The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(102)
His father nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”
They couldn’t waste any additional time. He had to find out who was embezzling from them. As McCalpin reached to open the carriage door a piece of paper stuck in the household bookkeeping journal floated to the ground. He picked it up and examined the numbers. Jameson’s note listed the entries for the amounts that March had embezzled from the trust. The handwriting was of little distinction except the dashes decorating the sevens and the decorative serifs atop the ones screamed for his attention.
As if the night turned into the day, the answer became crystal clear.
“I need to see Macalester. I know who’s stolen from us.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
After McCalpin finished his evening visit to Mr. Russell’s office, he met his investigator, Macalester, at the designated address. The clean but modest home had several rooms for let. It had only taken a couple of coins, and the owner, a kind elderly man, had directed McCalpin and Macalester to the second floor.
Without a word spoken between the two, McCalpin and Macalester exchanged a glance outside the designated door. Without a knock, McCalpin lifted the latch and swept inside with his investigator following in his wake.
In his shirt and waistcoat, Jameson sat behind a writing table and immediately stood with such force he knocked over his simple oak chair. Wide-eyed, he glanced between the two men. Immediately, he schooled his features. “My lord.” His gaze swung to the investigator. “Mr. Macalester, you must have news pertaining to Miss Lawson’s theft.”
“Indeed,” McCalpin answered with a single nod. “I’ve discovered who’s behind the thefts, and it’s not Miss Lawson.”
“Step away from the desk.” With pistol drawn, Macalester approached Jameson.
With shoulders slumped, the bookkeeper did as directed. With little fanfare, he took his coat hanging from a hook on the wall and slipped it on. Behind him, Macalester opened the single drawer of the table and pulled out a sheath of papers. He held up March’s seal for McCalpin’s view.
“Why did you do it?” He studied Jameson as the bookkeeper’s cheeks flamed.
“It was an opportunity I couldn’t dismiss. When I discovered Miss Lawson was embezzling from the trust without repercussions, I decided to use her as my shield. I’d planned to stop once you discovered the missing funds.” The man sighed in resignation. “I had no other options. I needed money.”
“For what purpose?” It took every ounce of patience McCalpin possessed not to punch the man in the throat. Likely a deathblow, but Jameson deserved it.
“My invalid son lives with my elderly mother in Lancashire. She can’t care for him anymore. I needed to hire someone who would live with them. My wife died a year ago.” Jameson’s arms hung limp at his sides as if utterly defeated. “I tried to work two jobs, but there still wasn’t enough money for his care.”
McCalpin released a heavy breath. Not the villain he’d expected, but still a man who deserved punishment. “How old is your son?”
“Ten, my lord.” Jameson’s anguished whisper hung heavy in the air.
The boy was slightly older than Bennett. What would March do if she faced such a circumstance? He knew the answer—anything and everything to protect the boy.
“Lord McCalpin, you should look at this.” While still aiming the pistol at the bookkeeper, Macalester handed two sheets of paper to him.
The first was a copy of a marriage certificate. McCalpin quickly skimmed the contents. March’s parents had been married at Gretna Green in an “anvil marriage” two years prior to her birth. The second was a letter from March’s father to her grandfather, railing at the viscount for insisting her parents marry again in a “proper” Church of England ceremony. Since March’s parents had recently returned from Italy, Chelmsford was the most convenient place to meet and have the second ceremony.
“This proves she’s not a bastard.” His blood was boiling with the discovery. Jameson’s actions had ensured March’s destruction in front of the gossip-loving ton for no reason. “I should kill you for hurting my betrothed.”
“I never wanted to ruin Miss Lawson.” Jameson’s voice weakened. “Her cousin was easy to manipulate into believing the tale. I thought it would be a quiet matter handled by our firm. I never dreamed Lawson would confront her at a ball. I just needed to prove she’d embezzled funds that weren’t rightly hers. I opened the account at Fleming’s Bank under her name. That gave me the opportunity to”—he stared at the floor—“steal from you without anyone looking beyond Miss Lawson.”
“Why did you try to have the withdrawal from my investment funds deposited into her accounts?” he asked.
“More evidence of her guilt. Lord Somerton wouldn’t authorize such a transaction without coming to you first. In turn, you would think she was embezzling from you. It was a way to end it. I didn’t have the stomach to steal from you anymore.” Jameson shook his head then raised his gaze to McCalpin. “You should know the exact amount I’ve taken is roughly five thousand pounds. All but one hundred is here.” He pointed to the desk, and Macalester brought out a leather pouch. “I didn’t have any other options. My son can’t walk and can barely communicate with anyone, but”—tears welled in his eyes—“I love him, and my wife loved him dearly. I wanted to give him the very best.”