“That’s something to consider.” His poor relationship with his father was widely known, so perhaps if they concentrated on the old duke’s furniture, the creditors wouldn’t take fright. Selling his dead father’s things? At long last, a ducal task Alex was happy to contemplate. “What else?”
“You could marry.” Ellis rushed on before Alex could interject. “I’ve looked into it and there are some eligible ladies. In particular, there are some American girls with enormous fortunes. I’m sure one of them would be honored by an offer from the Duke of Harcastle.”
Alex shuddered theatrically. He wasn’t a romantic—far from it—but the idea of a marriage on purely mercenary terms chilled him. It was something his father would have done.
“It might not be so bad,” Ellis said. “I’m sure many of the heiresses are pretty and even-tempered. As long as you and whoever you choose like each other, I’m sure marriage wouldn’t be so terrible.” He didn’t sound certain and, not for the first time, Alex wondered about his relationship with Mrs. Ellis. The old duke had arranged the match shortly after Ellis’s arrival in England and thus far the couple had spent most of their married life apart. On the few occasions Alex had seen them together, they’d seemed like acquaintances rather than intimates.
“Not tempting,” Alex muttered. “And the third option?”
Ellis shifted in his seat. “Well, that’s where the more or less part comes in. Your father didn’t believe in life insurance, but if we insure you—”
“I think I see where this is going. We insure me, I die, and the duchy is saved, is that right?”
“I admit, the plan has its faults.”
For the first time since they’d sat down, Alex felt an urge to laugh. “You cheeky bastard. Still, at least you stand to benefit from it.”
He had meant the remark as a joke but he immediately regretted it when Ellis’s face turned ashen.
“I will never inherit,” Ellis said, a muscle ticking at his jaw. “Because you’re going to marry and have sons. Lots of them.”
If any other man had spoken those words, they might have sounded resentful. When Ellis said them, they sounded like an order. When he’d arrived in England, Alex and another cousin had stood between him and the position of heir apparent. He’d been content with that state of affairs. Then the duke had died and, a few months later, the cousin had been carried off by a bilious attack. The word appalled didn’t do adequate justice to Ellis’s reaction. He was terrified by the idea of inheriting. Alex had learned not to refer to such a possibility. Not even in jest.
He opened his mouth, intending to change the subject, when an idea came like a thunderbolt. “My God, I’ve got it!”
Ellis blinked. “Really?”
“How can I have been so stupid?” Alex leaped up and lunged for the discarded slate and chalk where they still lay on the floor by the fire. “Do you have any string?”
“What—?”
“String, man, string!” Alex cried, snapping his fingers six times in rapid succession.
“Oh, for the love of…” Ellis tore the string from one of the bundles of paper on the desk, then handed it over.
Alex tied the slate to his left leg. “Hand me another piece.”
Ellis grumbled but did as requested.
Alex secured the chalk to his right leg at roughly the same height as the slate. “Now listen.”
With tiny, barely perceptible movements of his legs, he rubbed the chalk against the slate.
“It sounds like someone writing,” Ellis said, unimpressed.
“Exactly!” In the space of a minute, Alex had gone from frustrated and depressed to exultant. Solving a problem always lifted his spirits.
“Is this about the séance you attended last night?”
Alex barely heard the question. Untying the strings, he let the slate and chalk fall to the floor. “Now all that remains is to ascertain how she got the message onto my slate.” He picked up Miss Jones from the end table and tucked her away in his pocket where she belonged. “I’ll see you later, Ellis.”
“Where are you going?”
Alex kept moving. “The Nimble Rabbit.”
“And our discussion?”
“Sell some antiques. Buy us some time. Start with that painting,” he said, jabbing a finger at the old duke. “I’m sick of him breathing over my shoulder.”
Maybe he’d commission a painting of Miss Jones exactly as she looked in the photograph and hang her in the vacant spot. Her glare boring into him from the wall of the study seemed a curiously appealing prospect.
…
The Nimble Rabbit appeared even more dilapidated by the light of day.
Mud and hay fouled the yard. Once-cheerful blue paint peeled from rotting window frames. Even the sign, with the eponymous rabbit leaping to avoid the snapping jaws of a sinister fox, had seen better days and creaked alarmingly as Alex passed beneath. The next good wind might well bring the thing crashing down.
Inside, someone pounded the keys of an out-of-tune piano while rough male voices roared out a barely intelligible version of “Where Did You Get That Hat?” Alex strode past the afternoon revelers to where the innkeeper sat by the fire, poring over a heavy-looking ledger. He rose the moment he saw Alex approaching, his eyes wide. A duke turning up once in his humble establishment was shock enough to last him a lifetime. This unlooked-for second visitation rendered him speechless.
“I need to see the room from last night,” Alex said.
The man frowned and glanced around to see who might be observing, but Alex had spoken quietly and the clientele had clearly been drinking for some time, despite the hour. No one but the keeper knew who Alex was, so no one much cared what he was doing there.
The man found his tongue. “This…this way, sir.”
Upstairs, outside the now-vacant room, Alex impatiently tapped his cane on the floor as the man fumbled with the key. “Does Miss Jones always use the same room when she holds meetings here?”
A quick nod was the only response.
“Often?”
The key turned in the lock with a loud clunk. “At least once a month, sometimes more. No regular date.”
The interior appeared larger with the curtains open and daylight struggling through the grimy window.
“What condition was the room left in after the séance?”
“Miss Jones always leaves things the way she found ’em.”
And yet something bothered Alex. What was it?