Page 118 of Notorious

“It is our money, Gabriel. And Samir is our son. How can you think I would ever want anything else?”

His face flushed darkly. “While I appreciate your sentiment, he is either my estranged brother’s son or my bastard child by a former lover, Drusilla. How can I expect you to pay?”

“First,” she said, yanking the paper from his hands and crumpling it in a ball, “I never want to hear that word spoken out loud again. Second, we are family. Do you think I would give tens of thousands of pounds to help strangers yet begrudge money to save our son—no matter who his mother was?”

She could tell he was angry—at her, at himself, at Rowland? Probably all three.

He closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, dropping his head into his hand. “I should have known he was up to something like this—he and Visel were—” He stopped, shook his head, and snapped his fingers. “Visel!” He was halfway to the door before she realized what he was doing.

“Gabriel—wait. You’re going to see him now? It is four o’clock in the morning.”

He yanked open the door and said over his shoulder. “Don’t you know, Drusilla? Nighttime is the best time to hunt rats.”

* * *

Drusilla had hoped Gabriel would be home when her man of business came to see her at eight o’clock sharp, but—as it turned out—she was very glad he wasn’t.

“Hello, Mr. Jenkins, thank you for coming so quickly.” Of her three trustees, she had always liked Mr. Jenkins the best. He wasn’t warm or affectionate, but he was always forthright and treated her as a thinking being. She’d decided to keep him as her personal man of business after she had married. Her plans for expanding her charitable endeavors were not yet fully developed, but when they were, she would need help implementing them.

“Would you like tea?” she asked once he’d settled in the chair across from her. She had decided to meet him in the library, by far the most comfortable room in the house.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Marlington. I had some before I left.” He opened the large black leather satchel he’d brought with him. “If you hadn’t summoned me today, I was going to ask for a meeting with you.”

Oh dear. This did not sound good. “And why is that, Mr. Jenkins?”

His mouth settled into a grim frown. “I’m afraid I received some rather disturbing news late yesterday.”

She could have told him it was going around. “Nothing wrong with Mrs. Jenkins, I hope?”

“No, no, nothing of that sort.” He cleared his throat and then opened one of the ledgers he’d brought. He was acting almost. . . nervous. “I received word from my man up in Leeds. He went to look at the house you purchased for the women’s home.”

Drusilla had a bad feeling developing in her already churning stomach. “What did he find?”

“There was no such house. The address doesn’t exist.”

She could not speak.

“After he found that, he hastened to Manchester, and then he went to Birmingham.”

“He found the same thing.” Her voice was the husk of a whisper.

“Yes. In all three situations false papers had been prepared—right down to the architectural plans. It appears Mr. Rowland employed a competent forger.” He closed the folder. “I hope you won’t take it amiss, but I had a Runner look into Mr. Rowland even before I sent my man up North.”

“He is in debt—gambling debts.”

Jenkins raised his eyebrows.

“I found out last night,” she explained. “In fact, Rowland and his activities are the reason I asked you here today.”

Jenkins looked perplexed. Drusilla stood and went to the bellpull.

“You might not need tea, Mr. Jenkins, but I certainly do.”

* * *

The valet’s face had turned an alarming shade of red.

Byer’s hand landed on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Perhaps you might loosen up on him a bit, Gabe. I believe he’s trying to tell you something.”