The Laird of Blackloch (Highland Rogue #2)

Chapter 14

The Office of Mr. Charles Swindon, Solicitor

Newcastle, Northumberland, England

February 19, 1757

“ S omething’s not right, Mr. Swindon,” said Judith Lambert, trying but failing to keep the note of panic from her voice. “Something has happened to Sarah. Do not tell me it has not, because I know it.”

Charles Swindon eyed her over the top of his brass-rimmed eyeglasses with a look that could only be described as skeptical. Curses. Judith didn’t want to come across as an anxious, bird-witted woman, but it seemed that she had.

“Surely not, Miss Lambert,” the elderly solicitor said in a voice as dusty as the ledgers and leather-bound tomes on the shelves behind him. He put down his quill, pushed the papers he was working on to one side, and folded his gnarled hands together on the leather blotter. “From what you’ve told me, the letter Sarah wrote more or less stated that she’s only suffering from the usual nerves that plague most young women before they wed. If Lord Tay is not concerned?—”

“If Lord Tay is behind Sarah’s disappearance—and I suspect he is—then of course he’s not going to show any concern,” rejoined Judith in a firmer tone. “I’m completely certain that letter he showed me is a forgery.”

Beneath his gray periwig, Mr. Swindon’s grizzled brows plunged into a deep frown. “You really are that sure, Miss Lambert?”

“Yes, I am,” asserted Judith with a decided nod. “I suspect Lord Tay’s vixen of a sister, Lady Glenleven, forged Sarah’s handwriting.”

“How so? Why not Lord Tay or someone he hired for such a task?”

“Because,” said Judith firmly, “I once overheard Lady Glenleven bragging about how clever she was at that sort of thing at a soiree we all attended. How she often forged her late husband’s signature on bank notes when he refused to foot her bills. As though it was all some sort of high-spirited lark, not out-and-out theft.” She gave a disapproving sniff. “Not only that, but I noticed the woman poking about Sarah’s bedchamber the day before I left Tay House. She claimed she was looking for a jeweled comb that Sarah supposedly borrowed, but I didn’t believe her for a minute. She was probably trying to pilfer something of value.”

Judith, who was presently perched upon an Adams-style wooden chair in front of the solicitor’s wide mahogany desk, sat up even straighter as her decidedness increased. “And furthermore, when I announced I was leaving to check if Sarah was at Linden Hall, Lord Tay suggested I leave all of Sarah’s things behind in case she returned in my absence. But because I don’t think she will, and I don’t trust Lord Tay or his sister, I took Sarah’s jewelry box in case they try to sell its contents. Unfortunately, the earl has Sarah’s pearl and sapphire parure secreted somewhere, so I’m especially worried about that. I also took Sarah’s private papers. I didn’t think it wise to leave any of her personal stationery or blank bank notes lying about. Not when Lady Glenleven might try to forge her handwriting again.”

Mr. Swindon’s eyebrows shot up into his wig. “You—you think Lord Tay would try to pawn Sarah’s jewels and withdraw her money? Why would he do that? After all, her fortune will be his in only a matter of weeks.” The solicitor shook his head and his jowls quivered. “This makes no sense, Miss Lambert.”

Judith raised a brow. “It does make sense if Lord Tay is on the verge of ruin. Which I think he is.”

“Surely not!”

“I know a run-down household when I see one, Mr. Swindon,” said Judith. “Lord Tay’s Edinburgh residence is woefully understaffed. The furnishings are shabby. At first I thought he’d let things go so Sarah could refurbish the townhouse to her liking once they were married. Some men are considerate like that. But as the weeks passed, I began to suspect the earl might be short of funds.”

Mr. Swindon’s brow furrowed in thought. “But Edwin had me investigate Lord Tay’s financial situation last year when he suspected the earl might propose to Sarah. He’d sold off some of his unentailed land in recent years, but as the Taymoor Castle estate is huge, it hardly mattered. Nothing else untoward turned up.”

“But how deep did you really dig?” asked Judith.

Mr. Swindon’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “From what you’ve told me, clearly not deep enough.”

“And then there are other things that don’t sit well with me.” Even though the solicitor had not dismissed her cares out of hand, Judith couldn’t stop herself from wringing her hands as she added, “Lord Tay drinks far too much and has quite a temper. And his sister, Lady Glenleven… Well, I recently saw fresh bruises on her chin—as though she’d been grabbed— after I’d overheard harsh words being spoken between the pair. I didn’t want to upset Sarah by saying anything, but now I honestly wish I had.”

“Right then,” said Mr. Swindon, his eyes clouded with concern, “I shall write straightaway to Campbell & Coutts in London to look out for any suspicious attempts to withdraw any of Sarah’s money. Would that help, do you think?”

Judith’s nod was adamant. “Yes. Yes it would.”

“Have you been back to Linden Hall, by the way? Have you spoken with any of Sarah’s friends?”

“Yes I have. On both counts. She is not anywhere to be found. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air.” Tears misted Judith’s vision. “I’m sorry to get so emotional, Mr. Swindon, but Sarah is so very dear to me. I love her like a daughter. If anything terrible has happened...” She couldn’t go on. More than that, she would not voice her worst fear of all.

That her kind, sweet, beautiful niece might have been killed…

As Judith rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief, Swindon steepled his fingers beneath his ample chin. “Would it also ease your mind if I hired an inquiry agent, Miss Lambert? To look into Sarah’s whereabouts? Someone must have seen her leave the ball at Kenmuir House. The agent can also look into Lord Tay’s affairs. Ordinarily I wouldn’t offer to take such action, but you’ve convinced me that something very odd indeed is going on. I’m sure if Edwin were still alive, he’d concur.”

