that description.
“You may go, Parker.” Gabriel waited until the door closed before breaking the seal.
Drusilla felt sick. “My God, it is Rowland.”
He read it out loud:
“Marlington:
“By now you will know the boy is gone. He is unharmed and will remain so as long as you do exactly what I say. I want 10,000£ and I will give you until tomorrow night to gather it. You will receive a message tomorrow at nine o’clock telling you where to take the money and how to go about it. If you do not follow the directions to the letter—if you think to send a Runner, for example—you will never see the boy again. I know Drusilla has the money, so I will not tolerate any delaying tactics. Also, don’t try any tricks. I will not hesitate to carry out my threat. I shall accept the money from nobody other than Drusilla—alone.”
Gabriel handed her the note. “Of course he did not sign it—do you recognize the handwriting?”
Drusilla glanced at the letter and then handed it back. “It is his writing.”
Gabriel strode to his desk, tossed down the letter, and then pulled a sheet of paper from a drawer and sat.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing to my mother.”
Drusilla went to stand over the desk. “Does she know Rowland has been stalking us?”
“No, but she will be able to get the money quickly. I’m afraid I simply do not have such an amount lying around. It would take me days to assemble it.”
His words were like a slap. She leaned forward and splayed her hand in the middle of the piece of paper, forcing him to look at her.
He was already shaking his head. “No. I will not take your money. Nor will you deliver it to that worm.” He frowned, his expression fierce enough to make her shiver. “The nerve of—”
“It is our money, Gabriel. And Samir is our son. How can you think I would ever want anything else?”
His face flushed darkly. “While I appreciate your sentiment, he is either my estranged brother’s son or my bastard child by a former lover, Drusilla. How can I expect you to pay?”
“First,” she said, yanking the paper from his hands and crumpling it in a ball, “I never want to hear that word spoken out loud again. Second, we are family. Do you think I would give tens of thousands of pounds to help strangers yet begrudge money to save our son—no matter who his mother was?”
She could tell he was angry—at her, at himself, at Rowland? Probably all three.
He closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, dropping his head into his hand. “I should have known he was up to something like this—he and Visel were—” He stopped, shook his head, and snapped his fingers. “Visel!” He was halfway to the door before she realized what he was doing.
“Gabriel—wait. You’re going to see him now? It is four o’clock in the morning.”
He yanked open the door and said over his shoulder. “Don’t you know, Drusilla? Nighttime is the best time to hunt rats.”
* * *
Drusilla had hoped Gabriel would be home when her man of business came to see her at eight o’clock sharp, but—as it turned out—she was very glad he wasn’t.
“Hello, Mr. Jenkins, thank you for coming so quickly.” Of her three trustees, she had always liked Mr. Jenkins the best. He wasn’t warm or affectionate, but he was always forthright and treated her as a thinking being. She’d decided to keep him as her personal man of business after she had married. Her plans for expanding her charitable endeavors were not yet fully developed, but when they were, she would need help implementing them.
“Would you like tea?” she asked once he’d settled in the chair across from her. She had decided to meet him in the library, by far the most comfortable room in the house.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Marlington. I had some before I left.” He opened the large black leather satchel he’d brought with him. “If you hadn’t summoned me today, I was going to ask for a meeting with you.”
Oh dear. This did not sound good. “And why is that, Mr. Jenkins?”
His mouth settled into a grim frown. “I’m afraid I received some rather disturbing news late yesterday.”
She could have told him it was going around. “Nothing wrong with Mrs. Jenkins, I hope?”
“No, no, nothing of that sort.” He cleared his throat and then opened one of the ledgers he’d brought. He was acting almost. . . nervous.