“No,” Mary-Ann murmured. “It wouldn’t.”
Bainbridge leaned forward, tone quieter. “I don’t suppose there’s anything you’d like to tell me?”
Mary-Ann met her gaze steadily. “Yes. But not here.”
They relocated to Mary-Ann’s bedroom under the pretense of selecting a shawl from her wardrobe. Hollis offered to bring tea, and Bainbridge distracted him with a fabricated crisis involving crushed invitation seals. Once the door was shut behind them, the mood shifted.
Mary-Ann turned the key in the lock and leaned back against the door. “I need you to listen and not dismiss what I’m about to say.”
Mrs. Bainbridge lowered herself into the armchair near the window, her tone losing its usual lilt. “I’m listening.”
Mary-Ann didn’t pace. She crossed to her writing desk and opened the drawer slowly, drawing out the folded list she’d written the night before.
“This is what I know or suspect. Wilkinson is manipulating the shipping accounts. TheArgent Windwas listed as missing, but I saw it at the docks today. Men are speaking in hushed tones, cargo is unrecorded, and I found altered ledgers in my father’s study. Lydia’s placement here wasn’t for my comfort. It was surveillance.”
She passed the page to Mrs. Bainbridge, who read it in silence.
When she looked up, her face was pale, but resolute. “You’re not being paranoid.”
“No,” Mary-Ann said. “I’m being followed. And now I’m following back.”
Bainbridge folded the list with care. “What are you going to do?”
“There’s one place left to search. The sea cave.”
“The one from the newspaper?”
Mary-Ann nodded. “If anything is still hidden, it’s there. And I can’t wait for Quinton. I don’t know when he’ll be back or what he’s allowed to tell me. But if I could choose, I would rather not do this without him.”
Bainbridge didn’t argue. She only asked, “Do you want me to come with you?”
Mary-Ann hesitated. “No. I need you to go to Barrington. Tell him what I’ve told you. Tell him where I’ve gone. But don’t come after me unless I fail to return.”
Bainbridge rose, straightening her spine like a soldier receiving orders. “Then we both have something to do.”
Mary-Ann reached for her cloak, fingers firm on the fabric.
“If I’m wrong, they’ll mock my pride. But if I’m right… Someone has twisted my family’s name into a shield for corruption. And I will not let that stand.
Chapter Thirty
Sunday morning, aftera restless night, Mary-Ann sat at the breakfast table, smoothing her napkin across her lap, her expression perfectly composed as Lydia prattled on about linens. The breakfast table was set with precision, marmalade in a cut-glass dish, eggs gone slightly cold, and tea she hadn’t tasted. Her father sat at the head of the table, more tired than usual, though he made an effort to murmur polite responses now and then.
“I do think the pale green would suit the dining room better, don’t you?” Lydia was saying. “It’s soothing. And it reflects the light in a very forgiving way.”
Mary-Ann nodded. “Lovely.”
Lydia beamed. “Of course, Mr. Wilkinson has excellent taste. He said we should embrace the modern hues. He’s ordered new wallpaper samples to arrive next week.”
Across the table, Mr. Seaton’s fork paused mid-air.
Mary-Ann folded a slice of toast neatly on her plate. “How efficient of him. I had no idea wallpaper was among his many talents.”
“Oh, he’s been involved in every decision.” Lydia poured herself more tea. “He says you have so much on your mind, you need someone to carry the burden.”
Mary-Ann looked up and smiled sweetly. “And how generous of him to volunteer you.”
Her father cleared his throat. “Perhaps some matters might wait until after the wedding.”