Judith dabbed her eyes. “Thank you, Charles,” she murmured thickly. “And I know Sarah—wherever she is—would thank you too.”

Tay House, Edinburgh

“What have you unearthed so far, Mr. MacNab?” Malcolm drummed his fingers upon the gray marble mantelpiece in the library of Tay House, then swore beneath his breath when he noticed his claret-hued brocade sleeve was covered in dust.

The rusty-haired inquiry agent cleared his throat as he withdrew several sheets of parchment from a battered leather satchel, then crossed the threadbare Turkish hearthrug to hand them to Malcolm. “Milord, as ye suggested, I began my inquiries at Kenmuir House. Withoot too much trouble, I managed to procure the Saint Valentine’s Day ball guest list from the housekeeper.”

“Excellent, MacNab.” With a mounting sense of excitement, Malcolm ran his eyes over the extensive list. Even though more than two hundred guests had been in attendance that night, his gut told him his nemesis Janus must have been one of them.

Many of the names were indeed familiar, but only one leapt out at him .

Mr. Alexander Price, Esquire.

Price, by all accounts, was a filthy rich dog of dubious origin who’d not only purchased the estate that bordered Malcom’s in Perthshire—the forfeited Rannoch estate—but over the last five years, he’d also snapped up huge parcels of Malcolm’s own unentailed land. Land he’d been forced to put on the market to cover some of his mounting debts. By now, the bastard probably owned half of bloody Perthshire.

Malcolm had never met Price in person, but from what he’d heard, he was ruthless when it came to business. Amongst other enterprises, he apparently owned a logging company, mills, and a highly successful mercantile and insurance company that operated out of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Liverpool, and London. Rumor also had it that he was having Blackloch Castle on the shores of Loch Rannoch rebuilt. Malcolm smirked. The common upstart probably fancied himself as the next laird.

However, considering Price had more money than Croesus, it didn’t seem likely that he’d bother kidnapping an heiress in exchange for a ransom.

No, Malcolm was looking for someone as desperate as himself. There had to be another name on this list that fit the bill. One thing was clear: he needed more information.

MacNab cleared his throat again. “I dinna ken if ye’ve noticed it yet, milord, but the young woman you had a liaison with, Nell ye said, she isna on the guest list. Of course, another guest may have escorted her in without an invitation...”

“Yes...” Malcolm frowned. Nell . He’d never come across her at any Society events before. And it wasn’t likely that he’d forget a woman with such bountiful tits. The fact that she’d been more than eager to fuck him in every way imaginable after only a chance encounter now seemed rather odd. She’d been up for anything... Just like a whore...

The more Malcolm thought about it, the more the timing of his encounter with Nell bothered him. Whilst he’d been occupied, Sarah had disappeared. Of course, Sarah simply could have run off if she’d seen him with Nell and had then, unwittingly, met with misadventure. But he didn’t think it likely. No, Janus had clearly planned Sarah’s kidnapping meticulously—and perhaps Nell had been part of that plan. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of the possibility earlier.

“MacNab, I want you to start scouring the brothels for pretty, fair-haired whores with big tits,” he said. “The woman in question may have used a false name as well.”

“Aye, milord. However, I should say that might take me a wee bit of time.”

Malcolm thumped his fist on the mantelpiece. “For Christ’s sake, MacNab, I’m not asking you to sample the wares.”

MacNab winced but held his ground. “I’m sorry, milord,” he said with an obstinate lift of his chin, “but I’m sure there’s many a buxom blond whore in Edinburgh. Perhaps ye could give me a wee bit more information to go on...?”

Malcolm sighed and wished to God he had a glass of whisky at hand. “The woman I met with was slender, of middling height, with good teeth. Her hair was her own and blond, not dyed. Paps as red as raspberries too and her mound was bare. I don’t think she was more than five-and-twenty.”

“Aye, milord. That should narrow the search down.” MacNab shuffled his feet. “Ye’ve paid me handsomely, milord. However, I’m afraid I will need extra funds. To loosen the tongues of the brothel owners, ye ken.”

Fucking hell. Malcolm gritted his teeth. The man was right. He ordered the inquiry agent to wait before he went through the interconnecting door to his private study. After unlocking the compartment secreted behind a false section of the bookcase, he withdrew one of his few remaining bags of gold coins and measured out a half-dozen guineas. Sarah’s sapphire and pearl parure had netted him a decent amount, but he had nowhere near as much money as he’d hoped. Her bloody bitch of an aunt had absconded with all of Sarah’s private papers and the rest of her jewelry, even though he’d ordered her not to. Judith Lambert was clearly suspicious of him, but that was a problem he’d deal with another day.

At least Damaris had delivered. The diamond and ruby bracelet Lord Arbelour had lavished upon her winked at Malcolm from a dark corner of the compartment. He’d get his man of business to pawn it tomorrow. But he still wouldn’t have anywhere near the ten thousand pounds he needed to secure Sarah’s release.

And time was running out.

“I want another report first thing tomorrow morning,” Malcolm growled on his return to the library as he handed the guineas over to MacNab. It wouldn’t be long before Janus sent him another letter of demand providing further instructions on where and when the ransom was to be paid. But if MacNab found out something useful about the blond whore...

His cock began to swell at the thought of questioning the bitch before he used her again. Roughly. “Or as soon as you have any news about Nell.”