“You’ve done what?”
William Montclair grinned at his younger brother’s incredulous expression. “Made you look up from the ledgers,” he said with a wink.
The ledgers were a spot of contention. Jack fretted over them like an old woman, counting and tallying every column twice. Will, on the other hand, preferred not to look at the accounts at all, particularly not now, given the bad news they held.
Jack slammed the book shut and leapt to his feet. “Damn it, Will, stop teasing!”
“I’m not teasing.” He leaned back and propped one boot on a corner of the desk, plucking a walnut from the bowl there. “I’ve been offered a position.”
His brother stared at him. “You have a bloody job! This one!”
Will lifted one shoulder, cracking the walnut shell. “But this one is a good post. It pays well, and I shall make the acquaintances of important people.” He nodded knowingly at his brother. “Thought I’d done a complete lark, eh?”
Jack glowered at him. “You have.”
“Wasn’t it you who told me just the other day that our accounts are running perilously low?” Will frowned thoughtfully as he picked the nutmeats from the fractured shell. “Or was that some other brother of mine?”
Jack flung up one hand in aggravation. “Of course we’re low on funds, we’ve been here almost four months. But the best way to replenish the coffers is to build this business, not take an Englishman’s job.”
“The quickest way to get money is to find someone who will give it to us,” noted Will.
“Instead of doing what Pa asked us to do?”
“All I have to do is manage a farm,” said Will. He popped the walnut into his mouth.
Jack stared at him in amazement. “How well can that pay?”
“Better than you’d think,” said Will, dodging the question. “I won’t do it forever, just until we’re on better footing here.” His brother shook his head, muttering. Will played his ace. “Besides, I thought you’d be pleased to get me out of your way.”
From the length of the following silence, Will knew he had him. Jack was the one with the head for this business, to say nothing of the passion and drive. Will was nominally in charge, but the truth was he didn’t enjoy it.
In Boston he had. His father had put him in charge of maintaining the ships, and Will loved that—he checked every ship from prow to stern himself, climbing the rigging and inspecting the hulls. He’d been apprenticed to a shipwright for a few years, while Jack had been apprenticed to a merchant to learn bookkeeping. Those had been wise choices, as both took to their respective trades like ducks to water. And then Pa sent the pair of them to London, to establish their shipping firm there.
In theory they ought to have been a perfect team, yet somehow they hadn’t quite managed to work in harmony. Jack always thought he’d been stuck with the dull parts, even though he didn’t like being on the deck of a ship, and Will felt like he might suffocate if he had to sit at a desk all day.
So, after four months of butting heads and bruised feelings, he’d found a way out that would benefit both of them.
“But that’s not what Pa told us to do.” His brother still looked uneasy.
Will waved one hand. “How could Pa know how things would go once we reached London? We’re just redistributing the work. You’ll tend to this business, and I’ll keep us afloat until then.”
Jack drummed his fingers on his hip. He was weakening, seduced by the siren lure of having a free hand with Montclair and Sons. “How long do you plan to manage this farm?”
Will made a face. “How long will it take you to put us upright? I daresay no more than a few months. A year at the utmost.”
“A year!”
“Make us rich sooner and I’ll give notice.” Will grinned.
Jack scowled. “What if I need help? Pa sent us both because it’s a lot to do, Will.”
“Hire a clerk. He’ll work cheaper than I will.”
His brother snorted. “And probably better, too.”
“Probably,” agreed Will, because it aligned with what he wanted to do. Now was not the time to defend his abilities.
For a long moment Jack stared out the window at the wharves below, teeming with sailors and dock workers, loading and unloading the vast number of ships in the docks. London hummed with commerce, and they both knew Montclair could thrive here. The long war with England was over, and any lingering hard feelings were best soothed by liberal application of profits on both sides.
“I don’t like it,” muttered Jack at last.
“Which part?” Will wanted to know. “The sudden influx of steady income? The end of our arguments over every expense?” He snapped his fingers. “It must be the loss of my constant company, and the dread of having our lodgings all to yourself.”
