The Mesmerist (The Adventures of Xavier & Vic Book 3) Page 3

  Instead, she hugged her beloved and returned her head upon his chest. “Forget the First Minister. With our growing staff, we need to focus on paying cases.”

  “What is our case this morning about—and it had better not be another missing cat.”

  She nipped him for bringing up the eviscerating feline case she had taken. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  “Probably not.”

  She pushed off his chest, and this time, he let her go. “Well, according to Ben’s notes, someone thinks they’ve invested in a scam.” She nudged Xavier from the bed and followed him. “This one will require your involvement, because you have failed to teach me about investments.”

  He dared feign shock and dismay. “Not so well-trained after all, are we?”

  Her eyes narrowed but she kept her mouth shut. If she argued, he’d torture her with her ignorance through the entire investigation.

  Chapter 3

  Xavier sat in his high back leather desk chair, staring out the window while Vic began the initial interview with the new client: a proud and defiant old bird, far past her prime, but determined to remain in control of her world. Her rigid posture and the thrust of her chin told him all he needed to know: they were in for a dreadful half-hour.

  Mrs. Penderheim preferred to speak to Vic rather than him. He was more than willing to oblige, given Vic had an uncanny ability to tug the truth from their lying hides. He had learned long ago clients withheld facts, even when to do so was to their own detriment. From the old lady’s evasive answers, she was no different.

  He used to threaten to fire Vic if they did not tell the truth, but Vic warned him if he continued the ploy she’d cut all his trousers into short pants so he could walk about as the tallest child in the world.

  Not that Xavier would be caught dead in short pants, but the idea of having to buy a new wardrobe was sufficient threat. Clearly, his pup felt it demeaning to her status for him to constantly threaten her with unemployment, so he promised to cease and desist.

  However, today’s client tempted him beyond endurance. Twenty minutes into the pointless interview, he turned and glared at the ancient old woman. “Mrs. Penderheim. Given you have failed to honestly answer Victor’s questions up to now, I must conclude you distrust everyone in general, including yourself.”

  While Vic barely blinked from his outburst, the old woman’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Finally, she found her voice.

  “I am careful in whom I trust, and given all the charlatans and thieves in the world, I daresay I’ve a right. However, I do take offense to your second claim. I most certainly trust myself.”

  “No, you do not. And your presence here is proof of it. You believe you’ve made a dreadful error in some matter and you are angry and ashamed. This is all very well, except we cannot help you unless you tell us what imbecilic thing you have done.”

  Her eyebrows rose in outrage. “Well, I’ve never‒”

  “Then it’s about time you begin.” He pulled his pocket watch. “You have ten minutes left of your paid appointment. If you have not given us sufficient information to proceed, I am refusing you as a client.”

  Oddly, his answer cheered her immensely. “Very well, my trusted solicitor died this January from influenza and upon significant review and evaluations I believed I had obtained a reliable younger fellow to handle my assets.”

  Vic jumped in. “Name of the gentleman?”

  “Samuel Long.”

  She made note of it on her pad. “The exact amount of your assets when you turned it over to his care?”

  The old woman eyed her. “To the penny?”

  “Yes, if you do not have it now, I can stop by your house today, but we will require the precise amount.”

  “Why?”

  Xavier stared at the ceiling in exasperation as his hands gripped the arms of his chair. God, if only he could run his business without clients. “So we can ensure the amount remaining based of the investments made is correct—to the penny.”

  The woman’s smile widened. “Exactly so. I turned over 429,013 pounds.”

  Vic wrote the amount down. “And do you know how much you have presently?”

  “He claims I have 448,060 pounds. However, the increase seems too high for the underlying bonds that we agreed upon. According to my calculations I should earn a 4.4% return, yet the amount he claims resides in my account would require an annualized return of 17.7%.”

  Not only did her exactness, and ability to calculate returns intrigue Xavier, but never had a client come to him because they felt their return was too high. “Did you ask your solicitor about the discrepancy?”

