“I knew it!” Kit grinned at the victory, then immediately shot her hand to her mouth, gut sinking. Sweet, blessed mercy! What sort of danger had she placed everyone in, placed her own precious little girl in, by taking on the Coleman case?
“La, Kit! Yer white as a bride’s frillies.” Martha cornered the pram and snagged her arm, guiding her to a nearby crate. “See? This is exactly why yer husband asked me not to say somethin’. Please, don’t fret so. Mr. Baggett was more than capable to handle it. All is well.”
“But if it weren’t for me taking on that case…” She sagged against the wall. Why hadn’t she listened to her father that first day? But no, she’d thought she knew better, hadn’t even bothered to ask the Almighty what He might think. Flit! Would she never learn?
She peered over at Martha. “What am I doing? What by all that is holy am I doing?”
“Hear, now.” Reaching out, her friend swept a piece of hair from Kit’s brow. “Yer bein’ Kit Forge, tha’s what. ’Tis who ye are.”
Kit’s gaze drifted to Bella, who batted at the colourful toys hanging from the pram’s canopy. Guilt and fear tasted sour on her tongue. “If being who I am involves endangering those I love, then I don’t want it anymore. Don’t you understand? For the safety of those around me, I cannot go on like this.”
Martha shook her head slowly. “Ye cannot perfectly protect yer family any more than Mr. Jackson can you.”
“But neither must I drag them straight into danger!”
“Then don’t.” Martha shrugged. “Ye aren’t runnin’ a crew no more, luv. Nothing says ye must be the one trackin’ down evil, is there? T’aint that what yer husband, yer father, and even Mr. Baggett are around for?”
Kit lifted her head and blinked, once again hearing her father’s chastisement about them being partners. Could it be so simple? That perhaps God didn’t intend her to stop pursuing justice, but rather change the way she went about it?
Jackson hadn’t thought it possible. Not that he hadn’t seen things go from bad to worse, but this? He stood speechless at his office door, clutching the handle of his satchel with a death grip. Though it be a muggy August day, Harvey hunched like a toad in front of the hearth, pitching papers into a blazing fire. The very documents Jackson was supposed to be deciphering into a comprehensive report that was due on the commissioner’s desk in two days.
The one that would make or break his career as chief inspector.
So much rage boiled up from his gut that he gusted out a breath as if sucker punched in the breadbasket.
Harvey glanced over his shoulder, then rose with a smile. “Why, good morning, Chief Inspector. Or nearly afternoon, I should say. At any rate, you should be happy to know I am just about finished up here.”
“You are finished right now, Harvey,” he ground out.
“Oh, perhaps you misheard me, sir.” Harvey pounded his chest as he cleared his throat, then spoke all the louder. “Just a bit more tidying up and—”
“Out!” Jackson exploded.
Harvey’s owl eyes blinked behind his thick spectacles. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I said—”
“Chief Inspector! Delightful!” Catchpole’s voice squeaked behind him. “You’re exactly where I hoped you’d be.”
Gritting his teeth, Jackson wheeled about. “This is not a good time, Mr. Catchpole.”
“On the contrary, it is the best of times.” The string bean of a fellow lifted his chin, the feather on his hat bobbing. “And if you hurry, you just may intercept him.”
Fabulous. Here he stood playing a word game while a failure of an inspector incinerated police records at his back when he ought to be tracking down a yet-to-be-found evil mastermind. But it would do no good to ignore or put off the red-coated fence post in front of him…and to be fair, hadn’t his last meeting with this same man reminded him not to be quite so quick to judge? Somehow, the thought eased some of the tension and brought calmness to his voice. “What are you talking about, Mr. Catchpole?”
“Mr. Child, of course.”
His heart skipped a beat. “What have you discovered?”
Catchpole hitched his thumbs around his lapels. “I apologize there wasn’t time for me to copy down the evidence, but I saw with my own eyes a ledger that the president of Barclay’s shared with me this morning.”
Jackson sucked in a breath. Though it shouldn’t be a surprise the twin brother of Suthmeer had access to such a high official, it was still hard to fathom that this peculiar little man was actually quite important himself. “What did the ledger show?”
“That Mr. Child makes a weekly deposit every Monday at the Lombard Street branch. Noon. Like clockwork.”
Jackson yanked out his pocket watch and flipped open the lid. Half past eleven. No time to waste. He snapped it shut and took off at a run down the corridor, calling over his shoulder, “Thank you, Mr. Catchpole.”
“My pleasure, Chief Inspect—”
