Chapter 22
Rian dismissed the carriage, needing the bracing bite of cold air to clear the stench of female anger clinging to him. Striding along the paved streets he wondered how his relationship with Isabel had deteriorated to such a point. How had he not seen what she was really like? At Oakhaven he had been so emotionally distraught, he’d simply accepted her concern, sensitivity, and even her empathy at face value. He shook his head. It was all a sham. A façade that only proved how little he really knew her. The only thing he could be certain of now was that Isabel’s rage was something he needed to be careful of. As Liam had pointed out, she was a woman who didn’t like to lose at anything. A troubled frown creased his brow. He would have to make sure Catherine was kept safe. Whether she would accept his help or treat it as interference mattered not. He would keep her safe.
Stuart Collins was warming himself in front of a cheerful fire when Rian entered the room. Shaking his hand the young man looked at him curiously, noting the chill of his grip, and the fact Rian was without hat, scarf, or gloves. The weather had not yet warmed sufficiently to be walking with only a topcoat to ward off the elements.
“You have news for me?” Rian asked, offering Stuart a seat, and trying not to sound overly excited.
“Yes sir, I do.” He handed Rian the thick sheaf of papers he had brought with him. “My report is quite detailed, and I would be more than happy to let you read it at your leisure.”
“Are you engaged elsewhere this afternoon?”
Stuart shook his head. “No. I am quite at your disposal.”
“Then would you mind staying while I read? I may have some questions.”
“Of course.”
Gesturing to the decanter and glasses, Rian said, “Please help yourself.” Stuart’s refusal, stating he did not drink alcohol whilst working, only enhanced Rian’s respect for him. He rang for coffee.
For the next twenty minutes the only sounds to be heard came from wood crackling in the fireplace, and the crisp rustle of parchment as Rian turned the pages of the report. He read it through once and then read it again to make sure he had not missed anything. Catherine’s life lay before him, carefully documented in the investigator’s neat hand. Rian now knew everything about her from her birth, to the loss of each parent, and the circumstances that had resulted in her fall into poverty. A part of him had hoped that Isabel’s words had been nothing more than spiteful ranting, but whoever her informer was, he had not been wrong about the gambling and the whores. The fortune that ought to have been Catherine’s had been lost.
And it changed nothing for him.
“You have been most thorough, Mr. Collins,” Rian told him.
“Thank you, sir. My task was made easier with the provision of the young lady’s family name, and you pointed me northwards, which proved to be the right direction.”
“The credit for that we owe to my sister-in-law, an extremely clever woman,” Rian observed. Stuart nodded respectfully.
“I do have one question for you, Mr. Collins. I see nothing in your report that would explain what brought Miss Davenport here. I understand the reason she had to leave her home, but why come so far south? The woman I have observed would, I believe, have chosen to remain close to surroundings she was familiar with. Can you offer any insight?”
“That is something that would require additional investigation, I believe.” He hesitated before saying, “I was unsure how much more you might want to know.”
“You think to uncover information that will be distasteful?”
Stuart gave Rian an appraising look. “Sometimes perceptions can change, especially when secrets are revealed.”
“So you believe there are secrets to find?”
Stuart gave him a wry smile. “Mr. Connor, there are always secrets. The flow of information regarding Miss Davenport comes to an abrupt end after her father’s death. In my experience this tells me that whatever else took place—and mark my words, something did—it is neither common knowledge, nor is it obtainable through normal channels of inquiry.”
“Ah.” Rian brushed his forefinger across his mouth in thoughtful contemplation.
“Is there any record of her being married?” he asked. Even though he did not believe Catherine had ever been wed, it would be foolish to overlook the obvious. “Or betrothed, perhaps?”
“Either is possible,” Stuart admitted with some reluctance, “but if she is married, I can find no record of it. Of course the possibility of a clandestine union cannot be discounted, but the validity of such a joining would have to be examined. I cannot find her name recorded in any local parish for such an event although, to be frank, I have not checked every church as yet.” Stuart paused and looked at Rian. “But I promise I will.”
“If she was betrothed, it could be that she found the match not to her liking,” Rian observed. “With her father dead, she might have decided to take her chances by striking out on her own.”
“An ill-advised recourse.”
“No doubt,” Rian agreed, “but who would there be to offer advice?”
“Who indeed?” Stuart mused.
“What if her betrothed was already in London?”
“No,” Stuart said, folding his hands together. “I do not think that is the case. Miss Davenport was either sent here, or came of her own choosing, for reasons unknown. But not, I believe, because of matrimony.”
“You seem very sure.”
He shrugged and looked slightly apologetic. “A feeling, Mr. Connor, nothing more.”
“And do such feelings ever prove to be false?”
Stuart’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Hardly ever.”
“So, in order to find out what brought Miss Davenport here, more information is needed.” Stuart nodded. “Information that cannot be discerned via your normal methods.” Rian got up and poured himself a brandy, and decided not to ask the clever young man how he intended to circumvent normal methods. “A task requiring both a personal touch and a journey north perhaps?”
“Only if you want to be absolutely certain.”
“And are you willing to undertake such a journey?”
The young man sitting in the chair seemed to ponder the question. He looked thoughtfully at Rian, who became puzzled by his hesitation.
“If it’s a matter of your fee—” Rian began, but Stuart cut him off with a shake of his head.
“No, you have been more than generous already.”
“But I am sensing a certain reluctance. Why?”
“I will make the journey if that is your wish,” Stuart explained, not in the least embarrassed at being asked to explain himself. “But I believe my time would be better spent here.”
“You have doubts regarding the success of such a venture?” Rian inquired with some measure of surprise.
The other man made a negative motion with his head. “No, not at all. I am confident such an undertaking would prove to be most useful.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “But I was thinking perhaps there might be someone better suited for this task.”
“Better suited? Whom?”
“Why…yourself.”
Rian was not surprised by the suggestion, and in truth he had considered making the journey. Considered and rejected the idea. “Ah, but I lack your expertise, Mr. Collins.”
“You know how to listen, don’t you?”
“Not according to my brother.” Stuart gave him a quizzical look that Rian brushed off with a wave of his hand. “I’m curious to know why you think I should do this myself.”
“Forgive me for being forward, but your interest is personal, and your knowledge of the young lady is singular. A knowledge I lack. It would give you the advantage of recognizing if a falsehood was being uttered or something being withheld.”
There was a moment of silence as Rian digested his words before he tossed back the contents of his glass, his decision made. “And how is it you think your time here could be better spent?”
“As I said, I have not yet checked all the church records.” Stuart Collins hesitated a moment before adding softly, “I can furnish you with a starting point, if you so wish.”
Rian smiled at him. “That would be most helpful.”