  Her focus snapped to his direction and her brow furrowed with annoyance. “No, I did not.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Vic asked.

  Xavier answered his pup. “Because if this is a fraudulent scheme, the man will simply lower her return to what she expects, but that still will not solve her underlying problem, which is that she may have invested her entire fortune with a mountebank.”

  Mrs. Penderheim nodded faintly in his direction. “You are correct in all but one point.”

  “This is not all of your money.” Vic suggested.

  Her eyebrows rose. “And why would you think that?”

  “Because you do not seem like a woman who would put all her eggs in one nest.”

  She chuckled. “I like your young man, Mr. Thorn. He may be light on his understanding of investments, but he’s an excellent read of people. I want him involved in my case.”

  Now it was Xavier who became so outraged that it took him a moment to find his voice. “Who works on your case is not your say.”

  The woman’s smile disappeared and she stood. “I wish to be updated weekly until you conclude this investigation. Since I refuse to endure another minute of your rudeness, you will have to send someone else. Good day, Mr. Thorn.” She then smiled at Vic. “And a very good day to you, Mr. Hamilton.”

  She opened the door and stopped, pulling a pocket watch from her jacket. “Twenty-eight seconds to spare.”

  Xavier leaned back and stared out the window once the door closed. “I hate to admit it, but I like the old bird.”

  “The feeling was not mutual.” Vic turned to him. “So are you going to teach me about investments?”

  “First, you have some legwork to do to compensate for your poor interview.”

  “My poor— What legwork?” she demanded.

  His pup hated to be called on sloppy work. But if he didn’t keep her humbled, her head would swell to the size of a giant pumpkin. “There is so much lacking, I hardly know where to begin. The address of the advisor would have been nice, and the exact bonds he was supposed to have invested in, another useful bit. Not to mention the price and coupon yield, so we can calculate and verify the old bird’s figures.”

  Vic chewed her bottom lip.

  He rose and patted her on her blond head. “It’s all right, pup. You’re still learning. Mistakes are allowed—once. But don’t make a habit of them.”

  He then headed out.

  “Where are you going?” Vic asked in a surly growl.

  “To speak to Stone on a personal matter.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, this is personal, between Stone and myself. An audience is not desired.”

  Her eyes narrowed with distrust. “You swear this is not about the case you claim you did not take?”

  God, her ability to jump to the right conclusion was uncanny. “Actually, it is related to the case. I was not happy with Stone’s responses during the meeting and wish to vent my anger at him in private.”

  ***

  Vic let him leave without further interrogation. If Stone had sided against her assisting Xavier, she didn’t want to know. Even the possibility he might have done so made her stomach turn. She could only think of one reason why he’d object to her inclusion: he did not think her good enough. A sense of self-doubt overwhelmed her. Maybe she truly remained a half-trained investigator.

  Returning to her notes, she released a heavy sigh of frustration. “I sure as hell don’t know what I’m doing here.” She needed help, and preferably before Xavier had time to marvel at her astounding level of ignorance.

  With heavy feet, she thumped up the stairs and entered the kitchen where Tubs sat, drinking a giant mug of coffee and reading the paper.

  He looked up at her entrance and smiled, revealing his giant row of ivory teeth. It was a vast improvement to the ugly black rotted hole of past.

  Staring at Tubs teeth made her think of the dentist who’d spent a whole day repairing them. She hoped to marry her sister off to the fellow. “I need to do some private stuff. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  Tubs downed the remainder of his coffee in one swig. “No, I’ll go. You’ll have to travel by hired cab.”

  “Right. Come along then.”

  Vic hated using hired cabs unless Tubs was with her. Once she had come within seconds of being abducted by opium dealers lurking in a cab for hire. Tubs, however, had proven himself more than capable of handling bad cabbies, so with him along, she was fearless.

  She gripped his giant log of an arm. “Who knows, maybe we’ll come upon more criminal cabbies for you to tip over.”

