Chapter 23

Rebecca met Phileas two days after his arrival from Paris at his home. They had a pleasant afternoon tea together. She asked how Jules was and how the project was going. He told her the truth. The thing had hit an impasse that neither Jules nor Passepartout 0

"It is a shame, really," Phileas said. "They both had nothing but great hopes for it when they worked together last year. I do not pretend to understand it, but Passepartout says the problem will require a breakthrough in engineering to surmount. Jules is quite frustrated, but he will get over it. Maybe in the future someone will come up with the solution that will let him try again."

Fogg noticed Rebecca's loss of appetite as he spoke. She did not question further except to ask how Jules himself was faring, and if they could bring him for a visit later. "I have missed him these months. A change in scenery might lift his spirits. His present classes end in June, do they not?"

"I believe so," Phileas said. "But we might have him earlier…"

She interrupted before he said anything further. "No, that's unnecessary. He should finish his classes first. I have heard his father frowns on his skipping off on his studies."

Rebecca waited for Phileas to respond. She had made a promise not to presume on Jules anymore. The project was over, and he had to get back to his original plans.

Phileas let the subject drop. When his cousin left, he forced his hand out of the fist he had been clenching under the table.

She did not say a thing about the investments. No questions of what we have lost…

He shook his head to clear the rage and took another cup of tea. She may still not know what Jordan has done. Yet, if he were the one doing this, he would have given her some information to fret over by now. Throwing it all at her at once would not have the same effect as giving her small doses over time.

Rebecca and Phileas continued their bi-weekly visits. It was strained, but companionable. Phileas never brought up Jules's project again, and Rebecca never asked about it. It felt like the calm before an Atlantic gale. Phileas wanted to start an argument just to force the matter into the open. Not following through with it was agony.

Passepartout came in to clear the tea service.

Phileas kept silent and let him do it. He, of course, knew the whole. He took on a formal servant's pose during Rebecca's visits. And then a nursemaid's posture toward him after she left. He would not suffer another bout of it.

When Passepartout came back, Phileas went to his desk for the envelope he had prepared. "Passepartout, you have had no time off since well before this mess. Here, this is a bonus for the extra work you have been doing. Take a trip to Paris. To Bath, anywhere you want, but take some time off the next two weeks."

Passepartout was surprised, but didn't mistake it as a suggestion. He nodded and said he would leave after breakfast the next day.

Fogg dropped into his chair when he left. Now I can brood at my leisure, without him hovering at my back.

Rebecca took her cousin's reticence quietly, expecting him to tell her what their situation was. Phileas, however, never said a word. She could feel his tension, but did not know what to do if he refused to speak. That grated on her nerves, but Rebecca kept her silence. She considered it his place to speak. Whatever the situation, she had to wait.

One quiet, warm evening, Rebecca had an unexpected caller. It was Isaac Jordan. He was let in despite the lateness of the hour and shown to her parlor. Her two servants had been about to leave for the day. Rebecca bid them not to linger before she joined her guest. The maid left, but her butler remained.

Ben Bridges, more often referred to as Sergeant, as if that were his name, was an old school servant who had been with the family for ages. He set his hat down in an adjoining room.

The miss was a fine lady, but didn't bother with proprieties within the privacy of her home. She had always been so, even in childhood. But there was an oily quality to the tradesman the butler did not like. No matter how well she could handle herself, he didn't like her sitting in attendance with him alone.

Instead of leaving, he stationed himself in a chair, reading the paper Miss Rebecca had left on a table. He could hear nothing of the conversation, but would be present if needed.

"This is unexpected," Rebecca said as she greeted him. She didn't want to talk to him, but this might be her only avenue to find out where she now stood.

"I am sorry if it is an intrusion, but I felt it necessary to call on you now that Verne's project has ended. Your cousin has ended his association with my firm. I just need your signature on these papers beside his to conclude the matter. You know of the project's failure?" Jordan said.

"Phileas told me when he came back from Paris," she said.

Jordan nodded and laid a small stack of papers on the tea table in front of her. He showed her where she needed to sign them. They already had Phileas's endorsement. Rebecca took up the pen, but could not bring herself to sign anything again without knowing the whole.

"Could you please explain this to me?" she said. "I would like to know exactly how we fared in this. What is the damage and what do we have left?"

"Of course," Jordan said. He then took the first page up and started interpreting it for her. The man did a much more thorough job of ending the matter than beginning it.

"The combined cost of the project is here," Isaac pointed to a section in the paperwork. He showed her several pages of monthly summaries with a final total that made her blanch. "That amount is divided equally between the two of you as your losses." Jordan ran his finger to the figure to show her next. "This is your half stated here. As your part in this was paid in other than cash, there is a schedule of actions for your portion that explains your losses."