Jack gave him a dark look. They’d been on top of each other since leaving Boston, first on board the ship, then in the cramped rooms they’d taken in Wapping. “Why are you so keen to do this?”
Now it was Will’s turn to look away. He took another walnut from the bowl. “A change of scenery.”
“Am I so dreadful to work with?” asked his brother in a low, strained voice.
“No!” Will shot to his feet and grimaced at Jack’s doleful expression. “It’s not that. It’s . . . this.” He waved one hand around the tiny office. “I don’t like being trapped indoors. Sitting here every day, poring over ledgers and squeezing every penny, is going to drive me to drink. I want to do something.”
Slowly Jack came back to his chair. “What will you tell Pa?”
“I don’t see any reason to tell him at all. It’s coming on to winter, and I don’t have to take up residence at the estate until spring.”
“So you’d still be here?”
Will nodded. “But able to afford better lodgings. And also able to do Montclair business, if needed.”
Jack’s eyes flashed his way. “You’d cede control to me, though?”
The words sent a funny ripple through him. He’d always been the leader, the instigator, the authority in everything they did, from smuggling a puppy into the house as boys to launching an office of the family business in London. He and Jack were barely a year apart in age, but their ranking had been unquestioned. What would it be like to take direction from Jack instead of give it?
“Yes,” he said, shaking off that qualm.
His brother heaved a sigh. “I can’t stop you, can I? So I might as well go along with it.”
“Might as well,” Will agreed.
“If it doesn’t work, I will tell Pa,” Jack warned.
Will made a face. “So he can cross the ocean to thrash us both? If we both do as we ought, everything will go smoothly. He won’t even need to know.”
“You don’t want me to tell him.” Jack’s eyes narrowed in renewed suspicion. “Will, what are you doing?”
He reached for his hat, hanging on the back of his chair. “Exactly what I told you. But there’s no assurance it will work out, you see? What if I’m no good at farming and get sacked?” He shook his head mournfully. “Put aside your own enjoyment of the prospect. I would prefer not to trumpet it about. If it should happen, I will come back with my tail between my legs, suitably humbled.”
Jack gave a bark of laughter. “Humbled! You?”
Will wagged a finger at him. “But if I succeed . . .” He set the hat on his head. “Montclair will be profitable, free of debt, and I shall return to it, hopefully with a wealth of new connections in hand. That’s what he charged us to do, isn’t it?”
“Well—Yes . . .”
He grinned and spread wide his arms, waiting.
After a moment Jack sighed again. “All right. I won’t tell anyone. But your word—no more than a year.”
“I pledge it on my sacred honor.” Will swept a bow. “Au revoir, mon frère.”
Jack was still staring at him doubtfully as Will closed the door and clattered down the stairs.
The office they’d let was within shouting distance of the quays, in one of the innumerable little streets that formed a labyrinth along the waterfront. Will strode along the twisting lane, dodging the ragged boys waiting to pick his pocket, jumping over the sewer that ran through the cobblestones. To his left, masts of ships rose like a forest of bare trees above the rooftops, including the Mary Catherine, the ship which had brought him and Jack across the Atlantic. Behind him shone the gleaming golden dome of St. Paul’s cathedral, and as he crossed Bridge Street he could see the hulk of the Fleet Prison looming darkly to the north. They’d both been warned about the Fleet, where debtors got sent. To the south was the river, the bright sunlight glinting off the silvery surface, teeming with energy and commerce.
He liked London more than he had expected to. He’d heard it was a dirty, crowded city, where squalor and crime crept right up to the elegant mansions of dukes and princes. That wasn’t wholly wrong; the area near the quays was filthy, crowded, and dangerous at times. But Will had spent his free hours walking through the city, and thought it wondrous. As vibrant as Boston was, it was nothing to London, where the streets were lit every night by lamplighters, where the rattle of carriage wheels rang over cobbles until late at night. There were concerts and theaters and pleasure gardens and museums the likes of which he’d never seen. He and Jack had paid their two shillings to see the armory and menagerie at the Tower, and both had been dumbstruck by the Tower itself, seven hundred years old. ...
