As Ashfield glanced through the papers, something caught Garrett’s eye. “Wait,” he said. “Let me see that one.” He reached over and pulled one of the documents from his assistant’s hand. “I don’t believe this.” Garrett stared at the name on the deed. Mr. Peter Moorshavan was listed as owner of the house on Poppinbrook. What the devil was the duke doing with papers on that house? But then pieces of the puzzle started falling into place for Garrett. Wiley had said no one knew Mr. Moorshavan before he arrived in London and no one had heard from him since the discovery that the house had been turned into a hidden brothel. Julia said the duke was using fake names to buy property and he was obviously hiring men to pose as the fake owners.
What were the odds that in trying to help Julia he’d find the man he was looking for? Or at least the name of the man. He’d believed Julia when she said the duke was an unjust man, and was controlling her life and Chatwyn’s. He wasn’t so sure he’d been convinced the duke owned secret companies, but he had no doubts now. But why would someone as wealthy as the duke engage in such practices? It didn’t make sense that he would do it just for the money. But what else could it be? And none of this matched with the fact Julia insisted the duke was a pious, straight-as-an-arrow man. Garrett didn’t know the answers, but he intended to find out. He hoped the coded ledger had the answers. And that his manager could unravel the code.
“Yes, Mr. Ashfield, this is a priority. Start with these two.” He gave the Poppinbrook and Eubury-Broadwell deeds back to Ashfield. “And keep all of these in the iron chest when you’re not working on them.”
“You can be sure I will. I’ll get right on them.”
Garrett nodded, walked over to Mr. Urswick’s door, and lifted his hand to knock, but stopped and turned back to the secretary. “After the pages are copied, see to it some paintings are put on the walls in here. Your choice, but I’d like to see some ships sailing waters.”
The man’s chest, shoulders, and chin lifted all at once and his hand squeezed around the little sack. “Yes, Mr. Stockton. I’d be most pleased to do that for you.”
Garrett then knocked on the door and waited for the response to enter. His manager was standing and bent over a very large book that rested on a pedestal. He didn’t bother to look up from his quizzing glass, but said in a muffled tone, “Put the papers on my desk, Mr. Ashfield, and I’ll get to them in a few minutes.”
Mr. Miles Urswick was the most intelligent man Garrett had ever met and an expert with numbers. His mind absorbed and held almost everything he’d ever heard or read. Strangely enough, Garrett had met the young man late one night in a gaming hall on the east side of Bond Street.
Urswick was a tall, heavyset fellow with the thickest red hair Garrett had ever seen. One of the players at the table that night hadn’t taken kindly to the husky man’s stack of winnings. He started, politely enough in the beginning, making references about Urswick looking Irish. To his credit, Urswick brushed off the oaf’s needling at first, swearing there wasn’t a drop of Irish blood in him, but after a time, proceeded to tell the discontented player where he could stuff his assumptions. That wasn’t a good idea for someone who didn’t know how to fight a man with a knife.
Before the game was over, it was clear that Urswick was better at remembering what cards had been played than he was at defending himself. Urswick was getting sliced swipe after swipe because he didn’t know how to dodge and maneuver away from his opponent.
Garrett found it difficult to watch the bear of a man getting cut up over something he didn’t start, and he certainly didn’t want Urswick getting killed. If it had been an even fight, Garrett would have stayed out of it and let the best man win. But it wasn’t, so without thinking twice, he pulled his dagger out of his boot, pushed the big guy out of his way, and took over. Once the troublemaker realized Garrett was as good with a knife as he was, he sensibly backed away, leaving his cards and his blunt on the table.
Urswick thanked Garrett for saving his life and swore off gambling for good that night. Garrett had been looking for a man he could trust to manage his business in London while he traveled. He’d asked Urswick to be that man and he’d never regretted it. Urswick kept flawless account books with every shilling and pence accounted for. His records of every ship, its assignments as to cargo and points of origins and destinations were always impeccable.
“I have no papers for you today,” Garrett said, entering the room and closing the door behind him. “But I do have a ledger I want you to take a look at for me.”
“Oh, Mr. Stockton,” Urswick said, removing his spectacles and walking around to shake Garrett’s hand. “My apologies for being so inconsiderate and not looking up to greet you.”
“Am I interrupting anything important?”
“I consider everything I do for you important.” Urswick closed the book he’d been looking at. “I can finish these columns later. From the records I received from the ship after you docked and while you were away, your journey appears to have been most prosperous.”
“It was.” Garrett lifted the duke’s ledger from his satchel and handed it to his accountant. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
Mr. Urswick thumbed through the book. “Hmm. Someone has gone to great trouble and length to keep anyone from knowing what this says.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Do you think you can break the code and unravel what it says?”
The manager looked as wide-eyed as Mr. Ashfield at seeing the deeds. “I—I don’t know. The pattern could be anything.” Mr. Urswick shook his head. “I’ve never tried to do anything like this.”
“Do you know of anyone who can?”
“Never had a reason to even think about it. But I would assume that people who can do this kind of work wouldn’t go around talking about it.”
Garrett pondered that. “You’re right. And they would probably serve in the military where their expertise would be needed.”
“I can ask around if you would like?”
“No,” Garrett said. The last thing he needed was word somehow getting back to the duke someone wanted to decipher a ledger. He couldn’t take that chance.
“I can work on it and see what I can do.”
“That’s all I’m asking. Everything else you are currently working on can wait. I need to know what is written in here. I need you to keep this safe and private.”
“I’ll make sure it’s in the iron chest when I’m not working on it.”
Garrett nodded.
“And while you are here, I do need to mention something you might consider important.” He opened a drawer on his desk and removed a letter. “I had a note from the Prince’s emissary, Mr. Brownley saying he heard you’re in London. He wants me to set up an appointment for you to see him.”
Lady Kitson came immediately to Garrett’s mind. She’d left him no doubt she didn’t approve of the King’s son and his mindless penchant for indulging his every whim. Garrett had to admit he’d never given much thought to the Prince’s lavish spending on his homes until she’d mentioned it. Most everyone in Society indulged in whatever luxury they desired and could afford. The Prince wasn’t the only one who had extravagant and unnecessary purchases. What someone else did wasn’t Garrett’s business unless they were doing what the duke was doing—shielding his companies so he had no responsibilities when accidents happened.