Page 49 of A Debt Inherited

“There are many gentlemen in Derbyshire.”

“Not with Pemberley beneath his feet.”

Kerr did not react. That was Wickham’s first error. He had given the estate name too much care. Kerr gave it none at all.

“Ten thousand a year makes this gentleman singular, even in Derbyshire.”

“And this gentleman owes you?”

“Owes me?” Wickham laughed softly. “Let us say he has had more than his share of fortune, and I have had less than mine.”

He reached for his gloves. “Tell Roark my circumstances are improving.”

“Roark prefers coin.”

Wickham drew on his gloves, one finger at a time. “Give me the month, Mr Kerr. You may find patience the better investment.”

“I shall give Roark your words.”

Wickham bowed slightly. “Then I shall make them profitable.”

Chapter 20

Morning had found its way into the Forge, thin and reluctant. Smoke still hung beneath the beams, dulled to a grey haze. The night’s gin sourness lingered in the air, mingling with ink and cold iron. A clerk at the bar scratched figures into a ledger while two men slept against the wall, their cards still between their fingers.

Roark sat where he always did—back to the brickwork, one hand resting on a folded sheaf of notes. He looked up as Kerr entered.

“You’ve made your rounds,” Roark said. “All paid but two, unless my book lies.”

Kerr set his hat on the table. “One settled last night. The other—” He paused. “The other is promised shortly.”

Roark’s good eye narrowed. “Wickham.”

Kerr inclined his head.

Roark poured a measure of gin, slid it across the table. “He pay you in air, or only in talk?”

Kerr hesitated. “In promise.”

Roark smiled without humour. “A man who owes me seldom trades in anything else.”

Kerr met his gaze. “He has expectations, sir. Better than most who find your door. There’s money behind him—real money. If he lies, he lies high. That may be worth a little patience.”

Roark said nothing for a moment. The light from the high window caught the cloud in his blind eye, the sharp gleam in the other.

“Patience,” he said.

“For a month.”

“And if the month buys nothing?”

Kerr looked at the ledger. Wickham’s name occupied no more space than the others, yet promised more trouble.

“Then I was wrong.”

Roark leant back, studying him. “That is not payment.”

“No.”