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“Perhaps, but as it took a few days for us to locate your whereabouts and then write to you and wait for your return, I judged it prudent to act. There are unusual . . . ah . . . circumstances at play here that required thorough legal examination in order to address them in the most expeditious and beneficial of manners.”
The man was talking as convolutedly as he wrote. “You are speaking in riddles, Heslop. Let me be frank—I received very little instruction in estate management growing up; I believe it is because my father had little interest in it himself and felt it beneath him, so he delegated the responsibility of the estate to his steward. Additionally, I was estranged from my father for several years, as you are already aware, having had no connection to him at all after the death of my mother.” William paused to let those words sink in before continuing. “In short, it would be a service to us both if you were to cease worrying about offending my sensibilities regarding my father and speak plainly.”
Mr. Heslop heaved a sigh. “That is a relief to hear, your lordship. Very well, then; let us proceed.”
They spent the next several hours going over the estate’s books and papers, and William, who had always thought himself rather clever, soon realized just how lacking his education as a titled landowner was. He shook off the resentment he felt anew toward his father and focused on the numbers he was reading.
He and Mr. Heslop reviewed livestock quotas, earnings and losses from the home farm and the various tenant farms, repairs, and drainage costs. They went over servants’ wages and pensioners’ allowances. They added incomes and subtracted debits. In spite of himself, William’s eyes began to swim, and his head ached from the rows and columns and pluses and minuses.
And then Mr. Heslop picked up a sheaf of papers from the corner of the desk and placed them in front of William. William thumbed through the first few pages before sitting back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes, unwilling to believe what he was seeing.
Mortgages. They were mortgages—plural—made against the estate.
Viscount Farleigh, William Senior, had mortgaged the estate to the hilt, and now those debts belonged to Viscount Farleigh—that would be he, William Junior, lucky chap that he was.
He thought of Grimshaw and Matthew and Samuel and Mrs. Holly. He thought of Mrs. Brill and Mary and the other servants, few though they may be, and the loyal tenants who still remained on Farleigh land, and what a blow these massive debts would mean to their wellbeing.
“How could my father have allowed this to happen?” he asked. And yet William knew how, remembered how his father had been.
“As best I can tell, while your father was concerned about personal debts of honor, he was markedly less so about debts owed to institutions and merchants, whom he considered beneath him, if you’ll excuse my bluntness. It also appears your father’s steward took his cues from your father, in that he was more concerned about seeing to his own welfare and skimming from the books than he was to the overall success of the estate. As long as your father had what he wanted—”
“He didn’t care about anything else,” William said.
“Quite so, unfortunately.”
“The steward?”
“Long gone, I’m afraid. Our inquiries have led nowhere.”
William nodded, expecting as much. “What is to be done?” He asked the question rhetorically, expecting no real answer from Mr. Heslop. He fully appreciated now why the solicitor had taken the time to thoroughly explain the gravity of the situation to him, knowing William was a young man of a mere twenty-four years with no practical experience upon which to rely.
“I have pondered that question daily since your father’s passing,” Mr. Heslop replied, removing his reading spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose. “There are several critical repairs needed about the estate and the home farm. With good management, Farleigh Manor would be able to meet her own obligations within a year or two; after that, it might provide a decent income or even better than decent. Were it not for the mortgages . . .”
“Were it not for the mortgages, which put any chance of success out of reach,” William said, finishing the solicitor’s sentence. “We have no options, then, do we?”
“Well, there are a couple of small unentailed properties that can be sold that will help reduce the mortgage debts, if you’re agreeable. Their sale won’t clear the debts, mind you, not by half—but at this point, anything will help; however, it would reduce the overall size of the viscountcy holdings significantly.”
“I’m agreeable. I don’t care about the size of the viscountcy holdings; I care about the people affected by my father’s behavior. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get the debts resolved and the manor and its people thriving again.”
The solicitor cleared his voice. “That is good to hear, your lordship, for that is where the unusual circumstances I spoke of earlier come into play. There is a particular detail I have been holding back that might be the key to resolving the mortgage debts and seeing Farleigh Manor ready to thrive again.”
“Then tell me,” William said, leaning forward in his chair. “You have spent the whole of the afternoon pointing out in great detail the dire situation the viscountcy is in. And then you tell me there is an answer? Why this drawn-out exercise? Why not simply point out the answer and let’s be on with it?”
Mr. Heslop shook his head while he straightened the mortgage documents and set them aside. “If only it were that easy, your lordship. I needed to impress upon you the critical nature of your situation first. Yes, the sale of the unentailed properties will help the situation, but they will not resolve the majority of the debt or see to the repairs needed here at Farleigh Manor or to the basic funds necessary for running the estate. I said the detail I spoke about might be the key to resolving the debt. I did not say it was a simple matter. Quite the contrary, in fact. But it is, I believe, your only hope—the slimmest of hopes, if I may be frank.”
“I cannot know that without being told what it is,” William remarked pointedly.
“Very well. It will be up to you to decide how to proceed anyway.” He picked up his letter case and removed a folder, then opened the folder and removed a document. And then, with great deliberation, he handed the document to William.
William read the words written on the document before him. He read them again and then a third time. “What the devil?” he exclaimed, looking up at Mr. Heslop.
“Precisely,” Mr. Heslop replied.
