Chapter 33

Nathaniel St. Pierre went to the offices of Jordan and Howell Inc. early the next morning. He made a transaction request to transfer the stated blackmail amount for both him and Rebecca to the designated bank account in France. Isaac Jordan was absent from the office. Nathaniel left the order to a clerk, an old man named Smith, who he had seen around the office for years.

When Jordan came back after his meetings, he went through the day's activities and found St. Pierre's transaction order. He smiled like a cat with a whiff of catnip and sent a message requesting an appointment with St. Pierre at his residence.

Later that night, Isaac Jordan entered a great stately home in one of the older sections of London. It was a gigantic thing, built when estates in London had been more than mere homes. This one would have once sported a small farm, dairy, stable, and a large carriage house with meadows all around. The farmlands were now London suburbs, which the St. Pierre family derived part of its income from. Nathaniel had apartments in this place, along with many of his other relatives living in London. The mansion boasted a large staff to take care of the estate and its many occupants.

Jordan entered the house by the tradesman's entrance. A footman greeted Nathaniel's guest and handed him on to another footman who escorted him to Nathaniel's rooms. That footman turned him over to Nathaniel's personal servant, who saw him into his master's presence.

Jordan had visited this place only a few times before. The luxury of its furnishings, the art in the halls, the rich woods of the paneling, the spotless cleanliness, the servants… It all spoke of a wealth that far outweighed anything Jordan had gathered. His estate in the country was a cottage in comparison. Envy did not do justice to the emotion Jordan felt as he walked through its halls.

Nathaniel was reading a book in his sitting room when Isaac was shown in. The room was as luxuriously appointed as a salon in Buckingham Palace. Jordan took a seat in a fine Chippendale chair. He was then offered tea in delicate Austrian porcelain and asked what his friend could do for him.

"It is more a matter of what I may have done to cause you to drain your account," Jordan said. "Has my handling of your business not met with your approval?"

"No, no. Isaac, it's not that at all. I found myself in need of paying a debt." Nathaniel did not elaborate. An attempt at turning the subject was made, but his friend would not allow it.

"Come now, my friend," Isaac said. "I am familiar with your spending. You would have had to buy a Rembrandt to need that much. As you are not an art coinsure and are not likely to have lost that much at cards, as well as you play, I am left fearing some trouble had befallen you."

Nathaniel looked uncomfortable. "It is a private matter, my friend. Don't trouble yourself about it."

"As you wish," Isaac said. "Then you will want me to change the payment arrangements for your normal debts. Do you have another account I should send them to?"

Nathaniel's discomfort grew. He had not thought of that when he made the transfer. Of course, the bills for his living expenses would still come in. His dues for memberships, tailoring bills, jeweler's bills, and on and on…

"I will make deposits for those things when I can," he said. "Do not be concerned; I will not be closing my account."

Now it looked like Isaac's turn to be uncomfortable. "My friend," he said. "There has never been an agreement in place to allow for overdraft. The first bill to come in will drain what you have left; after that, my staff would be forced to return the bills to their sources unpaid."

This was a dilemma Nathaniel had never envisioned. "Can we put such a thing in place for a time, to see that does not happen? Just until the deposits can be made?"

"I can," Isaac said, but not that fast. "It will take at least a week to get it set up. I can see you have had some sort of trouble. If you would just tell me the nature of it, I may help you. Maybe I could spot you a personal loan for a short time, just between gentlemen."

St. Pierre sat his teacup down on a table. "That would be good of you, but it may not help my problem. My problems have just begun, and the way out may require me to leave London for good." He then looked at Isaac, who had set his own cup aside, giving him all his attention.

"Isaac, Rebecca and I have found ourselves in a serious quandary. Her manner of earning her way out of her debts has prompted a blackmail notice against her and me by association. The charges are outlandish, but you know how my father is. Any scandal would have dire consequences. I paid the sum requested and am now required to throw myself on my brother's mercy. I cannot continue to court Rebecca. She must now make up with her cousin as best she can. I will probably be moved out of the country."

"This is terrible," Isaac said, and meant it. "Surely there is another choice."

"Believe me," Nathaniel said. "I do not look forward to this. I have worked diligently to court the woman and do not appreciate having to beg off and run to my brother's charity. Blackmail never comes with just one demand. Rebecca would have been an excellent catch, but she comes at too high a price. I must let her go to protect myself."

