Free The Poor Relation by Margaret Bennett

that way ‘cause he’s needing more of the ready to finance his departure from these parts.”
    “ More than likely, and since I don’t want to draw attention to myself asking questions as I go, I’ll chance he’s headed for the pawnbroker.  Even if he’s not, it won’t hurt to pay this Mr. Demby a call.”
    “No need to hurry ‘less you want Brutus to run Pearson over,” Raikes said with a smirk.
    Camden answered with a raised eyebrow and gave Brutus his head to take off at a gallop.  He was glad of the opportunity to get away from the Court.  Even though he didn’t expect to learn much since Pearson had s lipped the leash, it felt good to be doing something other than playing up to Judith Palmer. That affair was over, yet the lady persisted in refusing to accept the inevitable by using the present situation to keep him by her.  He reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time that he need only put up with the widow’s antics for the duration of the farcical house party.  Unbidden, a smile came to his lips with the thought of another pretty face.  More and more, the sight of Miss Chloe Woodforde afforded him the only bright spot in his days.  He remembered the intoxicating feel of her body as he’d carried her out of the woods.  Then, just as suddenly, he mentally shook those thoughts from his mind.  A forthright and wholesome damsel like Chloe Woodforde had never been nor would ever be for the likes of him.
    A short while later , Camden came upon the bustling small town of Cranbrook.  He followed the High Street that climbed a gentle hill and was crammed on both sides with shops and houses, some having been built over two hundred years ago.  A church up ahead marked a sudden turn in the road, and rounding the corner, Camden spied the periwinkle blue jacket of a dandy riding up ahead, and pulled Brutus up sharply. 
    No, he was not mistaken, it was Pearson.  Luck was with Camden, who watched Pearson dismount before a less than prosperous looking shop with the symbolic three golden balls painted on a sign with faded lettering, Golden Goose.
    Once Pearson entered the establishment, Camden rode for the old Tudor inn at the end of the street where he tossed the yard boy a coin, promising another if the lad walked Brutus to cool him down.  Unhurriedly and careful to keep within the shadows of the buildings on the other side of the street, Camden ambled toward the Golden Goose.  It was not long before the dandy emerged from the pawnshop, remounted and rode off.  Wasting little time, Camden crossed the road and entered the pawnshop.
    The interior was small and cramped with several glass top cases pushed against dingy walls.  A stout man , with heavy jowls and a greasy fringe of gray hair circling his otherwise bald head, sat in a chair behind a large desk in one corner.  His eyes seemed almost to bulge from their sockets, much like a frog’s, and as they took in Camden’s measure, he heaved his considerable bulk up on his feet to greet his customer.  “Good day to you, sir.  And what may the Golden Goose do for you this morning?”
    Camden had no time for civility.  “The gentleman who just left your shop, what was his business?”
    He’d not expected an answer yet was rewarded a visual one as the broker’s unctuous manner switched to one of open hostility.  “Seeing as I run a respectable place, I suggest you state your business and be off.”
    Camden appeared unconcerned by the insult.  Instead, he propped himself on the corner of the scarred oak desk, swinging his highly polished Hessian encased leg nonchalantly. “Sit down,” he ordered and indicated the man resume his seat with a wave of his hand.  “And be so kind as to keep your hands on top of the desk.”
    His color rose, but Demby indicated he possessed an inkling of common sense by complying, though his movements were deliberately slow.
    “That’s better,” began Camden.  “Now—Mr. Erasmus Demby, isn’t it?—to the