She tried to insist the injury wasn’t serious—just a graze, albeit a nasty one—but Godfrey was adamant it be treated immediately, a notion supported by everyone else in the room.
Resigning herself to losing that battle, she tried to suggest that, instead, she go upstairs and tend the wound herself, but was unanimously overruled. Within minutes, she was being fussed over by Mrs. Kemp and Cook, neither of whom would listen to a word from her as they cut off her damaged sleeve, bathed the gash, and dried it.
While waiting for her wound to properly dry, Mrs. Kemp glanced at Godfrey and spotted the blood on his cheek. It seemed he’d completely forgotten about his injured head. But he was promptly set upon by Mrs. Kemp and Cook and made to sit while they sponged the blood from his face and examined the gash on his head. The discussion over whether to make him wear a bandage like a turban proved entertaining, at least for everyone else. In the end, Cook pronounced the wound sufficiently healed to be left as it was.
The relief on Godfrey’s face was almost comical.
Then Cook and Mrs. Kemp returned to Ellie, exclaimed in low voices over her graze, then salved and bandaged it and left her with a thick shawl under which to huddle until she went upstairs and changed her gown.
Her father cleared his throat and offered to delay the pending discussion if she wished to go up and change, but aware of the pent-up impatience in the room, she staunchly replied, “You need to be told of the latest developments as soon as possible, and we’ve already lost nearly half an hour.”
She was also curious about the four paintings Godfrey had had Harry and Maggie carry down; he’d directed they be stacked by the door. In her most authoritative tone, she stated, “Later will be time enough to change my gown.” She looked up and arched a brow at Godfrey, still hovering by her chair.
He met her gaze, hesitated, but finally, gave way, stood down, and settled in the armchair beside her.
Despite feeling rather cross at all the fuss, she couldn’t hold his smothering concern against him, not after what she’d experienced on finding him barely conscious in the attic.
Her fingers itched to reach out, grasp, and twine with his, but they hadn’t yet announced their betrothal, and such an action would raise eyebrows along with questions best left for later.
Until after they’d dealt with Masterton.
She met Godfrey’s eyes. “Perhaps you could open proceedings by explaining how you came to be in the attic with Masterton.”
Godfrey duly related the story Masterton had spun him about there possibly being other paintings in the attic of the disused wing. “As it happened, there were four paintings there, but from what Masterton let fall, I suspect that was purely serendipitous—he hadn’t known any paintings were actually there but had concocted the tale to lure me to the attic.” Godfrey paused, then added, “Then he knocked me unconscious.”
“Good heavens!” Morris exclaimed. Together with Pyne and her father, and Jeffers, too, Morris was avidly following the unfolding drama.
Godfrey continued, recounting what he’d heard while lying incapacitated on the attic floor. His descriptions of Masterton’s revelations fell into shocked silence. “It seems”—Godfrey shot a glance at Ellie—“that Masterton’s current plan isn’t merely to marry Ellie but to use his position as her husband to—somehow—take control of the Hinckley estate and sell it.” He looked at Mr. Hinckley. “He said he needed the funds. And as he had also been the one to steal and sell the Albertinelli, me saying I intended to travel to Amsterdam and get the name of the person who had commissioned the forgery drove him to take drastic action.”
He paused, then concluded, “After tying me up, Masterton left, saying he was going to fetch someone who would ‘do the deed,’ so that later, he could swear he hadn’t been the one who killed me.”
Shaken and stunned though she was at the full gamut of what might have been, Ellie determinedly took up the story, explaining how she’d hunted high and low for Godfrey and Masterton. “If it hadn’t been for Jimmy, our lad-of-all-work, and his sharp eyes and ears, I wouldn’t have known to look in the old wing.” She described the boot prints in the dust and how she’d followed them and found Godfrey. “Then Masterton returned, with Mr. Jeffers.”
All eyes swung to Jeffers.
To give the man his due, he merely nodded in acceptance, cleared his throat, and said, “I suspect I had better begin by explaining how I came to know Masterton.” He paused, then went on, “My partner, Thornton, and I have long had a dream of setting up a bank. Not a big institution, just a small, provincial one. Thornton and I were at grammar school together and, subsequently, worked as bank clerks in Doncaster, learning the ins and outs of the system. We realized that having a decent loan book—lending money to businesses and the like at a reasonable rather than extortionate rate—was the key to becoming a successful small bank. About the same time, a bit more than a year ago, both of us inherited similar sums from our fathers. Neither of us has any dependents, so we pooled our funds and looked around for a suitable loan book to buy.”
He paused, then went on, “We found what appeared to be a suitable venture—an old moneylender in York wanted to retire and was offering his book of loans for sale. After examining the viability of the loans—that’s Thornton’s strong suit—we purchased the book. We knew there were a few personal loans—loans not secured against a property or a business—that would need to be wound up. That’s my role—I visit the clients and explain that the owner of their loans has changed and outline our new rates and schedule of payments. With most of our loans, that hasn’t been difficult. In most cases, we’ve extended the time of the loan and reduced the rate of interest to a more reasonable level. That’s pleased and reassured our clients. Both Thornton and I believe that a bank should not involve itself in usury.” Jeffers nodded to Pyne and Morris. “Mr. Pyne and Mr. Morris can confirm much of what I’ve said.”
Both men colored a touch, but when the others looked their way, nodded, and Pyne stated, “Mr. Jeffers came to see me a few weeks ago, before the storm. I was very happy to find I’m now dealing with Jeffers and Thornton and not old Cawley. He was a usurer, no doubt about that!”
Morris nodded earnestly. “Indeed.” He tipped his head to Jeffers. “And I second Walter’s comments about dealing with Jeffers and Thornton—a big improvement over the past.”
Pleased by the praise, Jeffers inclined his head in acknowledgment, then returned his gaze to Godfrey, Ellie, and her father. “As you will have guessed, Masterton was also a client of Cawley’s—a long-term client whom Cawley had been bleeding for more than a decade. Masterton is the sort who fritters away any money he gets his hands on—and he was always wanting more. From our point of view, he had no assets, no prospects, and in short, wasn’t a client we wished to keep on our books. I met with him in Ripon last Friday and explained that we were calling in his loans and would not be advancing him any further funds and that he had two months to make other arrangements.”
Ellie’s father humphed. “How did he take that?”
Jeffers lightly shrugged. “At first, not well, but ultimately, he realized we were not to be moved and, I believe, expected to borrow from one of the other York moneylenders, or so he gave me to understand, although he saw that as only a temporary measure.” Jeffers hesitated, then went on, “Masterton stated that Jeffers and Thornton were fools to reject him—that his financial future was essentially guaranteed. When I questioned that, he turned cagey, but hinted that his future prosperity was somehow linked to Hinckley Hall.” Jeffers met Godfrey’s, then Ellie’s eyes. “That accords with what you believe to be his current plan.”