"No, you do not." Isaac said, looking stricken and the ruins of his plans. "I have worked rather hard lately as well. You will not turn coward on me and ruin everything!"

St. Pierre looked up at his friend with surprise. "What are you talking about? My troubles have nothing to do with you.

"Oh, but they do, my friend," Isaac said. "They have a great deal to do with me and, as you have said, scandals have very serious consequences. The information you have paid to keep buried will only stay buried as long as you cooperate. Leaving London will not do. It will not do at all. You will stay."

"You will continue to win over your prize, and you will pay me my fee for putting her in your hands. Not the offering you tried to negotiate with me, but what I asked for originally. In return for your cooperation, no word of Miss Fogg's past will make it to your family or the press. You will continue to live as you have until my position is secure enough not to need you. If you don't cooperate, your father can decide what country he wants his penniless son to live in, with or without his cohort in scandal. Have I made myself clear?"

Nathaniel was looking at his former friend as if he had turned into a snake before his eyes. "You sent the blackmail to us? You are the one who would ruin me? Why? And pray tell, why should I let you leave this room alive after admitting to causing my destruction?"

"Because, old friend," Isaac said, just as quietly, "my continued good health and goodwill are the only things that will keep the information quiet. If anything happens to me, a package goes to the London scandal sheets with the entire story. So, I would suggest you not bother with any more bravado. I hold all the cards in this hand."

"You planned this," Nathaniel accused. "You set me up for this."

"You set your own self up," Isaac sneered. "The only one I ensnared was the Fogg woman. I handed her to you humbled and helpless, willing to see to it she did your bidding, all for a favor in return, you arrogant fop. When you refused me, you chose your poison. Don't blame me if it tastes bitter."

"I think not!" A loud voice said behind him.

Jordan turned to see a man he had never met on the threshold of a door leading to another chamber, a middle-aged man with thinning light brown hair, carrying an ebony cane. Behind him, coming into the room, were two large men and Rebecca Fogg.

Jordan caught the scent of a trap. He bolted for the hall door. It opened before he could get hold of the handle. On the other side, an angry man with fiery green eyes and graying hair entered as he looked up from the knob. He identified him just before a fist found his jaw. Isaac's head snapped back and found the floor in seconds. As he looked up at the ceiling fresco in a daze, two men's faces came into view. Rough hands hauled him off the floor to face the middle-aged gentleman with the cane.

"I am Sir Jonathan Chatsworth of Her Majesty's Secret Service," he said. "You are under arrest. You stand accused of several counts of blackmail, fraud, extortion, and acts against agents of the crown."

"You can prove none of that," Jordan said, shaking off the effects of Fogg's punch. "Show me proof. My friend and I were discussing private matters here. Nothing that should be brought before the public." He looked directly at St. Pierre. His meaning was clear. Nathaniel was to take his part in this and defend him or face ruin. Chatsworth said he was with the Secret Service. As such, he was just the sort of person the information on Rebecca's past needed to go to. "Do you mean this?" Chatsworth said, holding up a very thick file of papers. "Or maybe you mean this one?" He fanned the contents of his hand out to show more than one folder.

They were recognized instantly. Those were Isaac's own private files; the ones he kept on his blackmail victims. Someone had turned over his private files.

"No. NO!"

The two big men holding him dragged him out of the room. Jordan's cries continued echoing all the way to the servant's stairs.

"What will happen to him?" Nathaniel said.

"Considering the vast and distinguished cliental he was fleecing, and the state security concerns around some charges," Chatsworth said, "I believe a quiet trial will be in order, followed by long prison sentence or a hanging, if the courts are harsher. Thank you, sir, for your cooperation." Chatsworth extended his hand to St. Pierre.

Nathaniel accepted the offered hand happily.

Sir Jonathan turned to Rebecca. "This will be added to the charges but will not be made public," he said, and handed Rebecca the file with Jules Verne's name on it. "Your position in the service is now as secure as it can be." He gave her a smile and offered her a bow.

Rebecca let decorum go just this once, stepping forward to give her boss a hug no one could attest to but him, her cousin, and one surprised nobleman's son.

Chatsworth suffered it for a moment and then took her by the shoulders to end the embrace with a slight frown of rebuke before he left. Out of her presence, however, Sir Jonathan followed his agents with a very pleased look on his face.

He had a great deal to do… tomorrow.

As he sat in his coach leaving the St. Pierre residence, he waited eagerly for his arrival home. Katrina was waiting to hear that Jordan was finished.