‘Two years!’
‘Sir Clive was not well at the time,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t want to alarm him by taking any steps then. He died a year ago, as you will know.’
‘I read about it. Why wait until now to do something about this? Have you been in touch with Brain again?’ I added, hoping.
‘No, he never troubled us again. He was too addled to follow a fixed purpose. I suppose he just took it into his diseased brain to batten on to us and gave up when the approach failed. I’ve had time to mull this over, Mr Hardy. My daughter is like a stranger to me. I’m sure I’m doing the right thing. I want that man found and restored to his rightful place in the world.’
‘What if Brain was right… what if he’s… unsuitable?’
‘I pray that it won’t be so. He may be a man of distinction in his own right. It will take delicate handling, Mr Hardy.’ The idea of her scheme succeeding took hold of her and shone in her eyes. ‘I’ll pay you anything you like, a hundred dollars a day. Just find my grandson.’
‘That won’t be necessary. A hundred a day would warp my style. Seventy-five is fine. It’s an intriguing case and I’ll take it but you have to be aware of the problems.’
She sat back, tired by her outburst and regretting the slip of control.
‘And they are?’
‘Basically three. One, Brain may have been lying and there is no grandson, never was. Two, there may have been a child and it could have died. Three, if there was a child it may be impossible to trace. Thirty years is a long time and the trail this end is cold by two years. Brain is the obvious starting point and if he was as far gone as you say, he could be dead by now.’
‘I accept those hurdles. I have faith that they can be overcome.’
She was used to getting her own way and I could only hope that her luck would hold. Her luck would be my luck. If the thing fizzled, two weeks on those rates would be a thousand plus change. Handy. Besides, I fancied working for the aristocracy, it’d give me something to put in my memoirs. That train of thought led me back to the judge and his daughter.