Shattered Dreams Page 2

  Now all he had to do was wait, and see how the Dandridges’ planned to get their hands on the cash inside.

  Was Dandridge used to breaking into safes? Was he planning to force Harry to open it for him? Harry almost wished that he would; he looked forward to the resultant confrontation. As a man of action, it was irritating to have to sit and wait for Dandridge to make the first move, but that was part of Harry’s job; to watch the enemy and wait for the right moment to ensure they met with the stern hand of justice.

  Harry wished that his good friend, and colleague, Barnaby Stephenson was there. He needed somebody at his back that he could rely on. He had worked with his friend on investigations just like this on many occasions in the past, and trusted the man with his life. It was a relief to know that his friend was already on his way but, as far as Harry was concerned, each moment that he had to live by himself, under the same roof as the Dandridges’ could be another step toward the graveyard; especially with Roberta Dandridge cooking his meals.

  Movement outside the window caught his attention, and he watched Charles Dandridge, his butler, hurry toward the back of the house.

  He had no doubt that Dandridge had just watched him open the safe, but had he been able to see the numbers Harry had entered? Harry frowned at that, and tried to think of an alternative place to hide his small notebook of evidence. For the time being though, he returned it to the safe and quickly locked the door. He would have to move it as some point so that when Dandridge did get inside the safe, he wouldn’t steal Harry’s precious evidence too.

  Right now, Harry had the serious matter of the letter to contend with.

  He had just resumed his seat at his desk, and was about pick the letter up to read it again, when there was a knock on the door. He glanced up with a frown. Rather than instruct the butler to enter, he took a moment to pour himself a large brandy, then opened the door himself.

  “What?” He snapped, and frowned at Dandridge from his position in the doorway.

  “Would sir like anything?”

  “Besides to be left alone, you mean?” Harry growled. “No, thank you. I will ring the bell if I need anything. Have you polished the silver?”

  “The silver?” Dandridge replied, clearly confused.

  Harry shook his head and wondered how the man hoped to fool anyone into thinking he was a butler if he never carried out any of the butler’s duties. Even though larger houses didn’t require the butler to polish the silver, in Harry’s house it was part of the butler’s job.

  “The silver. You are employed here to undertake some of the housekeeping duties along with your wife. That means one of you has to polish the bloody silver. I take it from the blank look on your face that you haven’t. Get on with it,” he snapped.

  He didn’t bother to give the butler time to reply before he stepped back and slammed the door in his face.

  “Jesus,” he swore as he settled into his chair behind his desk.

  He took a moment to savour his brandy and calm his temper before he studied the letter again. The solicitor’s letter, which had arrived only an hour ago, informed him of the demise of one of his cousins and, as a result, Harry had inherited a large house, along with its contents, and acres upon acres of land in Cumbria.

  Did he want a house? Did he need a house?

  He sighed and stared out of the window. He enjoyed his job, he really did but, of late, had started to realise that he had missed out on a lot of the good things life had to offer.

  Was he ready to settle down though?

  When the landscape outside didn’t provide him with any comfort, he turned his attention to the flickering flames within the fire.

  At four and thirty, he had started to wonder whether he had reached the time in his life when he should do something else. If he was honest, it would be nice to spend his evenings with a woman in his arms. He wanted someone to talk to; to share his life with. Someone he could confide in, and share life’s daily trials and tribulations with. If he was really honest, he would like a child of his own; a son or daughter he could bounce on his knee and watch grow up.

  Was all of that possible though given what he did for a living?

  Now that the war had ended, the Star Elite had turned their considerable skills to thwarting the rather determined efforts of England’s criminal element. The missions they got involved with were still wide-ranging and complex, but also required many hours of arduous undercover work.

  Unfortunately, some of the smaller jobs were now a little mundane and, while he still enjoyed putting the criminals behind bars, he had started to feel a little unchallenged.

  Gathering evidence to ensure the arrest of thieving servants was just more of the same routine work for Harry, who really rather wished that he was somewhere else, doing - something else. It was only the knowledge that he was doing a favour for his boss, Sir Hugo that kept him in Tooting Mallow. However, he had no idea where he really would prefer to be because he had no home to call his own, and nothing else to do right now.

  He propped his boots up on the desk and leaned back in his chair while he contemplated his current situation.

  Several weeks earlier, Sir Hugo had reported that one of his aunts had been targeted by thieves in the form of two people whom she had employed as servants in the months before her death. It had only been when Sir Hugo had checked his aunt’s household accounts, and completed an inventory of the house contents after her death, that he had realised the figures listed in the financial ledgers didn’t tally with the cash that should have been in the house, and several ornaments and pictures were missing.

  It had quickly become evident that nearly fifty pounds had been carefully removed from the house, in one way or another, over a period of several months. A shilling here and there; a whole pound somewhere else; a vase from the sitting room; a picture frame from one of the guest bedrooms. Some of the ornaments had been pawned and, thankfully, found in pawn shops nearby. The description of the person who had pawned the items had, unfortunately, matched his aunt’s butler, Charles Dandridge.

