She could manage this.
Eight
The morning hours flew by as Emma immersed herself in a world of facts and figures. It took a little time to familiarize herself with the prior accountant’s system and then to locate and pick up the threads he had left untied when he vacated his position. It was clear by the state of his documentation that he had left unexpectedly, and she found herself curious.
Had the man been stealing from his employer?
It was what Emma knew she was hired to find out. But first, she intended to bring the current books up-to-date. By the look of things, they had gone untouched for a couple of weeks. Once the rest of the financials were back on track, she would have plenty of time to delve into the mysteries Mr. Goodwin had left behind.
There were two sets of books to review. One addressed the expenses involved in running the club itself. It contained a listing of all the invoices detailing the orders of food made by the club’s chef, separate orders for wine and liquor, similar listings for candles, linens, and other household supplies, invoices for the gas lighting installed throughout the club, as well as the salaries for every member of Bentley’s staff, not to mention other various expenses submitted by the butler, the manager, and Mr. Bentley himself.
She saw immediately that the documentation submitted by the housekeeper, Mrs. Potter, which noted the amount of candles she requested per month, did not in any way match what was in the ledger itself or in the invoice from the candle maker. Emma suspected the housekeeper had no idea her orders were being inflated.
Emma tucked that information away as her first small clue in her audit of the prior bookkeeper’s activities.
The second book detailed the financial standing of each and every member. Most of the information appeared to have been submitted by Mr. Metcalf, the club’s manager, in the form of a nightly account listing who borrowed what from the club’s bank. Mr. Metcalf also kept track of the gaming room’s nightly profits and losses, with extra notations for instances where a member won or lost a particularly large amount. The manager’s statements were clear, concise, and easy to follow, though written in the tiniest script Emma had ever seen.
She decided to start there, and by the end of four hours had gotten a good portion of the members’ accounts brought up-to-date.
It was shortly before noon when she heard a curt but respectful knock at her door. Her first thought was that it was Mr. Bentley, and an unwelcome thrill ran through her as she straightened in her chair and set her pencil in the binding of the ledger she was working in.
“You may come in,” she replied.
The door opened to reveal a man of average height with a stocky build who appeared to be in his late fifties. His most notable feature was his dark red hair streaked with gray that he wore pulled back in a queue at his nape. He stood in the doorway with his feet braced apart and his hands clasped behind his back, looking much like a naval captain aboard his ship.
“Mrs. Adams, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Henry Metcalf and I am the manager of Bentley’s. I have been with the club since the day it opened. I shall endeavor to assist you in any way necessary as you familiarize yourself with our business.”
His tone and manner were as formal as Snipes’s was coarse and Bishop’s was impudent.
“Please come in, Mr. Metcalf,” Emma replied as she rose from her chair. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The manager bowed his head before coming forward into the room. “I shall intrude only for a moment. I wanted to take the opportunity to deliver last night’s report in person.”
He strode to her desk with long, rolling strides, again making her think of a man at sea, and handed her a small collection of paperwork.
“Thank you, Mr. Metcalf,” Emma replied. She accepted the reports and set them to the side of her ledger as she reclaimed her seat.
Mr. Metcalf remained at attention just beyond her desk, his hands once again clasped behind his back. With a start of surprise, Emma noticed a small gold hoop in his right ear.
“If you ever have any concerns about what you find in my reports, or any other matter pertaining to the business of this club, I am available, starting from precisely half-past eleven o’clock every day until six o’clock the next morning.” His gaze, which had been fixed at a point above Emma’s head, lowered to meet hers, and she saw a shadow of regret in his eyes. “I feel it necessary to say that although I believed him to be a friend, I am deeply disappointed by Mr. Goodwin’s suspected perfidy.”
Emma felt a need to reassure him. “I understand, Mr. Metcalf. It is never easy when someone close to us chooses to behave deceptively rather than seeking an honest solution.”