Admittedly, their private hunger had steadily escalated until need was a definite itch beneath their skins, yet he felt increasingly confident that the end to their waiting would soon be in sight.
Ecton would lose patience and depart the area, and her uncle would lose patience and make his move.
Quite what that move would be, Gregory had no idea, but he felt certain he—and Caitlin and her cousins—would meet whatever challenge eventuated.
He reached the library, went in, and shut the door, enclosing himself in a well of peace.
The mail had been somewhat late today, but had, at last, arrived; several letters were piled on the corner of his desk. He picked them up, rounded the desk, sank into his chair, leaned back, and flicked through the envelopes.
One was from Martin.
He tossed the others on the blotter and reached for the letter knife. After breaking the seal, he spread out the sheets—that there were three was an encouraging sign—and eagerly scanned his brother’s scrawl.
Martin, it seemed, had managed to uncover what everyone else had so signally failed to find.
“Well, well, well. Thank you, little brother.”
Avidly—indeed, admiringly—Gregory read of how Martin and a few of his friends, including Toby and another cousin, Jason Cynster, had taken on learning what Ecton—who, apparently, anyone with half a brain could discern was a bad ’un—was intending to achieve via his offer for the Hall as a private challenge against which to pit their wits and wiles. They’d gone hunting in the dens Ecton and his group were known to favor and, via the judicious use of spirits to loosen tongues, had learned that Ecton had been overheard talking earnestly to a mining company agent about a possible mine on his land.
Subsequently, Martin had checked with Montague, and based on the firm’s research, everyone had agreed that the land encompassed by the Ecton Hall estate was far too small to be viable as a mine.
That suggested the reason Ecton wanted the Bellamy Hall estate was so that he could package the land for sale to a mining company.
There was, however, a wrinkle in that hypothesis. Martin being Martin and, therefore, invariably curious had naturally wondered what element a mine on the Ecton Hall-Bellamy Hall lands might produce. As he pointed out, the answer would significantly impact the value of any such mine and, therefore, the potential value of the Bellamy Hall estate.
Through Montague’s, Alverton’s, and his own growing list of contacts, Martin had investigated further and had concluded that, in that area, the most likely product of a profitable mine would be ironstone. He added the caveat that Ecton might be targeting some other mineral of worth, but if so, there were no whispers of other minerals of value being found in the vicinity.
A building-stone quarry was always a possibility, but Martin couldn’t see how that would be profitable enough to act as a spur for the purchase of Bellamy Hall.
Gregory snorted. Having recently become acquainted with the price of local building stone through Hamish’s purchasing of offcuts for sculpting, he concurred. “There’s barely a living to be made in such a quarry.” Nothing of the level of profit that would push Ecton into action.
Martin had concluded, therefore, that ironstone was the most likely ore Ecton was proposing for his mine, and there were sound reasons to support that hypothesis. Recently, iron had been successfully extracted and smelted from sands dredged from the depths after removal of limestone building blocks at a site north of Wellingborough, not far from the Hall. Consequently, ironstone sands were currently all the rage with mining companies. Martin had also heard reliable reports that several companies were looking to build iron and steel works in Northampton to process the iron extracted from such sands.
Overall, Martin wrote, selling land for an ironstone mine could be a viable and, indeed, highly profitable proposition at that time, and at first glance, the lands of Ecton Hall and Bellamy Hall, lying between Wellingborough and Northampton, were in an excellent position.
However—and Martin had underlined the word three times—from what he recalled of the Bellamy Hall estate, the entire estate lay only fractionally above the level of the Nene, the abbey ruins being the highest point, and even that outcrop barely qualified as a low hill. Consequently, either there would not be ironstone sands beneath the Hall’s lands or, if there were, they would be too deep below river level—and therefore, the water table—to make accessing them at all feasible.
Martin’s ultimate conclusion was that, unless Ecton was proposing to mine something valuable no one else as yet knew anything about, any proposal of a mine on the Ecton Hall-Bellamy Hall lands should be treated with extreme skepticism, and suspicion would not be uncalled-for.
Gregory stared at Martin’s final words, then, frowning, slowly lowered the letter and set it on the blotter.
Every instinct he possessed was stating adamantly that Ecton was up to no good.
He was that sort of man, and his approach over purchasing the Hall had that sort of smell to it.
Eyes narrowing, Gregory stared across the room. “If that’s what he’s planning, how does he imagine he’s going to pull the wool over some mining company’s eyes?”
A sudden, startling clamor erupted, coming from the direction of the front hall.
The noise continued. Not quite a roar—more like a bellow.
Suspecting he knew who this would be—a glance at his calendar confirmed that seven days had passed since Daniel had arrived—Gregory pushed back his chair.
He rose as, with the barest of taps, Cromwell opened the door and, looking a trifle wild-eyed, announced, “There’sanotherScotsman here, sir.” He gestured toward the front hall. “An older one, and he’s demanding to have his sons and his ward delivered to him immediately. Sir?”
Gregory waved Cromwell back and strode for the door. “I’ll come and speak with him. Meanwhile, you and the footmen fetch Rory, Hamish, and Daniel. As fast as you can.”
Gregory walked down the long corridor toward the front hall, with Cromwell trotting at his heels. Gregory spoke over his shoulder. “You should find Rory in the carpentry workshop, Hamish in the carriage works barn—the last bay—and Daniel, we can but pray, won’t have gone out but will be in the conservatory.”
