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Lancaster stared in shock at Cambertson, whose hand still clutched the door handle. Where in the world was the decrepit old butler? Had he finally keeled over?
“Come on, come on,” Cambertson muttered, waving him in.
“What message?”
“I sent a message ’round with the idiot maid. Didn’t you get it? Good God, how many trials can one man go through?”
Lancaster didn’t like the odd implication that Cynthia’s death might somehow be equated with trouble with the help, but he bit his tongue and followed her stepfather down the hall and back to his shabby study. The butler sat, sound asleep, in a chair outside the door.
“Bram paid another visit,” Cambertson barked as he rounded his desk and collapsed into his seat.
“Today?”
“No, yesterday noon. Reminded me that Lord Richmond only wanted to know when my Mary would be back. Nothing more. I told him it didn’t matter. The girl is only thirteen!”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re the only man around who can understand.”
“Me?” Lancaster shook his head in disgust. “Understand what?”
“What it’s like to live with this pressure. The life of a gentleman and all the debt that goes along with it.”
He wanted to spit in this man’s face and scream that they were nothing alike. But he only shot his cuffs and stared at a smear in the dust atop the desk.
“I know you think I did wrong by Cynthia, but I meant her to have a good marriage. Her father was a knight, after all. She wasn’t meant to marry low. I tried my best to honor his name.”
“How much do you owe Richmond?”
“Thirteen hundred,” Cambertson muttered.
Thirteen hundred pounds. It wasn’t so much. It wasn’t worth the life of a young girl. It certainly wasn’t worth the life of two. But it was probably five years’ income on this land, assuming he hadn’t already sold off great swaths of it.
“So what will you do?” Lancaster asked.
“What can I do? He’s threatened to see me hauled into court once already. It was either give him Cynthia or sell the land. Without the land, we’d have nothing.”
“But without Cynthia, you’d be fine.”
“Of course we’d be fine,” Cambertson snapped. “She would’ve married someday regardless. And we will be fine without Mary as well, if only I can make my wife see that.”
Amazingly, there appeared to be a sheen of tears in the man’s eyes. But it was just as likely grief for his debt as it was for the fate of his daughters. Lancaster could understand how untenable it would be for the man to sell his land, but if he sold off his whole family, whom would he pass the land to?
On the other hand, if Lancaster simply removed Richmond from the equation, the whole situation might be solved. Except that the debt would then be held by whomever inherited.
“Do you think Bram is Richmond’s heir?” he asked.
Cambertson shrugged. “It’s possible. Richmond’s been married three times.”
“And widowed.”
The man ignored Lancaster’s pointed tone. “I never heard anything about an heir, but it’s clear he’s related.”
“Can you find out?” He didn’t want the fate of Cynthia and her sister falling into the hands of a man who supposedly had no soul.
Cambertson shrugged again. “He asked about you, you know.”
“Who?”
