“Randall, Trowbridge, and Swithin.” Letitia sat up. “It has to be Trowbridge and Swithin.” She looked at the men. “Have we learned anything about Swithin?”
“I’ve gathered a little, more or less by accident.” Tristan glanced at the others. “Swithin lives very quietly. He’s recently married, and a little before that he bought a house in Surrey—I know because it’s not far from my principal estate.” He grinned at Letitia. “I have aunts, cousins, and female connections—lots of them. A bevy live in my Surrey house, and their primary occupation is keeping an eye on all and sundry in the neighborhood. One came up to town to visit the group who prefer to remain in London—she had all the news about Swithin and his new wife. Apparently he paid above the mark to secure the house, then spent even more redecorating for his new wife, who, so they tell me, is quieter than he—a mouse is how they described her—from one of the minor branches of the Carstairs.”
“The Carstairs.” Dalziel prowled over to sit again in the straight-backed chair.
“That suggests,” Christian said, “that Swithin, too, is accepted within the ton.” He raised a brow at Tristan. “Any hint as to his background?”
“None—and given my aunts’ propensities for ferreting out everything about everyone, that really means absolutely nothing is known of his background by anyone.” Tristan shifted. “As for his standing in the ton, I got the impression that was beyond question. He appears well-entrenched, firmly established with a solid reputation as an exceedingly sound man on the subject of capital raisings. He apparently has a long history in financing this project or that, highly successfully. When I asked around at White’s, quite a few of the old guard spoke warmly of him—Lord Lanthorne and Lord Quilley to name two.”
“And they’re not fools,” Dalziel put in. “Certainly I wouldn’t describe either as being easily taken in.”
“So,” Christian said, “Swithin, if he truly is as we suspect and is another ex–Hexham Grammar School governors’ scholar, has also managed, in his own quiet way, to succeed to a similar degree as Randall and Trowbridge in becoming a fixture within the ton.”
Hands clasped on the desk, Letitia frowned. “Trowbridge is flamboyant—that’s his nature. Randall wasn’t, yet neither was he quiet or shy.” She looked across the room at Christian. “Randall was always, first and last, all business.”
Christian nodded. “Against that, Swithin was the quiet one.” He looked at Dalziel. “Any word from your contact in Hexham?”
“Not yet.” For the benefit of the others, he explained, “After learning about Trowbridge and Swithin, I sent to Hexham again, to see if in fact they, too, were on the Hexham Grammar roll as governors’ scholars, as we’ve surmised. I’ve also asked after their backgrounds.” He looked back at Christia
n. “With luck, we’ll hear tomorrow. However, I would stress that we need to tread warily. We’ve assumed Trowbridge and Swithin are the Orient Trading Company’s T and S, but there are a lot of surnames beginning with T and S. We need to be sure before we press either Trowbridge or Swithin harder.”
Christian grimaced; he met Letitia’s eyes. “I just realized…when we first approached Trowbridge, he was quite happy if not eager to hear what you had to say, even after you made it clear it wasn’t about sculpture. But then—”
“I mentioned Randall’s murder.” Letitia grimaced back.
“And he shut up, took a giant step back and put up all his shields.” Christian nodded, remembering. “He thought you’d come to talk about the company—he and Swithin, assuming he’s S, must have guessed Randall’s share would come to you.”
“Yes.” Letitia sat up. “He was expecting me to ask him about the company.” She looked at Dalziel. “Which means there’s no reason we can’t go and speak with him about the company now, openly….”
She trailed off, because Dalziel was shaking his head.
“Wait,” he cautioned. He glanced at Christian, met his eyes. “Before you question Trowbridge—and Swithin, if the S is he—you need at least to know what type of business the Orient Trading Company conducts. We need to trace at least some of these incoming payments to their source, and find out what the company is selling. Without that knowledge, your position is weak.”
He looked again at Letitia. “By your own account, Randall was no fool. I doubt from what we’ve heard that Trowbridge and Swithin are either. If you try to question them about the company without any idea of what the business actually is, you’ll give away your ignorance—you won’t know what questions apply and which don’t—and then who knows? They could tell you whatever they choose, and you’ll have to believe them, at least until you learn more.”
“If you ever learn more,” Tristan put in, “once they realize you don’t have the knowledge.”
Letitia wrinkled her nose at Dalziel. “Much as it pains me to admit it, you’re right.” She glanced at Christian. “We need more ammunition to make sure they tell us the truth.”
Christian held her gaze and nodded, hoping she didn’t notice the grin Dalziel wasn’t sufficiently successful at hiding. “Indeed,” he replied. “And the only ammunition that will do the trick is learning who’s paying the Orient Trading Company, and for what.”
Letitia, Christian, Tony, and Jack spent the next few hours poring over the ledgers. Once they’d fixed on an approach they thought would work to identify at least some of the regular customers of the Orient Trading Company, Dalziel and Tristan took their leave, citing other engagements. Hermione hovered, then, finding it all rather dull, went off to report their findings to Agnes.
In the end, their plan was simple. Concentrating on the last month, they listed all the regular payments from the company’s coded sources; most made payments weekly, a few twice a week. Those sources they elected to focus on all paid very large amounts.
“Traceable amounts,” Christian stressed.
Unexpectedly, and with considerable triumph, they unearthed details of the company’s bank accounts. Three accounts, each with a different London bank.
That done, they called it a day.
The next morning, Christian and Letitia set out at nine o’clock to lay their findings before Montague.
That paragon of financial investigation quickly—and eagerly—grasped their direction. “An excellent notion!” He scanned the figures they’d gathered. “Yes, indeed—quite extraordinary. But I should certainly be able to trace these amounts.” He paused, a frown slowly replacing his bonhomie. “Except…”
Letitia frowned back. “Except what?”
Montague grimaced. He met her gaze. “I’ve been concentrating on the company itself. I can verify that Trowbridge and Swithin are indeed the other part owners—as with Randall, each owns a third share. Be that as it may, from what you’ve told me and what I’ve learned from sources in the banks, it appears that Randall was the primary active partner. He managed all three accounts, at least as far as the banks are concerned. From their perspective, the Orient Trading Company is wildly profitable and has been for some considerable time, more or less since its inception. Well and good, from the financial institutions’ point of view. What makes me uneasy is that, like you, I have failed—utterly failed—to find any trace of identifiable goods or cargo, or any real property the company might be trading.”