Page 56 of A Foolish Endeavor

“Gilbert and Miss Slade were childhood playmates, Frederick, and have remained friendly despite their difference in class. What ails her father? He has always been courteous to us.”

Lavinia nodded in agreement. “Indeed, Charlotte, his businesses have brought him more wealth than our poor little cousin Selina’s family can boast. But as I always say, money does not equal higher rank, even if it may give the appearance of it. Goodness, imagine if one might be considered a true gentleman simply based on money alone.”

Gilbert tried to change the subject back to Nancy’s father. “How did Mr. Slade seem to you, Frederick? Is he very unwell?”

“Dr. Baker was at the Slade house when I arrived. It is his opinion that Mr. Slade suffered a stroke, resulting in a fall. The poor man also struck his head when he fell, adding to his injury.”

“Dr. Baker was there?” Evan asked. “I am surprised to hear it, as I know Mr. Slade is not one of Baker’s regular patients, preferring the attentions of the Doddington apothecary.”

Gilbert was pleased that Dr. Baker had acceded to his request to examine Mr. Slade as soon as possible. “Will he recover, do you think, Frederick?” he asked. “What else did Dr. Baker say?”

“He feels there is a possibility of a full recovery, however, only time will tell. Head injuries can have lasting effects. Poor man. It will be difficult for him to manage his business affairs, I suspect. Slade has managers for some of his businesses, but he oversees everything on his own, with no partner. Well, perhaps his recovery will not take as long as Dr. Baker believes. In the meantime, I will offer prayers for him this Sunday.”

“Indeed, we shall all pray for his quick recovery,” murmured Charlotte. “Perhaps we should send over a basket of preserves or something?”

Evan nodded. “An excellent idea, Charlotte—ask Mrs. Wilson for assistance. And perhaps a brace of quail, as well. For Mr. Slade is no hunter, to my knowledge, and has no property upon which to hunt, in any case.”

“He can more than afford his own quail or beef, if it comes to that, Father,” Lavinia replied. “I should not wish to send over so much that the family is beholden to us, after all. Perhaps two quail and some cheese to go with the preserves. Charlotte and I shall prepare a basket, and we can have it sent over tomorrow.”

“I will be happy to deliver the basket,” Gilbert said. “I had planned to go into the village tomorrow to see the smithy. My favorite horse requires new shoes.”

Evan raised an eyebrow at his son, but only said, “Very well. Thank you, son. That will be most appreciated.”

Chapter Forty-Three

Gilbert did his best not to appear overly eager to take the basket Lavinia and Charlotte were preparing for the Slades, but it was all he could do to keep from marching into the kitchen and loading the basket himself. Knowing he would have to walk his horse to the blacksmith’s shop meant his arrival in Doddington would not be as early as he wished. When Lavinia finally presented the goods to him, he nearly snatched the parcel from his sister’s hands and bolted from the house.

After leaving the mare with the smithy, Gilbert went directly to the Slade home. He sent up a silent prayer that Nancy would not refuse to see him, forcing him to leave the goods with the maid. To his surprise, Nancy opened the door herself. Gilbert could see from her red eyes that she had been weeping. Afraid she might order him away from the house, he thrust the basket towards her before she could speak.

“Good morning, Nancy. These goods are from Clayton House. My sisters and I wish to give you our warmest wishes for your father’s quick recovery.”

She took the basket and set it on a side table. “Thank you, Gilbert,” she said, softly giving a little sniff. She kept her eyes on the basket as she continued, “I suppose it was you who sent Dr. Baker to us yesterday. He would not tell me who urged him to call, but I know he has long attended your family, so I must assume it was you.”

“It was. Pray, do not think me too presumptuous. I only wished to offer some help, and you did say the apothecary had not been of much use.” He paused before continuing, “How… is Mr. Slade? Pardon me for bringing this up, but you appear to have been recently weeping. Has he—has your father taken a bad turn?”

Nancy pressed her lips together as fresh tears slipped down her face. She shook her head. “No. At least, he is not worse. Nor is he better. Papa is much the same, I fear.”

“Oh, but my brother-in-law, Frederick, said that Dr. Baker is optimistic for a full recovery?”

“Cautiously so, yes. But, Gilbert, it may take months, and our business affairs are in terrible disarray at present. I do not know how to manage them, as Papa did not think it seemly for me to involve myself in his businesses.” She made a helpless gesture toward the study. “I have been looking over the books, but it may as well be a foreign language to me. I do not have the least idea of where to begin.”

Gilbert felt a surge of optimism. At last, he might be of use to her. “I am good with figures, Nancy, as you know. I should be happy to, well, take a look and see if I can make heads or tails of them. That is, if you would not consider it impertinent.”

“After the terrible way I abused you the other day, I cannot believe you have the forgiveness in your heart to make such an offer, Gilbert.” She wiped her eyes and nodded. “I should be most grateful for anything you may be able to do.”

She led him into her father’s large study, bright from the morning light streaming in from the many windows. Nancy pointed to where several ledgers lay open on the large desk. There were piles of papers scattered around as well. “Each of Papa’s businesses has a manager who presents him with the accounts every week. I believe he then enters information into these ledgers, but I am most afraid to attempt it on my own, lest I make a mistake.”

Gilbert picked up one of the sheets of paper—it was for the sundries store, one of the many shops he knew Mr. Slade either owned outright or had partial ownership in. His eyes scanned the figures written down. It seemed to be in order well enough, but how would he know? He felt a need to compare this page to previous ones.

“Nancy, do you know where last month’s figures from the managers might be kept?”

She shook her head. “As I said, Papa did not care for me to become overly involved in his business affairs.” She gestured to a large cabinet across the room. “It may be that what you are looking for may be found in there. It is locked, but I do know where the key is kept.” She went to a small, earthenware jar on the mantel, removed the lid, and shook the contents out into her hand. She handed the key to Gilbert. “This will unlock it. I give you leave to explore anything here that you think might be of use. Shall I go now? I cannot imagine being of any use to you. I wish Papa might be able to assist, but, as I said, he is still addled in his mind—that is, when he is not sleeping.” She smothered a little cry of anguish and covered her face. Gilbert could barely keep himself from pulling her into his arms. He only silently watched her, as he clutched the key tightly in his fist.

After a moment, Nancy gained control of her emotions and gave him a small smile. “Very well, I shall leave you to it. If you have need of me, ring the bell for our maid, Molly, and she will find me.” She moved to the door, turning back slightly and saying softly, “Thank you, Gilbert.”

“I hope I may be of some use, Nancy. Go and rest a while, and pray, do not worry.” Unable to speak the words he wished he might, he tried to communicate his caring concern with his countenance. The two held a long gaze before Nancy finally nodded again, and left him.

Gilbert took a moment to collect his thoughts, then turned to the ledgers and papers scattered across the desk, removed his jacket, and began to work.