Carla Kelly by Reforming Lord Ragsdale Page B

about her,” she said out loud and put down the paper. She knew she had to think of something else, so she concentrated on the house again. The china was gone, of course. The last sound she remembered as they were dragged from the front door was the crash and tinkle of china as the soldiers rampaged through.
    Ah, well, the view is still the same , she reminded herself. Even British soldiers cannot move the Wicklow Mountains. She closed her eyes, thinking of the green loveliness of it all and knowing that she would never see her home again. True, Virginia had been a reasonable substitute, and she knew that she could return there with some peace of mind when this onerous indenture was fulfilled. Emma rested her chin on her hand. Springs could be soft there, with redbud, flowering dogwood, and azalea, but she knew in her heart that there would never be the shades of green from home, no matter how hard Virginia tried.
    And so I must forget , she thought and picked up another stack of bills. There is an Englishman here who should keep me sufficiently occupied. He is utterly without merit and ought to occupy my mind to such a degree that I do not have time to remember.
    “Seriously, Hanley, how does Lord Ragsdale keep himself from debtor's prison?” she asked the footman, who stuck his head in the room an hour later to see how she did. She indicated the neat piles on the desk and in her lap. “He hasn't paid a bill in at least three months. I can't find any posting books with accounts. Do you know where they would be kept?”
    The footman looked around at the order she was creating out of catastrophe, his eyes appreciative. “Gor, miss, there's wood on that desk after all!” he joked.
    Emma smiled and indicated a chair beside the desk. “What is his secret, Hanley?”
    “Simple, miss. He's richer than Croesus, and all these trades-people know that he will pay eventually. If they get tired of waiting, they petition his banker.”
    “I call that a pretty ramshackle way to live,” Emma grumbled.
    The footman shrugged. “If you or I were to forget a bill, now that would not be a pretty sight.”
    Emma nodded in agreement. “Too true.” She placed her hands down on the desk. “Hanley, how did you manage with Lord Ragsdale?”
    “Oh, he cleaned up pretty well after you left, miss.” The footman laughed. “I think he's not your best friend, though.”
    Emma shook her head. “And he never will be! I suppose that radical reformation must always exact its own price.” She changed the subject. “Hanley, do you know how to get to Newgate Prison from here?”
    “Gor, miss, you can't be thinking of going there on purpose ?” the footman demanded. “I won't tell you!”
    She was about to reply when she noticed he was staring at her left hand. She put her hand in her lap, coloring slightly. “I have to, Hanley,” she explained, hoping he would not ask any questions. “David Breedlow—I believe that is his name—is imprisoned there awaiting transportation, and I need to know something about Lord Ragsdale's account books, if I am to acquit myself as his secretary.”
    Hanley's eyes opened wide at that piece of information.
    “ You're going to be the master's new secretary? I never heard of such a thing!”
    Emma blushed again. “It's part of my indenture agreement, and you needn't frown about it. Do you know who Lord Ragsdale banks with, or the name and direction of his solicitor? I need to speak to someone about his accounts.”
    The footman stood up, tugging at his waistcoat. “I wouldn't know, miss.”
    Emma sighed and deposited the papers from her lap onto the desk. “Perhaps I had better ask Lord Ragsdale, though I would almost rather ingest ground glass than do that.”
    The footman laughed out loud. “I don't think he'll cooperate with you today.” He went to the door and peered out, obviously on the alert. “He told me to tell you that pigs would fly before he lifted another finger on your behalf.”
    “Oh,