XXXI
HARRY miserably nursed his gin and took in his surroundings. He hadn't been to a tavern in years. It smelled exactly as sour and airless as he remembered. He could not understand why anyone willingly chose to frequent these establishments. He watched a girl squeal as she squirmed in someone's lap. The man whispered something in her ear and she giggled. Well, he supposed he could understand why some people came to these places.
"Just tell me where he is!" someone shouted. Harry turned in the direction of the voice and raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was Abernathy. The man he was addressing shrugged his shoulders. "Please, you must. It's important." The man he spoke to merely shrugged and walked away.
"Whiskey please," Abernathy barked at the tavern attendant.
"Hard day?" Harry asked.
Abernathy looked at him twice, as if he was surprised to see him. "Not the best," he answered shortly. "And you? You're a sorry sight."
Harry laughed at his rudeness. He didn't know what Penelope had been talking about. This man wasn't timid at all. "I'm in a bit of a dilemma."
"And you've come to drown your sorrows?"
"Not quite. It's the place where I first got the idea for my business...and I thought it was a fitting place to think through a crisis that has arisen with it." Harry had not thought about selling crops overnight. He hadn't known what to do with Hawthorne for almost a year after his arrival. It had come to him suddenly during a moment of half-drunkenness and pity.
Abernathy looked at him skeptically. "You had an idea for a business in a tavern?"
"It came to me suddenly over a very bad cup of gin." Harry snapped his fingers. "Just like that."
Abernathy, who had been leaning over the counter, settled into his seat. "Well, let's hear it then. Your problem."
"I don't want to bore you."
"You wouldn't be boring me, you'd be distracting me from my own problems." His companion took a generous sip from his glass. "God knows I need a distraction."
"One of the buyers of my crops tried to press me into lowering my prices. I said no. Then, he burned my fields."
"Polly told me about that. I'm sorry."
"Thank you. Anyway, I employed an investigator to prove that he did it. I was going to use the evidence to press charges with a solicitor but....I've just found out he doesn't have enough to make ends meet."
"It doesn't excuse burning your fields."
"Penelope saw his wife and child at the grocer. He cannot even afford bread." Abernathy clucked his tongue. "I cannot agree to the prices he set...it would eviscerate me. But I cannot allow a family to go hungry."
Abernathy tilted his head. "I'm impressed."
"Why?"
"Most business men would not have blinked before crushing a rival. I would know, my father is one of them. And yet, Milford's Devil refuses to do that very thing."
Harry shrugged. "It's hardly noble. Common decency, really."
"Decency isn't that common." Abernathy sighed. "My brother is betrothed to a lovely girl—a childhood friend. It was his choice...none of it was arranged. And yet, he chooses to galavant around taverns and sleep with whores. And who do my parents dispatch to come find him?"
"I'm sorry."
Abernathy shook his head. "I just don't understand it. I really don't."
"I personally never understood the desire to whore about."
"Is it something that you tried and got tired of?"
"I've never tried it."
Abernathy's eyes widened in shock. "Really?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, really. What about me indicates that I like to lie with paid women?"
"Sorry." The surprise did not disappear. "So you've had...lovers then?"
"There was one, a long time ago," Harry replied, recalling Melody. "And then...a very long dry spell since..." He cut himself short. It didn't feel appropriate to reveal what he had done with Penelope to a virtual stranger.
"It's alright," Abernathy replied knowingly. "I've bedded Polly on....numerous occasions. She is the only girl I have ever lain with."
"Really?" Harry prodded.
Abernathy sniffed. "Oh, I know what you're doing but it doesn't work. I don't look like the sort to whore."
"And I do?"
His companion shrugged. "You do have a reputation."
"And despite it, I seem to be a better man than your brother," Harry pointed out.
Abernathy chuckled. "Yes...yes you do." They were both silent. "Have you written your letter declining the wedding invitation yet?"
"Sorry, it's on my agenda. It's just between the fire and—"
"—-no, it's alright. I'm glad you haven't." Abernathy drained the rest of his glass. "You should come."
"Are you sure? I don't want to be a distraction. I shouldn't be."
"No, please. I want you to come."
***
"It's there in black and white," Armiger said. "He wasn't very careful."
Harry directed his gaze away from his investigator and examined the documents that held proof of Herschel's crimes. It was hard to tear away his eyes from Armiger. He was devoting careful attention to peeling every bit of pith from his orange. There was a letter to some arsonist or other, asking if he could complete the service. The letter was complete with Herschel's seal. The letter promised a generous payout. "No, he was not."
"The men kept everything. I think they were anticipating crossing him for a higher price."
Harry turned the page. "How much did it cost you to retrieve them?"
"Not much. And don't worry about the cost."
"I can let you pay them on my behalf."
"I already have." Armiger handed him another leaflet of papers. "I've already taken the liberty of writing to one of my solicitors. Adams. He's the best man."
"You're very proactive," Harry commented.
"I will admit, my motives are hardly altruistic." Armiger continued to peel the white from his orange. "I love proving that dreadful constable wrong."
Harry set the papers aside. "I'll have to send Adams correspondence of my own. His services might not be required."
Armiger frowned. "Why not?"
"Is there anything that I might be able to give you?" Harry countered. "I can't let you do all of this work for free."