  Determined to catch them before they moved on to another unsuspecting victim, Hugo, and the men from the Star Elite, had managed to track the Dandridges’ down to one of London’s less reputable suburbs, Tooting Mallow, whereupon they had carefully organised a trap.

  “I have purchased the Rectory in Tooting Mallow,” Hugo had informed Harry. “Go there, set up house as a middle-class businessman who travels a lot. You are wealthy, but not overly so, and don’t have the time to bother with the house much. Advertise for a housekeeper and butler, but make it clear that the house is effectively theirs while they are there. Harriett has made sure that there are more than enough ornaments there to tempt them. You just make sure that they have the time they need to help themselves.”

  Thankfully, the Dandridges’ had stepped forward as planned, and taken up residence in the housekeeper’s quarters within the month.

  As yet though, Harry had no idea what they did with the money they stole because, as far as he could see, they didn’t live profligate lifestyles. They didn’t appear to have a carriage. Their clothing was the normal, cheap and serviceable clothing servants usually wore, and neither of them seemed to be heavy drinkers, or smoked, or really did much of anything.

  So what did they spend their ill-gotten gains on?

  Harry had already searched their belongings, but had found nothing to even hint that they were anything other than regular servants who were used to a life of hardship and toil.

  The middle aged couple appeared to be the epitome of trusted servants, who could be relied upon to carry out their job quietly and discretely, and with the height of perfectionism. Everything a discerning employer could want - right?

  Unfortunately, no employer was going to get that from either of the Dandridges’.

  It had quickly become evident, within days of their arrival, that neither of them knew what the hell they were doing. Roberta Dandridge was a lousy cook, and knew even les
s about cleaning. Charles Dandridge skulked around the house most of the time. He did seem to like to listen at doors, and usually peered into things that no respectable butler should concern himself with. However, he did none of the tasks that he was paid to do and, instead, spent most of his days sitting in a chair in the kitchen.

  Harry knew that it was only a matter of days now before the Dandridges’ made an attempt on his life. It was shocking to realise just how much they were trying to plunder from the house. A farm labourer would be lucky if he earned twenty five pounds per year. The Dandridges’ had been at the Rectory for only a few weeks, and had helped themselves to more than that already. It raised alarm bells with Harry, who knew that his chances of survival grew increasingly tenuous with each day that passed. Given that the amount they had skimmed off the accounts, and stolen from the house, now topped nearly thirty pounds, they were either desperate for money for some reason, or getting ready to move on.

  With that in mind, he quickly resumed his seat at the desk, selected a clean sheet of parchment out of the drawer in front of him, and settled down to write. If he hurried, he would be able to get the note off before it grew dark, and Hugo would receive his request for more help the day after next.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tilly glared up at the dark rain clouds overhead and snorted in disgust. She walked down the road marked ‘Bennington Green’ in search of the Rectory, and grew more worried with each step she took.

  At first, she had paid no attention to the light smattering of raindrops when they had started to fall around her. However, the light drizzle had turned steadily into a deluge that had forced everyone, except her, inside.

  Fate was definitely against her. If her day hadn’t already been bad enough, she was now soaked to the skin and absolutely frozen. She glanced down at her heavily stained dress in disgust. Although she tried, she couldn’t ignore the smell that emanated from the bottom of her clothing, and knew that everyone else who came anywhere near her would be able to smell it too. Especially her new employer; if she didn’t get the chance to change before she met him. The thought made her worry even more.

  She glanced at the large mansions that lined the road to the side of her, and felt more out of place than ever. Although her old home, Attingham House, was bigger than most of the houses in Bennington Green, it was far less ostentatious. When a pang of homesickness swept through her, she quickly closed off all thoughts of home, and turned her attention to her new soundings.

  On the surface, Bennington Green was really a rather nice neighbourhood. Tall, detached houses sat in regal splendour along one side of the road, and overlooked the town and valley beyond. Unfortunately, there was something about the slightly faded opulence that felt rather forbidding. The further she walked, the harder it was to ignore the deep sense of unease that began to build within her.

  Half an hour later, her worries grew as she studied the old, moss covered name plate that declared the house at the end of the driveway to be the Rectory.

  It was far less auspicious than she had expected. The huge property, located a little way back from the road, had two bay windows on either side of the large front door. Even from several feet away she could see that the curtains that hung inside were considerably less than fashionable. She carefully turned her gaze away from the peeling paint on the front door, and studied the long driveway that was covered with weeds. It seemed to blend in with the over-run lawns which appeared to lead to an outbuilding that had half of its roof missing.

  She began to wonder just how old her new employer really was, and frowned at the woeful state of the house, which sat in stark contrast to the rest of the houses on the lane.

  “At least there is someone home,” she muttered as she studied the gentle glow of candle-light that glimmered in one of the windows.

  She hurried along the driveway and found her way to the back door.

