Page 32 of Gone With the Rogue
“How are the joints moving these days?”
“Difficult, to be sure, but I can still grip a quill and turn a page as quickly as any man.”
“I’ve never doubted that.” Garrett laid the bag on his desk. “I finally got around to having my trunks delivered from the ship to the inn. I brought this back for you. Try it and see if it helps. Mix a level spoon of it in a little water every morning and drink it.”
Ashfield picked up the little sack and spread it open. A damp, putrid smell permeated the air around them. He grimaced and turned his head away from the foul odor.
“I know,” Garrett offered before the man said a word. “It doesn’t smell good and it probably tastes even worse, but I’m told it will diminish the pain you have and give you more movement in your fingers. It might make the knees feel a little better, too.”
Ashfield looked doubtful. “Where did it come from?”
“India. Don’t ask me what’s in it because I don’t know. I can’t swear it will help your joints but I’d trustthe man who gave it to me with my life, and he said it would. This isn’t like laudanum. You won’t feel better in a few minutes and probably not for a few days. This works over time and you have to take it every day. I promise it’s not poisonous. It’s ground plant roots and herbs and maybe a spice or two. Try it. I brought a couple of barrels back with me. If it helps you, I’m going to see if any of the apothecaries in London are interested in selling it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stockton. A spoonful every morning. Don’t you worry, I’ll get it down.”
Garrett then pulled the stack of documents from the duke’s office out of the leather package and placed them on Mr. Ashfield’s desk. “I need you to copy each of these documents as accurately as possible.”
The secretary’s eyes widened as he began looking through the stack. “There are many pages here, sir. This will take some time, but I’ll do my best to get them done as quickly as I can.”
As Ashfield glanced through the papers, something caught Garrett’s eye. “Wait,” he said. “Let me see that one.” He reached over and pulled one of the documents from his assistant’s hand. “I don’t believe this.” Garrett stared at the name on the deed. Mr. Peter Moorshavan was listed as owner of the house on Poppinbrook. What the devil was the duke doing with papers on that house? But then pieces of the puzzle started falling into place for Garrett. Wiley had said no one knew Mr. Moorshavan before he arrived in London and no one had heard from him since the discovery that the house had been turned into a hidden brothel. Julia said the duke was using fake names to buy property and he was obviously hiring men to pose as the fake owners.
What were the odds that in trying to help Julia he’d find the man he was looking for? Or at least the name of the man. He’d believed Julia when she said the duke was an unjust man, and was controlling her life and Chatwyn’s. He wasn’t so sure he’d been convinced the duke owned secret companies, but he had no doubts now. But why would someone as wealthy as the duke engage in such practices? It didn’t make sense that he would do it just for the money. But what else could it be? And none of this matched with the fact Julia insisted the duke was a pious, straight-as-an-arrow man. Garrett didn’t know the answers, but he intended to find out. He hoped the coded ledger had the answers. And that his manager could unravel the code.
“Yes, Mr. Ashfield, this is a priority. Start with these two.” He gave the Poppinbrook and Eubury-Broadwell deeds back to Ashfield. “And keep all of these in the iron chest when you’re not working on them.”
“You can be sure I will. I’ll get right on them.”
Garrett nodded, walked over to Mr. Urswick’s door, and lifted his hand to knock, but stopped and turned back to the secretary. “After the pages are copied, see to it some paintings are put on the walls in here. Your choice, but I’d like to see some ships sailing waters.”
The man’s chest, shoulders, and chin lifted all at once and his hand squeezed around the little sack. “Yes, Mr. Stockton. I’d be most pleased to do that for you.”
Garrett then knocked on the door and waited for the response to enter. His manager was standing and bent over a very large book that rested on a pedestal. He didn’t bother to look up from his quizzing glass, but said in a muffled tone, “Put the papers on my desk, Mr. Ashfield, and I’ll get to them in a few minutes.”
Mr. Miles Urswick was the most intelligent man Garrett had ever met and an expert with numbers. His mind absorbed and held almost everything he’d ever heard or read. Strangely enough, Garrett had met the young man late one night in a gaming hall on the east side of Bond Street.
Urswick was a tall, heavyset fellow with the thickest red hair Garrett had ever seen. One of the players at the table that night hadn’t taken kindly to the husky man’s stack of winnings. He started, politely enough in the beginning, making references about Urswick looking Irish. To his credit, Urswick brushed off the oaf’s needling at first, swearing there wasn’t a drop of Irish blood in him, but after a time, proceeded to tell the discontented player where he could stuff his assumptions. That wasn’t a good idea for someone who didn’t know how to fight a man with a knife.
Before the game was over, it was clear that Urswick was better at remembering what cards had been played than he was at defending himself. Urswick was getting sliced swipe after swipe because he didn’t know how to dodge and maneuver away from his opponent.
Garrett found it difficult to watch the bear of a man getting cut up over something he didn’t start, and he certainly didn’t want Urswick getting killed. If it had been an even fight, Garrett would have stayed out of it and let the best man win. But it wasn’t, so without thinking twice, he pulled his dagger out of his boot, pushed the big guy out of his way, and took over. Once the troublemaker realized Garrett was as good with a knife as he was, he sensibly backed away, leaving his cards and his blunt on the table.
Urswick thanked Garrett for saving his life and swore off gambling for good that night. Garrett hadbeen looking for a man he could trust to manage his business in London while he traveled. He’d asked Urswick to be that man and he’d never regretted it. Urswick kept flawless account books with every shilling and pence accounted for. His records of every ship, its assignments as to cargo and points of origins and destinations were always impeccable.
“I have no papers for you today,” Garrett said, entering the room and closing the door behind him. “But I do have a ledger I want you to take a look at for me.”
“Oh, Mr. Stockton,” Urswick said, removing his spectacles and walking around to shake Garrett’s hand. “My apologies for being so inconsiderate and not looking up to greet you.”
“Am I interrupting anything important?”
“I consider everything I do for you important.” Urswick closed the book he’d been looking at. “I can finish these columns later. From the records I received from the ship after you docked and while you were away, your journey appears to have been most prosperous.”
“It was.” Garrett lifted the duke’s ledger from his satchel and handed it to his accountant. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
Mr. Urswick thumbed through the book. “Hmm. Someone has gone to great trouble and length to keep anyone from knowing what this says.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Do you think you can break the code and unravel what it says?”
The manager looked as wide-eyed as Mr. Ashfield at seeing the deeds. “I—I don’t know. The pattern could be anything.” Mr. Urswick shook his head. “I’ve never tried to do anything like this.”
