Page 109 of Foes, Friends and Lovers
Given their number, it didn’t take long to cover both the ground and first floors, after which most of the crew climbed the stairs to comb through the rooms in the attics.
Waiting with Patrick at the top of the main stairs for those searching above to report back, Gregory seized the moment to ask the older man, “In your opinion, could Ecton have convinced some mining company to buy the combined parcel of land?”
Patrick gazed at the floor—at the threadbare carpet—for a full minute, then vouchsafed, “Depending on how he went about it, then aye, he might have pulled it off.” Patrick raised his head and, his expression hard, met Gregory’s eyes. “Mind you, he’d need to have an assayer in his pocket, but given his cockiness and the amounts of money we’re talking about, it seems likely he’s already got that in hand.” Patrick let out a gusty breath. “And the final point that has me leaning toward him pulling it off is that, in the current climate, while mining companies are falling over themselves to do deals for ironstone sands, and make no mistake, once their people actually got here, they would immediately know they’d been sold a dud, yet at that point, the very last thing they would want is for the management’s gullibility to become known.”
“So they would hide the crime?”
“Oh aye—you can bet your last farthing on that. So it’s likely clever boy downstairs would have got away with the money and not even a slap on the wrist.”
Gregory’s jaw set. “A crime where the victims refuse to admit they’ve been wronged.”
“Exactly.”
He hesitated, but from the sound of footsteps on the floor above, the others were still searching. “No one has mentioned any mining at Benbeoch.”
“Nah, not there.” Patrick glanced at the ceiling. “I was part of a company operating out of Glasgow. Still have an interest in it, which is why I keep up with things, but I had to give up the engineering itself when m’brother died. Benbeoch needed a steady hand, someone to take care of the place and the clan, and there was no one else.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “So I left mining and went home.”
From beneath his lashes, Gregory studied Patrick’s weathered face. For all that the Scotsman was a man of bluff bluster, he cared—deeply—for his family, for his clan. Perhaps he tried too hard to manage everyone—that certainly seemed to be the case—but having been thrust into the position in the way he had… Somewhat unexpectedly, Gregory felt a certain kinship with the older man. The weight of responsibility for others’ livelihoods was something with which he was now well-acquainted.
Patrick looked toward the attic stairs as the thunder of footsteps heralded the return of the searchers. There’d been no cries of success and relief, confirming Gregory’s assessment that Ecton hadn’t hidden Caitlin in the house.
As, grim-faced, the others gathered, he declared, “Just to be certain, we’ll need to search the cellars.”
Everyone followed as he and Patrick led the way into the kitchen, where they found lamps and candles and passed them around, then continued through an ancient doorway and down a set of stone stairs to the dank, cold cellar.
Once there, the company spread out. The search didn’t take long, and as expected, they discovered no sign of Caitlin.
Meanwhile, from behind the locked door of an old storeroom guarded by Rory and Hamish, Ecton laughed at their efforts.
The mood of the crowd that, finally, gathered at the base of the cellar stairs was, unsurprisingly, dark.
Gregory glanced at the faces, then simply said, “Wait here.”
To that point, he’d been driven mostly by fear and panic and the resulting burning need to act—to do something and find Caitlin—but the minutes spent in the fruitless search had allowed his brain to start analyzing and thinking, and gradually, rational thought had come to the fore.
He tweaked Patrick’s sleeve, turned, and with the older man falling in at his back, strode for the storeroom. The assembled company had earned the right to hear what was said.
Rory saw Gregory coming, took in his expression, and unbarred the door and hauled it open. Hamish held up a lantern to light the space inside.
Gregory halted on the threshold. The lantern beam fell full on their prisoner. The men had literally hog-tied Ecton and dumped him on his side in a pile of old straw. Other than a discarded crate and a disintegrating barrel that might once have held apples, there was little else left in the long-abandoned storeroom.
Despite his inelegant position, Ecton squinted up at Gregory and grinned. “Have you found her yet?”
Gregory folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the door frame. “No. Are you sure you don’t want to tell us where she is?”
Ecton chuckled. “She’s my trump card, so no. I’ll wait until you realize that I have you stymied.”
His tone made it clear that it hadn’t occurred to him to think of Caitlin or, indeed, anyone beyond himself.
“I see.” Gregory turned his head and, over his shoulder, called, “Joshua?”
Seconds later, Joshua materialized at his elbow. “Yes?”
His gaze on Ecton, Gregory said, “Take one of his lordship’s horses and ride to Loxton Park. Tell Lord Loxton that Ecton has kidnapped Miss Fergusson and hidden her away, and he refuses to reveal where she is. He’s attempting to use her as a hostage to force me to give him Bellamy Hall.”
Ecton’s eyes widened.
Calmly, Gregory went on, “Use my name and ask his lordship if he would join us here at his earliest convenience.”
