He bathed, changed his clothing, and ate his evening meal while examining the latest correspondence. After his dinner he sent for Partridge, his man of business in London, even though it was after ten in the evening. Gareth felt no qualms about such a summons; he paid the man several times what any other factor earned and called on him but infrequently.

He forewent port or whiskey and took tea in his study while examining two new proposals Declan had sent to him. One was a faltering shipbuilder in Liverpool, whose holdings, contracts, and prospects Gareth determined to be unpropitious, but the other was a canal scheme which had faltered before ground could be broken and was seeking fresh investors.

Partridge presented himself just as Gareth had finished scribbling a note to Declan to acquire more information on the canal project.

“Good evening, Mr. Lockheart.”

Gareth nodded at the elderly, spindle-shanked man and gestured to the chair across from him. Partridge was old enough to refuse the new style of dress and sported garments even Gareth—with his utter lack of interest in fashion—knew to be at least fifty years behind the times. His skirted frock coat was a brown brocade threaded with gold and his black shoes had buckles as big as teacups.

“Would you care for something to drink or eat, Mr. Partridge?”

“No, thank you, sir.” He cleared his throat, a sign he was prepared to move on to business. Gareth liked the older man and his no-nonsense style, which fit perfectly with his own manner; a manner people often considered awkward, unfriendly, or cold.

“I would like you to investigate Mr. Featherstone and his cousin Leeland Bowles. Specifically, Bowles’s breeding operation in Yorkshire.” Gareth paused and pushed his hair back off his forehead, mentally reminding himself it was time for a haircut. “I should have investigated him before I engaged him, but he came highly recommended by Jonathan Graves, who used his services while setting up his property in Surrey.” This last bit was more to himself than his employee. He had behaved foolishly and now it seemed he had paid the price. Not only was the man engaging in some chicanery, but he had virtually ceased working on Gareth’s behalf. Except for the hunting dogs he had acquired, of course. Still, before he took any action against Featherstone he would acquire proof.

“Very good, sir. I’ll use Mr. Steele”

Steele was a man who did work for the Runners but remained a free agent. Like his name, he was tough and impervious, a monstrously big man whose slow, plodding manner in no way reflected his mental agility.

“Tell him time is of the essence. I will be off to Yorkshire by Thursday and should like to dispose of the matter before then.” He put the matter of Sandford Featherstone out of his mind. “Now, have you those plans I commissioned for the new brewery in Leeds?”

Gareth and Partridge worked through the remarkable number of business matters that had accumulated in less than a week and when Gareth looked up he realized it was after two in the morning.