  He frowned. “You can’t talk about that. You’ll get me arrested.”

  “If Stone dared arrest you, I’d testify in your defense, and if that didn’t do the trick, I’d break you out. Your quick actions saved a young man from being abducted, held for ransom, and then left to endure a life of drug addiction. If I had your strength and knowledge of which cabbies were bad, I’d tip them all.”

  Tubs chuckled and followed her down the stairs. “Wh
ere are we going today?”

  “About.”

  “About where?”

  She paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Why do you need to know?”

  Tubs scratched his giant baldhead. “Mr. Thorn says if he’s not here when we leave, I’m to tell Ben where we’re going.” He nodded to the young man seated at the desk in the front room.

  She had hired Ben to take appointments when Xavier had gone missing last year. He smiled up at her with pen and paper ready to scribe her answer.

  “All right, but for now on, Xavier is under the same rule. Ben, you are not to allow him to leave without getting his destination.”

  Ben’s eyes rounded in horror. Poor thing, the end of his career was no doubt flashing before his eyes. She patted his back. “Don’t worry, I merely jest. Write this down: I’m going home to see what the cook has prepared for dinner.”

  As they stepped outside, Tubs rubbed his massive arms. “Are we really going to your home?”

  “Yes.” She stood on the edge of the sidewalk and raised her hand to hail a cab, but none would stop, even though they appeared to be empty. The last one even sped up upon sight of her and Tubs.

  “Good thing it’s in walking distance, because I think word is out among the cabbies,” Tubs grumbled.

  After the fifth attempt, Vic had to agree. “No matter, it’s fair payment for saving a life.”

  Tubs smiled. “It is at that.”

  When they arrived home thirty minutes later, she was out of sorts. “I don’t see why the good cabbies have to blacklist us. It’s not as if you went about tipping every carriage you saw. You tipped one cab with very bad people in it.”

  Tubs shrugged. “Don’t take much for people not to like me.”

  Just then, her bossy butler, Gregory, opened the door. Upon taking in her dusty state, he glanced at Tubs and then the empty street. “Why didn’t you hire a cab? Are you out of money again?”

  “No, I’m not. No cab would stop for us.” Instead of waiting for Gregory to step back, Vic pushed her way in.

  Tubs did wait, and received a warm welcome from Gregory for being such a gentleman.

  Vic sniffed the air and her stomach growled in approval from the tantalizing odors coming from the kitchen. “What’s for dinner? I was thinking of inviting David over.”

  “Roasted quail and Mr. Brown is already expected,” Gregory replied.

  Vic checked to verify her sister was not about and whispered. “Really? Then matters are progressing?”

  Once Claire had declared she’d dropped Jonas, the valet, and wanted an educated gentleman to love, Vic had brought her David to consider. While her friend had been born a gentleman, his father brought the family to ruin. Thus, David left Oxford and became a dentist, placing himself firmly in the despised middle-class.

  However, since Claire had lost her virtue to her beloved servant many years ago, Vic didn’t think she had the right to be particular. David was well-educated and in love with the idea of a brilliant woman. Vic would find no one more obliging to Claire’s oddities than her friend.

  Gregory eyes narrowed. “If you wish to know your sister’s business, ask her yourself. A butler never gossips.”

  Vic feigned shock. “You’re my butler? Are you certain? I thought you my uncle for sure.” Gregory had always run the house as if he were the master rather than the butler.

  “On with you now!” Gregory snapped.

  Vic started to run from the room, but pulled up. “Hold on. I need a carriage.”

  “When?”

  “Right now. I have to find someone who can teach me about investments.”

  “Who?” Gregory asked.

  “I’ve no idea. I have yet to ferret him out.”

  Her butler stormed from the alcove. Vic led Tubs into the kitchen. “Anything for two hungry men to eat, Mrs. Yarrows?” After saving her niece from white slavery six months ago, Mrs. Yarrows treated Vic like royalty.

