LITMIR.BIZ

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sir,’ and he flourished a hand towards the parlour where he offered Jess a seat in an armchair facing his large and imposing desk.

      ‘Now, sir, what may I do for you?’

      Jess looked round the comfortable room before saying, ‘First of all, I should like to take charge of the deeds of Jesmond House, which I believed are lodged with you. Was there any particular reason why they were not given to the keeping of her solicitor, Mr Crane?’

      ‘None, sir, none. But I had been a friend of Miss Jesmond’s for many years and when she indicated that she wished me to retain them for safekeeping after she had paid off her mortgage, I did not argue with her. I shall have them delivered to you at Jesmond House tomorrow. What else may I do for you, sir?’

      ‘I would like to open a small working account with you, so that I have a source of income here in Netherton. Nothing large, you understand. My main account will remain at Coutts.’

      Mr Bowlby rubbed his fat hands together and said in the manner of a wise man instructing a foolish one, ‘Will not that present some difficulties for you, sir, if you intend to remain in Netherton? Would it not be wiser to have your main account here, rather than at a distance? Our reputation is an excellent one.’

      For some reason Jess found that he did not like Mr Bowlby. He could not have said exactly why, but years of working with Ben Wolfe had first honed his intuition and then had led him to trust it. Nothing of this showed. He poured his charm—noted among the circles in which he moved in London—over the man before him.

      ‘Since I have not yet made up my mind whether I intend to make Netherton my permanent home, I think it wise to retain my present financial arrangements. You are happy to have a small account on your books, I trust.’

      He did not add that transferring his full account to Bowlby’s Bank would have enlightened the man before him of the true extent of his wealth—something which he preferred to remain a secret. His trust Mr Bowlby would have to earn, since Jess Fitzroy had long since learned that nothing was ever to be taken for granted in the world of business and finance. Only time would tell how far he could trust Mr Bowlby.

      ‘Certainly, certainly, no account too small, sir. I was but trying to assist you. Finance is a tricky business and gentlemen frequently find themselves adrift in it.’

      Not surprising if their metaphors are as mixed as yours, was Jess’s inward comment while Mr Bowlby roared on, ‘And is there nothing further we can do for you?’

      ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Jess sweetly. ‘You may inform me of the way to Mr Crane’s office where I also have business.’

      ‘With pleasure, sir,’ and he walked Jess to the bank’s front door before pointing out Mr Crane’s front door as cheerfully as the ostler had done.

      But Jess did not leave him a tip.

      Instead, he bowed his thanks and walked the few yards down the street to Mr Crane’s office, where something of a surprise waited for him.

      The surprise was not Mr Crane, who was an elderly gentleman whose manner was as quiet and pleasant as Mr Bowlby’s had been noisy and officious. His office was quiet, too. No oil paintings, Jess noticed, just a small water-colour showing a country view with sheep in the foreground and a river in the distance.

      Instead, the surprise consisted of Mr Crane’s information as to the extent of his inheritance.

      ‘I fear that I misled you, sir. When I came to investigate Miss Jesmond’s financial position more fully I found that, in fact, her estate was less than half of what I had originally indicated to you in my earlier letters. It seemed that she invested unwisely, sold off good stock and bought bad. I spoke to Mr Bowlby about the matter and he confirmed that she had refused his advice and depended on that of a friend who claimed that he had been an expert in the City. At one point, she did so badly that she was compelled to borrow from the bank, lodging her house deeds as security—although I understand that she later paid off the loan. In order to do so, she sold him a large part of what had been Jesmond land for many years.’

      ‘But Mr Bowlby retained the deeds,’ Jess said slowly, ‘even after she had repaid the loan. He has promised to forward them to me tomorrow.’

      ‘Oh, you must understand that she trusted Mr Bowlby, who had been so kind to her, and allowed them to remain with him. Of course, until she was compelled to take out the mortgage, they were in my charge. I saw no need to bring pressure on her to lodge them with me again. They were safe where they were.’

      ‘Oh, that explains it,’ said Jess—who thought that it didn’t.

      ‘I repeat that I am sorry that I unintentionally deceived you over your inheritance. I did not realise that matters had gone so ill with her. I hope that you have not yet made any unbreakable decisions based on its apparent original size.’

      ‘Not at all,’ said Jess, who had regarded his aunt’s money as a bonus. He had been more interested in the house in which the bank no longer had any interest. He was surprised that Mr Bowlby had said nothing of these matters when he had indicated his misgivings over the bank’s holding the house deeds. Or was he surprised? He wondered what advantage Mr Bowlby thought that he was gaining by holding on to them. Nor had Bowlby informed him that it was he who had bought his aunt’s lands so that she might pay off the mortgage: that transaction had never been mentioned.

      He also thought that Mr Bowlby had supposed him to be a gentleman who knew little of matters financial and therefore might be fobbed off with an incomplete story—which raised, in Jess’s mind, further suspicions as to his motives.

      Mr Crane was still speaking. ‘There are some documents for you to sign, Mr Fitzroy, which will, in effect, transfer all her inheritance to you. It will then be your decision whether I continue to act for you as I did for her.’

      ‘For the moment,’ returned Jess coolly. ‘Until I have made up my mind what I intend to do, you may continue as my solicitor here—for my business in Netherton only. It is only fair to inform you that I have a solicitor in London who will continue to act for me there. Your interests will not conflict with his. My London affairs have nothing to do with Miss Jesmond’s estate.’

      Mr Crane nodded. ‘I understand. If they do, then I must ask to be relieved of my responsibilities to you.”

      Jess rose, bowed and sat down again.

      ‘Now,’ he said, ‘let us get down to business. You will be good enough to tell me all the details of the late Miss Jesmond’s estate which are in your possession and not those of Banker Bowlby.’

      Mr Crane looked up sharply. Mr Jesmond Fitzroy had spoken coolly to him throughout in a most offhand manner, but he was not sure that his first impression of him as a charmingly lightweight young man was necessarily the true one.

      And what had he meant by his last remark about Banker Bowlby?

      He did not enquire and Jess said nothing further to make Mr Crane ponder on the true nature of his visitor. He listened quietly to the old solicitor’s exposition of Miss Jesmond’s admittedly muddled affairs, offering no opinions of his own before leaving with mutual expressions of goodwill.

      He strolled along the street, familiarising himself with its layout before returning to the inn to collect his gig. After he had driven out of the White Lion’s stable-yard, he found himself behind a chaise which followed the road which led to Jesmond House until it turned off into the drive to Pomfret Hall some half-mile before Jess reached his own gates. He noted idly that Mrs Pomfret had visitors and wondered whether he would meet them at supper.

      His main preoccupation was with his morning’s work and in particular with Banker Bowlby and with what Mr Crane had—and had not—told him…

      ‘Garth! What brings you here? And why did you not inform us that you were coming to visit us? Georgie, pray ring for the housekeeper—she must prepare a room for my brother immediately.’

      Sir Garth Manning made no attempt to answer his sister’s questions. He was too busy smiling

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