gloves. After ten years in India, he felt the cold more than the resident English, and by the time he reached the Pulteney he was chilled to his very marrow. At the hotel he called for a hot bath and soaked for as long as the water remained warm. He got out reluctantly, dressed, and sat down to write a letter to his brother, hoping to God that Matthew was still in town.
By the time Matthew knocked on Daniel’s sitting room door, it was close to dinnertime. “It took my sister’s footman awhile to find me,” Matthew apologized, as he came into the room and took off his leather gloves.
Daniel looked at his brother’s perfectly fitted coat and pale pantaloons. “Aren’t you freezing in those clothes?”
Matthew brushed off his concern. “It’s not that cold and I had the coach. I thought you were in Yorkshire. Is something the matter? Your note sounded urgent.”
“It is rather urgent, actually, and I need to discuss it with you. I hope I didn’t take you away from something important.”
“Not at all. What do you want to speak to me about, Daniel?”
A knock sounded and a hotel servant came in bearing a tray with a brandy bottle and two glasses. There was also a plate of beef sandwiches.
“I told them to bring something up when they saw you arrive,” Daniel said, waving his brother to a seat. He poured brandy into a glass and handed it to Matthew. Then he poured one for himself and sat where he could see Matthew’s face. Both men drank some brandy.
As he lowered his glass, Matthew said, “So what brought you back to London in such a hurry?”
Daniel said calmly, “Someone tried to kill me.”
Matthew swore softly. “Tell me.”
In the same calm voice, Daniel related the entire incident involving Michael Harmon.
Matthew went pale as he listened to Daniel’s story. When Daniel had finished he asked, “And this Harmon was certain the order came from London?”
“That is what he said. My guess is that when Grissom learned I had returned home, he contacted someone he knows in Yorkshire. That would be this Tim Williams fellow. According to Harmon, Williams lives in Leeds now, but he’s originally from London. Harmon says he always has money.”
Matthew said in a hollow voice, “You think my father is behind this.”
“You’re the one who warned me about him,” Daniel pointed out. “At first I thought the Manchester mill owners might have hired someone. But the more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed. The mill owners hate me enough to have me killed – I have no doubt about that - but I can’t see them knowing about Grissom and how to contact him. If they wanted me dead they would have hired someone local. Manchester has its share of cutthroats who’d do just about anything for a few quid.” He paused, then added, “And there’s another thing. The mill owners would never have paid as much as twenty pounds.”
A silence fell between them. Daniel sat quietly, watching his brother’s down looking face. He understood it was one thing to suspect one’s father of murder, but quite another to have that suspicion confirmed. Daniel could only hope that Matthew wasn’t going to walk away.
Finally, in an almost inaudible voice, Matthew said, “My father could easily have found out who to contact about a murder for hire. He sits on a Parliament committee that deals with crime in the city.”
His face was white and drawn.
Daniel felt sorry for him and said sincerely, “I’m sorry to drag you into this sordid affair, Matthew, but I need your advice. Frankly, I don’t know what to do. I can’t denounce the earl; I have no proof. But I’m afraid he is going to continue this campaign until he succeeds and I am good and truly dead.”
Matthew poured himself a full glass of brandy and took a healthy swallow. A little color returned to his face with the drink. He said in a more normal voice, “You don’t have any ideas at all?”
“I did have one, but I promised my wife I wouldn’t shoot him.” Daniel too had poured himself more brandy and now he took a healthy swallow.
Matthew raised a single black eyebrow, a gesture so like Daniel’s that it proclaimed their blood tie more clearly than a birth certificate. He said, “Your wife is right. Shooting him would only cause more trouble for you. What we need is to find something to threaten him with - other than reporting him to the authorities. I do not want to stand up in a court of law to testify against my father.”
“I understand.”
They sat in more silence, Matthew deep in thought, Daniel watching him and waiting. At last Matthew said slowly, “I think I may have an idea.”
Daniel set his glass down on the table in front of him and leaned forward. “What is it?”
Identical blue eyes met and held. “My father breeds and races thoroughbred horses,” Matthew said.
“Yes.” Daniel couldn’t see what this had to do with his problem, but he held his tongue.
“Let me re-phrase. He lives to breed and race thoroughbred horses. He despises me because I’m not the horseman he is.” Matthew smiled wryly. “Ironically, you would have been the perfect son for him, Daniel. You’re everything he wanted me to be.”
Daniel said soberly, “Your father did me a huge favor by rejecting me. I ended up with a much better father than he ever could have been.”
“I believe it,” Matthew replied. He rolled his glass between his hands, looking at it intently. Daniel was quiet. Finally, Matthew said softly, “I think it might work.”
Daniel leaned forward. “What’s your idea?”
Matthew told him.
When he finished, the two men looked at each other, evaluating the other’s reaction. Daniel said, “It might work, but first you’d have to get the cooperation of the Jockey Club. Do you know any of the stewards?”
“We don’t need all of the stewards, all we need is Sir Charles Bunbury. None of the other stewards would question his authority. And my father is hardly the most popular man among them.”
“Preston’s a steward?” Daniel looked alarmed.
