*
The docks ofSommer-by-the-Sea bustled with late-afternoon trade.Crates clattered against cobblestones. Voices echoed over the water with commands, bargains, and greetings. The scent of salt and coal dust clung to every surface.
Georgina walked at Alex’s side, her gloves folded neatly in one hand, the folio tucked under her arm. Now and then their sleeves brushed, and the accidental contact grounded her more surely than the cobblestones beneath their feet.
Ships rocked gently against the current, ropes creaked on wet moorings, and gulls circled overhead like idle gossips. The autumn breeze carried a metallic tang of coal, sea, and tarred wood.
Despite the bustle, she noticed the irregularities, the hurried gestures, the brief glances that lingered too long, the sense that eyes were moving ahead of them rather than away.
The harbor might appear chaotic, but it moved with a rhythm. Any disruption would stand out.
Dockmaster Dilling met them by the warehouse office, the same man who had hedged through their questions once before. He offered a stiff bow, wiping his hands on a kerchief that looked long overdue for retirement.
“Lady Ravenstock. Lord Hawkesbury. Didn’t expect you again so soon.”
“We’ve questions about Mallory,” Georgina said. “And a firm markedR.T.S.”
Dilling’s eyes flicked to the folio. “Mallory hasn’t moved shipments through here in weeks.”
Georgina opened the folio and turned it toward him. “And yet he’s listed here. Three times in the past month. Including last Thursday.”
The dockmaster’s jaw shifted. “Could be a clerical error. Maybe one of the lads—”
“I’d like to see your outbound manifest for that date,” Alex said calmly.
Dilling hesitated, his gaze flicking once toward the ledger shelf.Then, with a grunt, he motioned them into the office.
The space was cramped and smelled of spilled ink, damp paper, and the faint acrid tang of tobacco. Georgina took it in at a glance. There were half-rolled charts, worn seals, and the frayed edge of a dispatch from Bristol pinned askew behind the desk. A brass weight lay on the window ledge, streaked with soot. He rifled through a thick binder and laid a single page on the desk. Georgina leaned in.
Mallory’s name appeared, but the ink looked fresher than the others. Wrong pen, wrong pressure.
“May I?” she asked.
Dilling hesitated. “That stays in the ledger.”
Georgina didn’t touch the page. She simply studied it. “This isn’t Mallory’s handwriting. Not the one I know.”
Alex pointed to a corner stamp. “That’s not the original registry seal. It’s been overlaid.”
Dilling bristled. “I record what I’m given. If you’re suggesting—”
“We’re not suggesting anything yet,” Georgina said coolly. “But someone is using a name they shouldn’t, and a company that doesn’t exist.”
She straightened and turned to leave. “When was the last time Samuel Mallory signed in himself?” she asked, pausing near the door.
Dilling hesitated. “Months ago. Maybe longer.”
“Then why does his name keep appearing?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly interested in the floorboards. “Could be his partner. Used to work through a firm, Shaw & Mallory.”
Georgina’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“Didn’t seem relevant.”
“It is now,” Alex said, his voice low and final. He lingered just long enough to give the dockmaster a look that required no words at all.
Outside, the wind had picked up. The tide dragged the scent of wet rope and coal along the shore. Georgina pulled her pelisse tighter.She cast a glance back toward the office door as it closed behind them. Something about Dilling’s expression as they left her unsettled. Not outrage, it was expectation. Like a man who’d already lit the fuse and was simply listening for the sound of the explosion. As though he had known they would come, and now that they had, some unspoken clock had started. The folio pressed against her arm like a reminder of what she’d seen, and what still eluded her.
