A Dark and Brooding Gentleman. Margaret McPhee

to her companion. ‘My son has not seen his mother in nine months, Miss Allardyce, and yet he cannot bring himself into my company. This is his first appearance since my arrival at Blackloch.’

      Miss Allardyce looked uneasy and took a sip of tea.

      His mother turned her attention back to Hunter. ‘Your concern is overwhelming. I think I can see the precise nature of the matters so important to keep you from me.’ Her eyes were cold and appraising as they took in the small cut on his cheek and the bruising that surrounded it. She raised an eyebrow and gave a small snort.

      ‘You have been brawling.’ He made no denial.

      Miss Allardyce’s eyes opened marginally wider.

      ‘What were you fighting over this time? Let me guess, some new gaming debt?’

      He stiffened, but kept his expression impassive and cool.

      ‘No? If not that, then over a woman, I will warrant.’

      A pause, during which he saw the slight colour that had washed the soft cream of Miss Allardyce’s cheeks heighten.

      ‘You know me too well, madam.’

      ‘Indeed, I do. You are not changed in the slightest, not for all your promises—’

      There was the rattle of china as Miss Allardyce set her cup and saucer down. ‘Mrs Hunter …’ The woman got to her feet. ‘I fear you are mistaken, ma’am. Mr Hu—’

      His mother turned her frown on her companion.

      ‘Miss Allardyce,’ Hunter interrupted smoothly, ‘this is none of your affair and I would that it stay that way.’ His tone was frosty with warning. If his mother wanted to believe the worst of him, let her. He would not have some girl defend him. He still had some measure of pride.

      Miss Allardyce stared at him for a moment, with such depths in those golden-brown eyes of hers that he wondered what she was thinking. And then she calmly sat back down in her chair.

      ‘Ever the gentleman, Sebastian,’ said his mother. ‘You see, Miss Allardyce, do not waste your concern on him. He is quite beyond the niceties of society. Now you know why I do not come to Blackloch. Such unpleasant company.’

      He leaned back in his chair. ‘If we are speaking bluntly, what then has prompted your visit, madam?’

      ‘I am having the town house redecorated and am in need of somewhere to stay for a few weeks, Sebastian. What other reason could possibly bring me here?’ his mother sneered.

      He gave a bow and left, vowing to avoid both his mother and the woman who made him remember too well the dissolute he had been.

      After the awfulness of that first day Hunter did not seek his mother out again. And Phoebe could not blame him. She wondered why he had not told Mrs Hunter the truth of the cut upon his face or revealed that his mother’s companion had not spent her money upon a coach fare after all. She wondered, too, as to why there was such hostility between mother and son. But Mrs Hunter made not a single mention of her son, and it was easy to keep her promise to her father as Phoebe saw little of the man in the days that followed. Once she saw him entering his study. Another time she caught a glimpse of him riding out on the moor. But nothing more. Not that Phoebe had time to notice, for Mrs Hunter was out of sorts, her mood as bleak as the moor that surrounded them.

      Tuesday came around quickly and Phoebe could only be glad both of her chance to escape the oppressive atmosphere of Blackloch and to see her father.

      The Glasgow Tolbooth was an impressive five-storey sandstone building situated at the Cross where the Trongate met High Street. It housed not only the gaol, but also the Justiciary Court and the Town Hall, behind which had been built the Tontine Hotel. There was a small square turret at each corner and a fine square spire on the east side, in which was fitted a large clock. And the top of the spire arched in the form of an imperial crown. The prison windows were small and clad with iron bars, and over the main door, on the south side, was built a small rectangular portico on a level with the first floor of the prison, the stairs from which led directly down onto the street.

      Phoebe arrived at the Tolbooth, glad of heart both to be back in the familiar cheery bustle of Glasgow and at the prospect of seeing her father. She hurried along the street and was just about to climb the stone steps to the portico and the main door when a man appeared by her side.

      ‘Miss Allardyce?’

      She stopped and glanced round at him.

      He pulled the cloth cap from his head, revealing thick fair hair beneath. He was of medium height with nothing to mark him as noticeable. His clothes were neither shabby nor well-tailored, grey trousers and matching jacket, smart enough, but not those of a gentleman. Something of his manner made her think that he was in service. He blended well with the background in all features except his voice.

      ‘Miss Phoebe Allardyce?’ he said again and she heard the cockney twang to his accent, so different to the lilt of the Scottish voices all around.

      ‘Who are you, sir?’ She looked at him with suspicion. He was certainly no one that she knew.

      ‘I’m the Messenger.’

      His eyes were a washed-out grey and so narrow that they lent him a shifty air. She made to walk on, but his next words stopped her.

      ‘If you’ve a care for your father, you’ll listen.’

      She narrowed her own eyes slightly, feeling an instant dislike for the man. ‘What do you want?’

      ‘To deliver a message to you.’ He was slim but there was a wiry strength to his frame.

      ‘I am listening,’ she said.

      ‘Your father’s locked up in there for the rest of his days. Old man like him, his health not too good. And the conditions being what they are in the Tolbooth. Must worry you that.’

      ‘My father’s welfare and my feelings on the matter are none of your concern, sir.’ She made to walk on.

      ‘They are if I can spring him, Miss Allardyce, or, should I say, give you the means to do so. Fifteen hundred pounds to pay his debt, plus another five hundred to set the pair of you up in a decent enough lifestyle.’

      A cold feeling spread over her. She stared at him in shock. ‘How do you know the details of my father’s debt?’

      The man gave a leering smile and she noticed that his teeth were straight and white. ‘Oh, we know all about you and your pa. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. Just think on the money. Two grand in the hand, Miss Allardyce, and old pop is out of the Tolbooth.’

      ‘You are offering me two thousand pounds?’ She stared at him in disbelief.

      He threw her a purse. ‘A hundred up front.’ She peeped inside and felt her heart turn over as she saw the roll of white notes. ‘The rest when you deliver your end of the bargain.’

      ‘Which is?’

      ‘The smallest of favours.’ She waited.

      ‘As Mrs Hunter’s companion you have access to the whole of Blackloch Hall.’

      Her scalp prickled with the extent of his knowledge.

      ‘There is a certain object currently within the possession of the lady’s son, a trifling little thing that he wouldn’t even miss.’

      ‘You are asking me to steal from Mr Hunter?’

      ‘We’re asking you to retrieve an item for its rightful owner.’

      The man was trouble, as was all that he asked. She shook her head and gave a cynical smile as she thrust the purse back into his hands. ‘Good day to you, sir.’ And she started to climb the steps. She climbed all of four steps before his voice sounded again. He had not moved, but still stood where he was in the street.

      ‘If you won’t do it for the money, Miss Allardyce, you best