“He’s a steward because his horses and stable are so successful that it became impossible not to vote him in.” Matthew smiled wryly. “My papa has very few friends, Daniel. Dr. Johnson would call him an ‘unclubbable man.’”
Daniel, whose education had not included the work of the redoubtable Samuel Johnson, did not reply.
Matthew continued, “The racing season is over for the winter, but Sir Charles is a member of Brooks. I know because I’ve seen him there. Let me find out if he’s in town. If he is, I’ll talk to him straight away. If he’s at his country house, we’ll have to drive to wherever it might be.”
He stood up and Daniel followed. “Thank you, Matthew,” he said. “If I can ever do anything for you…”
Matthew lifted a hand. “We don’t know if Bunbury will cooperate yet. I’ll see if I can find him at Brooks and let you know what happens.”
# # #
Fortune shone upon Matthew as he caught Sir Charles Bunbury donning his hat at Brooks’ front door. When Matthew begged a few moments of private conversation, the baronet consulted his watch and decided he could spare fifteen minutes. He and Matthew repaired to one of the small, unoccupied sitting rooms on the first floor.
The Head Steward sat in one of the big comfortable wing chairs Brooks provided for its members and looked inquiringly at Matthew, who had taken the identical chair beside him.
“Thank you for your time,” Matthew began. “This is not a conversation I enjoy having, but the situation is nothing short of dire.”
The older man raised his bushy eyebrows but said nothing.
“It’s about my father,” Matthew began, and began to explain to Sir Charles the earl’s vicious hatred of his bastard son.
“We’ve all heard him on the subject of Mr. Dereham,” Sir Charles said when Matthew paused. “I agree he’s quite irrational on the topic. But I don’t see what I…”
“There’s more,” Matthew said grimly, and proceeded to inform the other man about the two attacks on Daniel’s life and why he believed Lord Preston had instigated them.
Sir Charles was looking appalled. “But - are you certain about this, Longford? I’m sure the Manchester mill owners would like to see Dereham dead. They well might be the ones behind these attacks.”
“We don’t think they are,” said Matthew, and he proceeded to detail the reasons why he and Daniel did not think it was the Manchester mill owners. He ended with the news that the earl sat on a committee responsible for investigating crime in London. “He had every opportunity to know how to contact one of London’s major criminals. The Manchester mill owners, on the other hand, certainly did not.”
Sir Charles thought for a long moment, during which time Matthew ceased to breathe, then the Chief Steward said explosively, “This can’t go public! London has tens of thousands of half-starved unemployed men just looking for an excuse to riot. If those rabble rousers Hunt and Cobbett find out that an earl has commissioned the murder of a man who is known to be a friend of the mill workers, God knows what might happen!”
Matthew, who hadn’t given any thought to the social implications of Daniel’s situation, was quick to agree. “Just so, sir. The results could be cataclysmic.”
Sir Charles stood and began pacing up and down the room. Finally, he stopped before Matthew to say, “Dereham is his son for God’s sake. What’s the matter with the man?”
“Pride, Sir Charles. Overweening pride in his bloodline. It’s become an obsession with him.”
Sir Charles’ gray eyes raked Matthew. “Why have you come to me about this, Longford? I carry no weight in the parliament. What do you expect I can do?”
Matthew spoke with urgency, “The only thing that can stop my father from this insane campaign is to threaten him with the loss of something he prizes more than anything else in the world. That is why I have come to you.”
The bushy eyebrows lifted slowly as Sir Charles understood. “Ah. You want me to threaten him with losing his position as a steward of the Jockey Club? He would hate that, I agree, but I don’t think it will …”
Matthew leaned forward, shaking his head. “No. What I want, Sir Charles, is for you to tell him that if anything happens to Daniel Dereham, he will be barred for life from racing his horses on English tracks.”
Sir Charles let out a long breath. He sat down and turned to Matthew, “I’m sorry, but the Jockey Club hasn’t the power to do such a thing, Longford.”
Matthew’s mouth set in a grim line. “Then tell him that if anything happens to Daniel, no gentleman will start his horse against him ever again. That is within your power I believe, and it would be just as effective.”
Sir Charles’ eyes narrowed. “No gentleman will start…mmmm…” He nodded slowly. “Very clever, Longford. Very clever. Yes, I think I might be able to do that.”
“Would you need the support of the other stewards?
“Not if Preston agrees to stop the attacks against Dereham. If he does that, no one else need know. If he doesn’t agree, then I will have to take it up with the other stewards.”
“Do you think they would agree?” Matthew asked nervously.
“I doubt the issue will arise. Your father will not chance losing his ability to race in England.”
“I didn’t think he would.”
“You know him well. He’s a brilliant horseman. It’s a shame he’s such a repulsive human being.”
Matthew sighed. “Yes, it is.” He gathered himself and asked, “When will you speak to him?”
“I’ll send a note that I wish to meet with him on a Jockey Club matter.” Sir Charles stood once more. “I will inform you of the outcome, Longford. Where can I reach you?”
“A letter to the geological society will reach me, Sir Charles.”
“Very well.” Sir Charles smoothed his coat. “I must be off.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Hmm,” said Sir Charles and left the room, neglecting to shake Matthew’s hand.