Armiger chewed on his orange slice moodily. "I only wanted to help you get justice."
"And, you've helped me."
"Hm." The investigator shook his head. "I hope you're not being stupid."
"Stupid?"
"Why won't you pursue legal action?"
"I might. It is up to Mr. Herschel."
***
"Lord Hawthorne," Mr. Herschel greeted smugly. "A pleasure to see you again so soon."
Harry studied the rest of the room. There were no refreshments, as there had been the last they'd smoke. Herschel's condescending smirk was firmly in place. "I will keep this brief," he said curtly.
"I must offer my apologies about the fire at your fields." Herschel's leer widened. "Such an unfortunate accident."
Harry took his time settling in a chair. "I know it was you."
"I beg your pardon, my lord. I understand that such an event might've grieved you, but I cannot take such accusations lightly."
"In the letter to one of your hired hands, you called me a 'blight upon the earth.' You said if they completed this task, everyone would end up happy."
Herschel did not flinch. "I do not know what you're talking about." His tone, however, no longer held any of its caustic humor.
"I have that letter. And, if you do not take my offer, I'll be forced to hire a solicitor and press charges." He smiled coldly. "As you might imagine, I won't be nice about it."
Herschel gulped. "What...what offer are you referring to?"
Harry seated himself across from his opponent. "I give you a loan of eight hundred pounds, to be paid back in installments over a seven year period. I deduct the price of my tobacco by twenty pounds till our next contract is revised."
Herschel blinked at him slowly. "A...a loan?"
"Yes."
"What makes you think I need one?"
"I'm working off of the assumption that you would not do something so stupid unless you seriously needed the money." It was needless to mention the man's wife and child. That, Harry reasoned, would do more harm than good. "So, I am giving you the money."
"Out of the kindness of your heart?" Herschel bit out.
"I, too, remember when I was a struggling man in need of capital." Harry shrugged. "I am not unsympathetic. And anyway, I do not feel like finding another buyer. You know how hard it is for me to find someone willing."
"I don't need your sympathy," Herschel spat.
Harry rose, despite the scream of all the fibers in his body. "No of course not." He smiled malevolently. "You'll be hearing from my solicitor shortly." He turned on his heel to walk away.
"Wait!" Herschel cried after him. "What sort of interest rate do you have on the loan?"
"Nothing generous," Harry replied. "You didn't think I was going to make it that easy for you, did you?"
Herschel's jaw tightened. "A thirty pound reduction on tobacco?"
"Now, it's ten. Don't insult the both of us by negotiating. The terms I set are final."
After an agonizing few seconds, Herschel stuck out his hand. Harry shook it. "Fine."
***
"Aren't you gorgeous?" Susan cooed at her grandson. The little thing gave her an adorable grin in return. She pinched his cheeks and frowned. Was it her imagination, or was he a little thinner the last time she'd seen him? Susan would not be surprised, it was hard to produce milk when one was stressed and hungry, which she knew her daughter was lately. Her son-in-law had suffered a series of business losses and they'd been living hand to mouth since. Susan had offered to help, she'd even begged. The earnings from her gossip column kept her quite comfortable—why shouldn't she provide for her family? However, her son-in-law was too proud to accept a dime.
"He is," Miriam agreed. She pressed a kiss to her mother's cheek. "How are you?"
"Darling, I'm fine." Susan settled the baby against her bosom and motioned that the two of them should sit. A mouth watering spread was set before them. The least she could do was feed her daughter, Anthony could not prevent her from doing that. "How are you?"
A genuine smile spread across her daughter's face. "Better...much better. You'll never guess what's happened."
"What happened?"
"Lord Hawthorne gave Anthony a loan. It's a miracle, Mother! I didn't know what we were going to do."
Susan's eyebrows furrowed. "Why would he do that?"
"I don't know. Especially since Anthony burned down his farm."
Susan nearly dropped his teacup. "He did what?"
Miriam shook her head. "I told him not to. He didn't listen to me. He never does."
"Did the earl...does he know?"
"I'm almost sure of it. He's not an idiot. Anthony did it right after he tried to negotiate their contract."
Susan blinked in surprise. "And he...offered him a loan?"
"And a reduction in prices," Miriam beamed. "People say he's the Devil...but really...he's our savior."
"I cannot believe it."
"I did see his mistress at the grocer," Miriam murmured. "She probably told him about how my credit ran out. He took pity on us."
"Miriam!" Susan chided. "I would've given you money from the grocer. How could I let you and Abel go hungry?"
"It's alright, Mother. And anyway, I was able to get the groceries in the end."
"Next time, you tell Manville to put it on my credit."
Miriam smiled sunnily. "I don't think there's going to be a next time." Abel cooed from Susan's breast and his mother giggled. "See? He agrees."
Susan took a contemplative sip from her cup. So, the Devil had taken pity on her daughter? It couldn't be for any gain, material or emotional. Anthony had always been so proud, he wouldn't know how to appreciate this gift. From an economic standpoint, Lord Hawthorne gained nothing. In fact, he lost more. Who would pay for his damaged fields? He had really done this out of the kindness of his heart. Could the Devil really be the devil after all? Susan kissed Abel's forehead. She would send some sort of basket, pastries maybe. The Earl deserved thanks.
And, maybe, she would write something too.