Page 45 of A Debt Inherited

“It will,” Roark said. “In coin if you need it, in consequence if you don’t. Both spend well enough.”

He lifted the glass, considering its contents as though it held some deeper ledger. “And, Scotsman—don’t keep bad news waiting.”

Kerr inclined his head and departed, the door closing on the cacophony behind him.

Chapter 19

Covent Garden, London, February 1811

The footman who answered Kerr’s card looked doubtful, but the name on the folded note—Roark—seemed to pass him through some invisible gate. He was shown into a room that smelt faintly of leather and lemon oil.

Viscount Hatherleigh entered without ceremony. He was perhaps forty, smooth-faced, precise, and dressed like a man who cared more for cut than colour.

“Mr Kerr,” he said. “A pleasure, though the subject is vulgar enough. You’ll forgive the absence of decanter—I prefer tea at this hour.”

Kerr inclined his head. “As you wish, my lord.”

They sat opposite. The tea was poured from a silver pot, each movement deliberate.

“I had the sense,” Hatherleigh said, “that your employer preferred fists to courtesies. I am relieved to be mistaken.”

“I was asked to remind, not compel.”

“Ah,” said Hatherleigh, smiling faintly. “A civil word for an uncivil trade. Still, I commend your method.”

Kerr said nothing.

Hatherleigh stirred his cup. “You are Scots, are you not? I hear it—somewhere beneath the polish.”

Kerr’s mouth tightened. “A long way beneath.”

“Keep it there,” said Hatherleigh. “It lends you distance.”

“My lord, I was not sent to discuss my defects.”

Hatherleigh’s smile deepened. “No. You were sent to discuss mine.”

Kerr looked up. “Mr Roark asks only that the account be settled quietly.”

“My account is not with Mr Roark,” Hatherleigh said. “It is with the table.”

“The table has no memory,” Kerr replied. “Men do.”

Hatherleigh set down his cup. For the first time, the porcelain gave a sound.

“You threaten me prettily,” he said.

“No, my lord. I remind.”

“And if I prefer not to be reminded?”

“Then the next man will come by the front door,” Kerr said, “and I shall be obliged to accompany him.”

A silence followed, civil in shape and ugly beneath it.

Hatherleigh reached into a drawer, withdrew an envelope, and set it on the table. “My account, settled. Tell your master he need not send another man.”

Kerr took it. “Thank you, my lord.”