This she read as he went through it. Her stocks had been sold off on a set schedule to pay her portion as investment capital had been needed. The investment schedule alone said it all. Rebecca knew her estate was not that large. The stocks would have been depleted before All Hallows Eve.

Phileas had made mortgages against the worth of her home and the property her mother had left her when the stocks were gone. That money had run out in early spring. The final tallies of her losses were a deficit to Jordan's firm: a debt that Phileas had created to keep her in the endeavor, and which now had to be repaid.

Rebecca's questions were finally answered. Her inheritances were gone. The properties she had once owned clear, were heavily mortgaged. There was a debt to Jordan she had to repay, in fact, three different debts. The combined amounts were astronomical. Rebecca could never make the payments from her service earnings. Jordan's voice seemed to get farther and farther away as Rebecca fully realized of what had been done to her.

"You said that Phileas ended all ties with your firm?" Rebecca said.

"Yes, he has insisted that the financials had been mishandled by me and refuses to make good the debts to my firm. As such, we will be forced to make some decisions on how to handle the matter. Nothing has been decided, so don't worry. Perhaps your cousin will rethink his position. If he does, there will be no need for drastic actions."

Rebecca didn't need to be told what actions might be taken.

Taking my house and mother's legacy as payment, mortgaged to the hilt even as they are for sale. Would Phileas change his mind? Would he make good on the debts he created, or would he hold to principal and insist on the rightness of his actions? She couldn't say. And at this moment, she couldn't think clearly enough to speculate.

Isaac put the pile of papers in a neat stack again and handed her the pen once again to sign them. She put her name on the lines indicated just after Phileas's signatures. It felt like nailing her own coffin shut. Somehow, miraculously, her hand did not shake as she did it.

Rebecca showed Jordan back to the door and quietly bid him good night. He smiled sympathetically and turned away to walk to his carriage. Rebecca walked back to the parlor without noticing the butler sitting in the other room.

The butler remained silent, not wanting to disturb his mistress's troubled thoughts. He knew shock when he saw it. His mistress had taken some terrible news. Despite his great concern, he did not intrude. It was not a servant's place. He folded the paper, picked up his coat and quietly left the house, locking the door behind him.

He was not halfway down the walk to the gate when a closed coach drove up out of the darkened street and dropped off a gentleman.

This is no time for the mistress to be taking more guests. Bridges protectively stepped through the gate and blocked the unknown visitor. I may pay for this later, but won't let the lady be further disturbed.

"Good evening, sir," Bridges said.

"Good evening," the gentleman said. "Show me into the house before you take your leave. I must speak with your mistress."

Bridges took one step back against the gate. He then raised himself to his full height to challenge the intruder. He had been an army sergeant in the wars, hence the family calling him by his former rank. No one was going to get past his post.

His voice was as flat as he could manage. "The lady has retired for the evening and is not taking callers, sir." "Please return on the morrow. I am sure she will be pleased to see you then." He waited for the man to go back to his coach.

Chatsworth looked the servant up and down, not sure what he was dealing with. He had never been to Rebecca's home before. Was this fellow really challenging him?

When the fellow didn't leave, Bridges repeated himself. "I said, sir; the lady will take no more visitors this evening."

"She will see me," Sir Jonathan contradicted with a firm voice. "If you will not show me to the door, please remove yourself so I may pass."

"No, sir."

The old soldier said it with granite firmness. "The lady will not be accepting visitors this evening."

Bloody Hell! What was this? Will I have to cane the man to get through?

Before he could decide how to proceed, a voice came across the night-blackened road from the entrance of the park. "Let the gentleman pass, Sergeant," it said in a gentle order. "What he has to say, your mistress needs to hear tonight."

It was a familiar voice to both men. Chatsworth and the butler turned together to see Phileas Fogg standing across the road, leaning on the park gate, barely visible in his black suit and cape. It was a lazy pose, but the tone of voice made it plain he would accept no opposition. Bridges nodded his head to his mistress's relative, gave the visitor a slight bow, before turning to open the gate for him.

The visitor was led to the parlor door. Bridges looked up at the clock in the entry hall. This is going to be a long night, an hour late already. Well, a few more won't matter.

Inside, the butler escorted the visitor to the parlor door and reached for the door to knock. The act was aborted by the sound of something crashing against a wall inside.

The sudden sound in the quiet of the near empty house made both men jump. The butler gave Chatsworth an, 'I leave you to it' look and left him by the door to handle his business.

Bridges stationed himself back in the comfortable chair he had just left to finish the paper.