to the hilltops, but Caro had gone for an early-morning walk around the outskirts of Dunedin, with Mr Matthews puffing behind all the way, and she had returned with a clutch of bright daffodils. They sat now in a fine crystal vase on the registration desk, lending an air of cheerful welcome to the otherwise formal entry hall.
‘Oh, dear.’ She looked across to where Mr Matthews sat glowering at his feet. ‘Nothing has been entered in these books for over four months.’ Mr Matthews, who had a profound suspicion of anything on a page, merely shrugged. ‘I wonder who’s been keeping record of everything bought or sold since then?’ she murmured to the empty air. ‘I would have thought that would have been Oliver’s job.’
‘Or yer aunt’s,’ Mr Matthews said shortly.
Caro glanced up at her aunt’s door at the top of the stairs. She had looked in on her earlier, but Charlotte had been still sleeping restlessly and Caro hadn’t liked to disturb her.
‘She’s not well, Mr Matthews.’
He snorted rudely. ‘Never has been, that one. Never been sober, neither.’
‘Don’t be horrible!’ Caro said indignantly. ‘I meant, she’s not well physically. She’s not strong, and only recently widowed, and I don’t think she’s ever had to run a business before.’
‘Neither have you,’ he retorted. ‘What do you know ’bout books and figures and all that? Never noticed you paying any attention to your ’rithmetic lessons when your ma was trying to learn you.’
‘But the figures that relate to running a business make sense, don’t you see?’ Caro jabbed her finger at the offending blank space in the ledger book. ‘Without that information, I can’t tell how much it costs to run this establishment. And I’d really like to know how much Mr Thwaites is—or isn’t—paying for the lease on the bar.’
‘None of your bleedin’ business, I say.’
Caro closed the ledger book with a slap. ‘It is, Mr Matthews, because I’m my aunt’s closest relative in this town. Come on.’
‘Oh, Gawd help us.’ He got creakily to his feet. After weeks of inactivity on the ship from Sydney and a night spent sleeping outside Caro’s door, he had found the brisk walk around Dunedin exhausting. ‘Where’re you going now?’
‘To the bar. There’s bound to be a ledger kept there.’
His eyes widened in alarm. ‘A public bar? Now look here, girl…’
But she wasn’t listening as she strode out the front door and along the veranda to the bar. With Mr Matthews audibly following her, she wasn’t in the least bit afraid. In fact, the bar was deserted apart from a bartender—a different one from the unpleasant man the previous night—and a couple of comatose bodies slumped on the tables. Although she would not have admitted it even to herself, Caro was relieved that there was no sign of Mr Thwaites. The air was fuggy from tobacco smoke and beer and she left the door open behind her to allow in some fresh air.
‘Good morning,’ she said firmly to the bartender. He opened his mouth, caught the look on Mr Matthews’s face and closed it again.
‘Mornin’, miss,’ he said after a moment.
‘I’m Caroline Morgan, Mrs Wilks’s niece. My aunt is indisposed, so I will be in charge of the Castledene for a while.’ She smiled engagingly at him. ‘Could I see your books, please?’
‘Books, miss?’
‘Yes. Your ledgers. Please.’ Her smile did not falter.
‘Don’t think I’m allowed to do that, miss…’
‘I’m sure you are,’ Caro said with steely charm.
The bartender looked from her to Mr Matthews, whose whiskers were literally bristling with belligerence. The little man had to be one of the ugliest people the bartender had ever seen, in contrast to the stunning beauty of the tall and very pushy blonde facing him across the bar. Completely unnerved, he stepped back.
‘I don’t think…well, I couldn’t let them leave the premises…’
‘That’s quite all right.’ Again there was that quick, enchanting smile before the girl took the ledgers firmly from his grasp and bore them off. In the middle of the bar room she stopped and frowned at the slumped figures at the two tables.
‘I think these people should go home, Mr Matthews. The place looks so…so cluttered, don’t you think?’
Mr Matthews grumbled something, seized the legs of the closest man and hauled him out the door. While he was gone, Caro moved closer and peered at the remaining unconscious customer. Arms splayed out on the table, his face turned to one side, he was still recognisable as the man who had come to her rescue the previous night. She shook him, gently at first, and then harder until his impossibly long lashes fluttered open.
‘Sir? The bar is closed now, sir.’
It took a visible effort for him to raise his head off the table, and it was only by using his arms as leverage that he was able to sit upright. The cold, dead eyes that had looked at her so clearly the previous night were half-closed and he looked to be in some kind of private agony.
‘Come on, mate! On yer way!’ Mr Matthews said testily behind Caro and she held up her hand to stall him.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, keeping her voice devoid of sympathy.
After a moment the man nodded, very carefully. ‘Yes, madam. I believe that I am.’
Again, the perfect vowels struck her as strangely exotic and behind her she heard Mr Matthews’s expelled breath of surprise. Slowly, with great precision, the man lifted his hand and felt inside his jacket. Then his face crumpled and his eyes screwed tight.
‘No…!’
‘Been fleeced, have yer, mate?’ Caro was surprised by Mr Matthews’s completely out-of-character sympathy. The man took a steadying breath and nodded. ‘Stay off the booze next time,’ Mr Matthews advised. ‘Then you can keep a hold on yer wallet.’
‘Thank you for the advice.’ There was not a trace of sarcasm in the man’s voice. He manoeuvred himself to his feet and stayed there, propped up against the wall as the room was obviously swimming around him. He didn’t look at all well.
‘Have you got somewhere to go?’ Caro was surprised to hear herself ask.
‘Yes, thank you, madam.’
She didn’t believe him.
‘Mr Matthews, please give me a pound note,’ she said, not taking her eyes off the man for a second. He was so pale she thought he was going to faint. With only an insignificant mutter of discontent, Mr Matthews did as he was told.
‘Here.’ She tucked the note briskly into the man’s jacket pocket. ‘Please get yourself a meal and somewhere to sleep tonight.’
For a moment he met her eyes and the anger she saw there shocked her to the core. Then he looked away, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.
‘Thank you,’ he said emotionlessly.
She watched him walk stiffly to the door and out into the sunshine.
‘You’ll have us both in the poorhouse if you keep giving money to drunkards,’ Mr Matthews grumbled as Caro propped the ledger open on the vacated table. She ignored him, as she was certainly not about to tell him what had transpired in the bar the previous night. It pleased her that she had paid her debt to the man, but she still felt unsettled by the expression she had seen in his eyes. He hadn’t even had the grace to be grateful.
Ten minutes of perusing the accounts confirmed Caro’s worst suspicions. Mr Thwaites was making very healthy profits, indeed, from the bar, but if he was paying any rent to the Castledene Hotel, it was not shown in the books. She sighed and sat back to study the gleaming rows of bottles lined up on