Amanda Scott Read Online Free PDF Page B

I cannot discuss your father’s business with you. To do so would be most improper. You will not tell me, I hope, that Mr. Haviland ever did so.
    “No,” Sybilla admitted. “Mr. Haviland wrote letters to my father, and my father replied by the same means.”
    “Well, I cannot see my way clear to entrusting the post with the sort of things I wish to discuss with him,” Mr. Beak said in his fussiest manner. “One’s finances are private matters, after all, and although I am frequently assured that the post is entirely to be trusted, I simply cannot do so. As soon as I do, the letter will fall into the wrong hands or be lost altogether.”
    “Surely not a letter traveling no farther than across the city of Bath,” Sybilla said, amused.
    “Perhaps not. But a precedent once set, you know, leads to other things. First across Bath, then across England, then no doubt, across the world. Although, of course, one cannot travel across the world merely to ask or answer a question or two.”
    “I am glad to hear you say so. Nonetheless, I suggest that you write to my father. Surely, one letter …”
    “I cannot undertake so great a responsibility, ma’am. I fear I must insist upon seeing Sir Mortimer and receiving his instructions in person. There is a matter of grave importance at stake, you see.”
    “No, I don’t, but I suppose if you won’t explain, you won’t.” Sybilla paused hopefully, but he only stared at her, so she sighed and said, “Very well, Mr. Beak, I will see if I can arrange for him to see you. What day will be convenient?”
    “Day? Why today, ma’am. I am here.”
    “So you are. But I am very nearly certain he will not agree to see you today. He will require time to get used to the idea.”
    “Used to the idea!” Mr. Beak’s pale blue eyes threatened to pop from his head. “Used to the idea? Why there are eighty thou—” He broke off, swallowing, then yanked a white handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and wiped his face, saying through his teeth, “Madam, I must insist that you tell Sir Mortimer I am here. The matter is one that must not await his pleasure. I am not to be put off, I tell you.”
    “So you do.” Sybilla regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment, but he was able now to return her gaze steadily. Deciding that short of having him ejected from the house there was nothing she could do but attempt to comply with his wishes, she stood and moved to pull the bell.
    Her footman entered some few minutes later. “M’lady?”
    “Find Borland, Robert, and tell him I wish to speak with him at once. Borland,” she added for the banker’s benefit, “is my father’s manservant.”
    “Borland has gone for the day, m’lady. Said Sir Mortimer told him to”—Robert flicked a glance at Mr. Beak, who had got to his feet when Sybilla stood, and visibly altered what he had been about to say—“to take a brief holiday. Said he’d earned one and meant to stay away a full day and let the old—” Breaking off hastily, Robert looked apologetic.
    “Yes, I see.” Sybilla bit her lip. “Very well, Robert, since he is not here to attend to the matter, you may take Mr. Beak up to Sir Mortimer, if you please.”
    Robert stared at her, his mouth agape. When he found his voice, he swallowed and said firmly, “If it please your ladyship, I’d rather not do any such thing.”
    “You did hear me quite clearly, did you not, Robert?” Sybilla spoke sternly.
    “Yes, m’lady, I heard you well enough, but I’d as lief not have a boot or a book, or even a poker, thrown at my head, or lose my place, which is what happened to the last footman who dared to intrude on the master, if you will but recall.”
    “Very true,” Sybilla said. “It was thoughtless of me to have forgotten that, Robert. I should be very much displeased if you were to lose your position here.”
    “Thank you, m’lady.”
    “I shall take Mr. Beak up myself.”
    “My lady!”
    “Come along, Mr. Beak. I hope you do