Page 48 of A Debt Inherited

“I speak freely because I recognise an ally.”

Kerr looked at him then. Wickham’s smile remained easy, but his hand had stilled upon the stem of his glass.

The fireless grate, the thin wine, the man dressed above his circumstances—Kerr marked them all and found no payment among them. Only names remained, and Kerr did not yet know whether they were coin or air. That uncertainty ought to have ended the interview. Instead, it held him there.

Kerr rose. “Then I shall report promise, not payment.”

“Report improvement,” Wickham said. “It sounds handsomer.”

Wickham came with him to the door and opened it himself. “Until then, Mr Kerr, let us part as gentlemen.”

Kerr paused on the threshold. Gentility cost nothing. Neither did refusal. He inclined his head. “Until the month’s end.”

Wickham’s smile deepened. “I remain obliged to your discretion.”

* * *

A knock sounded at Kerr’s sitting-room door—two light taps, no more.

Kerr looked up from the list of names. The fire had burned to ash, and the lamp guttered low.

Mrs Price opened the sitting-room door only so far as duty required. Wickham stood behind her, hat in hand, collar turned up against the damp.

“Mr Wickham, sir,” she said, without pleasure.

“At this hour?”

Mrs Price did not move.

Kerr folded the list and laid it face down. “Thank you, Mrs Price.”

She hesitated, then withdrew.

“Forgive the hour,” Wickham said. “Mrs Price was good enough to say you had not yet retired. I thought it best to call before Mr Roark hears your account.”

Kerr did not rise. “You mean before I tell Roark you cannot pay.”

“Cannot,” Wickham said, waiting at the threshold, “is a temporary condition. I dislike being judged by the present.”

Kerr let him stand there a moment longer. “Come in, then.”

Wickham entered, drew off his gloves, and laid them beside the list.

“You are a practical man, Mr Kerr. I admire practicality. It saves time.”

Kerr glanced at the gloves.

“I owe Mr Roark a sum, yes. But within a month, I expect a settlement large enough to satisfy him twice over.”

“A bold assurance from a debtor.”

Wickham smiled. “Boldness is only credit by another name. With proper acquaintance, it may even pass for security.”

He leant closer, the lamplight catching his eyes. “What I am promised, when it comes, would clear my account, yours, and every name upon that list there—a king’s ransom, if ever there was one.”

Kerr inclined his head. “Who pays such sums?”

“A gentleman in Derbyshire.”