  The rose garden at the back of the house was, unsurprisingly, also over-run, but still pretty, and sat beside a rather functional vegetable garden that was to the left of the main house. Opposite that was a low building, which stood empty. Between the buildings lay a large square of rather overgrown lawn framed with flowers and bushes of all kinds. It really was rather pleasant, if a little wild.

  Her brisk knock on the door sounded loud even to her own ears. She stood back to wait for someone to answer it with her back straight and her chin tilted confidently.

  Good impressions matter, she reminded herself, and knocked on the door again when at first, there was no answer.

  The speed in which the door was suddenly yanked open made her jump. She opened her mouth to speak only to stare in consternation at the dark glower the man inside gave her.

  “What do you want?” he growled rudely.

  As he spoke, his lips actually curled in an arrogant snarl of contempt.

  She took a hesitant step back at the sight of the disgust on his face, and wondered fleetingly if she might have called at the wrong house.

  Surely this couldn’t be someone she would have to work with from now on, could it?

  “I am here to see Mr Harrington Tingay,” she announced carefully. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell this man her reason for being there.

  “He is expecting me,” she added when he didn’t move to let her in.

  She watched his brows lift and, for one brief moment, a look of derision sweep over his face. To her consternation, rather than open the door to let her in, he leaned a nonchalant elbow against the door jamb and looked her up and down suggestively.

  “Oh, you are one of them, are you?” The smirk on his face warned her that ‘one of them’ was nothing particularly nice, but she had no intention of asking him to elaborate.

  She sighed; loudly. “No, I am not one of ‘them’. I have an appointment with Mr Tingay. Please tell him I have arrived. My name is Miss Matilda Fenton.”

  She made sure that her tone was as brisk and formal as she could manage and, for emphasis, just so he knew that she wasn’t going to be cowed by his bullying tactics, she looked him insolently up and down.

  To her satisfaction he immediately straightened and scowled at her.

  “I can wait on the doorstep,” she added conversationally. “I am sure you won’t mind clearing the water off his rug when we have finished our meeting.”

  Their eyes clashed in a silent battle of wills for several moments.

  “I could, of course, go around the front, if you wish?” She added for emphasis, and would do just that if he continued to keep her on the doorstep, in the pouring rain for much longer.

  “What do you want with him?”

  Tilly lifted her brows. “I am sure that if Mr Tingay wanted you to know that, he would have told you himself, now wouldn’t he?”

  She watched the man study her calculatingly for a moment. She knew that he was contemplating whether it was worth incurring the wrath of the master of the house to slam the door in her face.

  Luckily, the man’s desire to keep his job forced him to step back and reluctantly allow her into the warmth of the kitchen.

  It was only when she was surrounded by the warmer temperature inside that she realised just how cold she was. She struggled to hide her shiver as she looked at the rather aged surroundings in growing dismay. For some reason, she didn’t want either the man who had answered the door, or the rather dour woman at the kitchen table, to see any sign of weakness. However, it took a lot of effort to hide her horror at the sight of the paint peeling off the walls, and the dull and dingy curtains sitting beside the badly cracked shutters at the windows.

  She carefully kept her face blank, closed the door behind her, and took a moment to study the cluttered and dirty kitchen while the man, who appeared to be the butler, clumsily retied his cravat and dragged his jacket on. She nodded at the woman beside the kitchen table but, unsurprisingly, received nothing more than a deep scowl in return.

  Harry sighed at the loud raps on the door, and dropped his quill onto the
paper before him.

  “In,” he snapped impatiently, and sat back in his chair to wait to see what his useless butler wanted this time.

  Ever since he had opened the safe earlier, Dandridge had been trying to find a way to get into the room, undoubtedly so he could take a closer look at what else Harry had left visible in his study.

  If it was down to Harry, he would have put the man behind bars already, but was frustratingly aware that he needed to gather a little more evidence; if not actually catch Dandridge in the process of trying to steal money from the safe. It was only the rather satisfying thought that he would soon be able to put one, if not both of them, behind bars that made him dig deep into his well of patience, and bide his time.

  “There is a Miss Madeline Fenton to see you,” Dandridge intoned from just inside the doorway.

  Rather than enter the room as any good butler would, Dandridge remained by the door. However, his eyes wandered around the room and scoured every surface while he waited for instruction.

  Harry shook his head as he watched him. “Do I know her?”

  “She said you are expecting her.”

  “What does she want?” Harry’s frown deepened.

  This time Dandridge frowned, and shifted on his feet impatiently. “She didn’t say.”

  Harry wanted to bang his head against the table. He began to wonder if Hugo’s aunt had been battling with infirmity of the head or something, to employ a useless idiot like Dandridge long enough for him to steal from her. His lack of butler skills were atrocious in their own right but, when accompanied by the serious lack of housekeeping skills Mrs Dandridge struggled to hide, which included her complete inability to cook anything even remotely palatable, Harry just had to wonder how they remained in employment anywhere for more than a day.