  The cook smiled and hurried to the icebox, extracting several bowls. “I’ve your favorite pudding and some cold ham and bread. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect.” Vic gave Tubs the bread and ham, but kept the pudding for herself.

  She was barely a third finished when Gregory entered. “Your carriage is ready and here is the name of a very fine man who might be willing to teach you about investments.” He handed her an embossed business card. “But mind your manners. He was your aunt’s man of affairs, and I would hate for him to think her nephew grew up poorly.”

  “Only because you raised me.” Vic grinned as she returned the bowl of pudding to the icebox. “Your concern is nothing more than vanity gone wild.” Gregory’s fierce glare stopped her teasing. Instead, she pocketed the card. “Thank you for the information, and I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  “See that you do, Victor.”

  ***

  Vic gave the family driver the address and climbed into the carriage with Tubs in tow.

  “Better sit in the middle,” she advised. “Gregory will kill me if we ruin his carriage.”

  Tubs shifted to the center. “Isn’t this your carriage?”

  Vic snorted. “If one assumes I’m the master of the house, yes, it is. However, Aunt Maddy allowed Gregory to rule the roost, and he doesn’t appear willing to give up his position to a young whelp still wet behind the ears.”

  “You ain’t wet behind your ears. You’re as clever a fellow as I’ve ever met. I like working with you.”

  Her heart swelled with pride. “And I enjoy working with such a highly skilled person in possession of an immense fountain of criminal knowledge.”

  He shrugged and stared at his feet, still uncomfortable receiving compliments. Tubs had previously worked for the criminal mastermind of the London underworld. Her biggest concern was that his new occupation might be too subdued to hold his interest for long.

  Vic had often felt unfairly persecuted in her life, but once she saw how people treated poor Mr. Tubs, she realized she was a mere dilettante of martyrdom. Even with his teeth fixed, and wearing a quality suit, people would run for safety after one glance at his immense size and battle scarred face.

  To be fair, his nose was a bit disturbing. It had been broken so many times it no longer resembled a nose. Now it looked like a large clump of red clay bent to the right with its bulbous tip jutting to the left.

  At least he had a nice white smile of ivory teeth now. When Vic first met him, his teeth were black and rotted. Every time he’d smile, it was like staring into the entrance of hell.

  As they pulled up to a white stone building on a well-kept street, Tubs frowned. “You expecting any trouble inside?”

  Vic chuckled. “None at all. You can safely stay out here if you wish.”

  “I probably should. But if you need me, just holler. I got real good ears.”

  Vic exited the carriage and straightened her suit, thankful she wore the latest fashion. The people arriving and leaving the building were well dressed and appeared to be high society.

  The financial expert’s office was on the second floor, facing the back. To Vic’s estimation, that would make it probably the cheapest lease in the building, but certainly not cheap by any means. To all appearances, managing money paid well.

  She entered the half-glass door etched with his name: Harrington Ascot the IV. A young man looked up in alarm. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”

  “No, but I wish to speak to Mr. Ascot if he has a moment.” Vic was hardly going to tell this fellow she wanted an education, so she tried another angle. “I am Victor Hamilton. My aunt, Maddy Hamilton, was a friend and client of his.”

  The boy wrote Vic’s name and information down, pointed to a well-padded, high-back chair. “Please have a seat. I will see if Mr. Ascot is available.”

  He left the room and less than a minute later, a short, elderly, man with neatly trimmed white hair, entered and gave Vic a speculative study.

  “You’ve got a bit of Maddy in you, I think. Come in, boy. I’ve been expecting to hear from you nigh the last two years.”

  His response baffled Vic, but she followed the old man into his elegant, book-lined office.

  Unlike Xavier, who made clients sit in hard, short-back chairs so they wouldn’t linger in their visit, Mr. Ascot offered her a cushiony high-back and inquired about her sister Claire.