Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

Vesey was paying a premium price for his services and although he could not like the man, his gold was certainly unobjectionable. “They have not been seen since that day in Dover, sir. My men have questioned the captains of every packet that day and none can recall either of the two women or the child. I have sent men to the various ports, questioned nearly every smuggler from here to Cornwall, but there is no trace of them. I have the account of my peoples’ expenses.” Roberts concluded, handing him the bill

“This is outrageous,” Vesey murmured his face reddening as he read the figures.

“‘Tis as we agreed. Expenses as they occur and the balance of our fee upon delivery.”

“And when can we expect that?” Vesey asked sarcastically.

Roberts shrugged. “‘Tis hard to say. She has covered her tracks amazingly well. There is even a possibility that she could still be in England.”

Vesey blanched at the thought. He was so close to the peerage. Prinny had borrowed a fortune and the hints of old debts being forgotten for future favors had firmly taken root. All the nods of patronage had been received. It was merely a matter of time, unless that female powder keg exploded before he could find her and cut her fuse. “And have you made any progress?”

“We are making inquiries, sir, but so far they have been fruitless.”

“I do not want the fact that Lady Steele is missing to be known, I told you,” Vesey said tightly. “I have put it out that she is ill and has retired temporarily to the country.”

“My agency is known for its discretion, sir,” Roberts said. “That is why many people prefer us to the more famous Bow Street Runners.”

“And a pretty penny I have paid for your skills at subtlety, but I have nothing to show for it.” Vesey laced his hands nervously. “Dammit, she could be anywhere, speaks half a dozen languages like a native.”

“She has not touched any of her assets yet,” Roberts informed him, trying to keep the admiration from his voice. “Our informants at the banks tell us that she has not attempted to draw on her funds, nor sell the Steele jewels that she took with her.”

“Do not forget the diamond brooch that I described,” John said. “You are on the lookout for that as well?”

“Her mother’s diamond brooch? Of course, sir. Though I must ask why you believe that she might sell that piece before the others.”

“Less well known,” Vesey muttered, thinking of the Steele heirlooms concealed in the back of the vault. She could not sell what she did not have, but he had to make the circumstances of Katherine’s disappearance more plausible to the investigator. “Other than the jewels, she couldn’t have had more than a few pounds when she left. If she hasn’t sold a piece, how in the devil is she managing?”

Roberts coughed delicately. “If you could tell me something more about her reasons for leaving, sir?” he inquired. “Sometimes understanding the motivation can help us determine location.”

Vesey rose and leaned forward, his palms upon the desk. “‘Tis as I told you. She has been queer in the attic since my brother-by-marriage died. Dotes on that child of hers so much that I began to fear for her sanity. One night she up and left. My poor wife is heartbroken. She was always invalidish, but this has sent her into a decline. I must find Kate and my niece, for her sake.”

Roberts nodded, not believing a word of it. Each time that Vesey had told the story there was not a word of variation, like a well-rehearsed script to a play that he himself had written. Vesey always delivered his lines looking him straight in the eye. As a rule Roberts never trusted a man who never blinked and never showed any sign of evasiveness, especially in light of a potential scandal. He had little doubt that Lady Steele had run away for some very good reason. Unfortunately, that was not his concern. “We will find her for you, sir, never fear,” Roberts said, his expression bland as porridge.

“See that you do,” Vesey said, “else you shall not see another penny of that piratical fee you charge.”

“As agreed,” Roberts said, bowing stiffly before leaving the library. A pity he thought, as the gate latched behind him with a quiet click. When ‘tis your job to play the role of beater and flush the game when your heart is with the prey.

. . .

From the servants’ hall window, Duncan could hear the muffled crow of the rooster greeting the dawn. Gold and pink glowed faintly through the mist over the peak of Beinn Airidh Charr. On the ground beside Duncan’s makeshift seat, Fred's blankets lay abandoned. He had gone to the village in the hopes of foraging some food, anything rather than face the "tiger woman" who had nearly bashed his head in.

Duncan’s own blankets lay untouched. He had spent the night with his thoughts, unable to rest. From time to time, he had seen shadows moving in the castle’s single lit window and knew that Kate too, was still awake. She had not come down to speak to him and he had dared not go up to her room. He had done too much harm already.

The events of the previous evening were vivid in his mind. Every obnoxious word he had said, the anguish in her eyes, the stark terror on the child’s face seemed to echo in his mind like scenes from an oft-seen opera. The night that he and his mother had fled this castle came to the fore of his recall. But worst by far was the memory of forcing himself upon Kate. The recollection of that kiss still haunted his every sense, filled him with a desire that was almost strong enough to make him lose every last shred of honor.

A movement in the doorway caught his attention. It was Kate, an old army