A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

After dinner last night, he’d warned Percy that he would have to go to London for a few weeks; they’d agreed that, in the few days before he left, he would introduce Percy to the locals and show him around the estate, enough to be able to hand Percy and his induction into the vagaries of estate management into Griggs’s able hands. Griggs might be old, but he knew all there was to know about estate management.

“So.” Percy pushed away his empty plate and eyed Jack hopefully. “Where do we start?”

Jack chewed and considered. Reaching for his coffee cup, he took a long swallow. “There are some nonestate matters I need to get organized first, but you can help with those.”

Percy’s eagerness didn’t dim. Jack had realized his young relative was the sort who preferred any activity to none; Clarice should approve.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Young Anthony upstairs.” He’d introduced the two yesterday evening. They were of an age; Percy had commiserated with Anthony over being confined to bed and had offered to play chess through the evening. Looking in on his way to the folly, Jack had found them both engrossed. “I want a list of his relatives likely to be in London, or within half a day’s reach, how each is connected to James, and those most likely to lend James their aid. In addition, names and directions of any others Anthony thinks might be of use.”

Percy nodded; he’d heard the gist of the problem facing James. “Anything else?”

It struck Jack that it was a pleasant change to have someone simply accept and not argue. “No, that’s it.” He pushed back his

chair. “I have a letter to write, then I’m going to the rectory to get James started on another list. I’ll be back before luncheon.” He joined Percy; side by side they walked out into the hall. “If you have time before I get back, try to memorize the layout of the fields and cottages to the east. I’ll take you out that way this afternoon, introduce you to the tenants, let you get a feel for the lie of the land that way.”

“Umm…” Percy looked at him with wide eyes.

Jack grinned. “You can take the gig. There are lanes we can follow.”

Percy didn’t try to hide his relief. “Good.” He glanced up the stairs. “I’ll go and beard Anthony.”

Jack parted from him with a nod. He went to the library, sat at his desk, and dashed off a letter to the one man he’d expected never to need to write to again. Sealing the letter, he went looking for Howlett; leaving the missive with him for urgent dispatch to London, he looked in on Griggs, checked there was no urgent business awaiting his attention, talked over Griggs’s opinion of Percy—surprisingly positive; it seemed Percy had a head for figures—then he headed down the drive and cut through the hedge, taking the shortest route to the rectory.

There was no warrior-queen at the washing line today. With a grin at the thought, Jack climbed the steps to the rectory porch, circled around to the side door, and so through the hall to James’s study. He knocked, heard James call, as always distractedly, “Come.”

Opening the door, Jack went in, to find a harassed-looking James seated behind his desk with Clarice standing over him.

Her arms were folded—rarely, he was coming to learn, a good sign. He resisted the urge to check if her toe was tapping.

He smiled, charmingly. “Good morning.” He made the greeting general. Clarice accorded him a regal nod and looked back at James.

James had looked up, incipient relief on his face; it faded as he looked at Jack. “Ah…good morning, my boy.” James looked down at the sheet of paper on his blotter. “I suppose you’re here to demand information, too.”

Clarice’s lips thinned. “I explained, James. We need to know all you can tell us before we go to London.”

James looked at Jack.

Who shrugged. “She’s right.”

“But”—James’s tone turned querulous—“I really don’t see the need—”

“This is serious, James.”

Jack looked at Clarice; she looked at him. They’d spoken in unison, with very similar inflections, hers a touch more impatient.

Looking back at James, Jack continued, “We can’t not act, James. You can’t expect it of us.”

That made James think; after a moment, he grimaced, then waved his pen at the sheet before him. “Clarice said you’d need as much detail as I can recall…”

Clarice reached around James and twitched a fresh sheet of paper free. “I think it would be best if Jack listed all the information he needs.” She laid the sheet on the desk opposite James, along with a pen she filched from a rack by James’s hand. “Then you can do your best to assemble the goods.”

Under her forceful gaze, Jack drew up a chair and sat before the blank sheet. He picked up the pen, tested the nib. “This might take a while.”

Over the tip of the nib, he met Clarice’s eyes. She was never a restful female; at present, the energy pouring from her—as if she was impatient to attack an as-yet-unsighted enemy—while in one sense reassuring, was otherwise distracting. He sympathized with James; he’d never be able to focus his thoughts if she remained in the room in her present state.

If she remained in the room at all.