Georgina traced a name on the edge of a ledger with her fingertip. “Because the source is still hidden. Still powerful.”
Barrington nodded. “And likely watching.”
“There are no more offices,” Simms added from the corner. “We’ve been tracking activity for months. This was the last known physical location outside of London.”
“They’ve collapsed inward,” Georgina said. “What’s left of the Order isn’t spread across counties anymore. It’s embedded. Quiet. And close to the seat of power.”
Alex looked to Barrington. “Do you know who it is?”
Barrington was silent for a long moment. Then: “I have a theory. But it won’t stand without proof. And what do we have here? This is curated. This was meant to close a door, not open one.”
Mrs. Bainbridge folded her hands. “Then what do we do?”
Georgina answered first. “We hold. We gather. We plan. And we don’t stop until the real story comes to light.”
Mrs. Bainbridge reached into her bag. “There is one more thing. You asked me to keep this. She set a small, lacquered puzzle box on the table.
Georgina blinked. “I did. You had mentioned that one of your students might be able to solve it. I hadn’t thought of that box in weeks.”
“She did solve it,” Mrs. Bainbridge said gently. “Yesterday. I thought you’d want it back.”
Georgina lifted the lid.
Inside, folded carefully between two layers of linen, was a single sheet of paper. Her breath caught as she opened it.
Alex stepped closer, reading over her shoulder.
“It’s Rowland’s handwriting.” She turned the paper over. “Just a few lines.” She read it aloud.
“I followed the money. It ended with the crown. But it passed through the raven’s nest first.”
The silence that followed was immediate.
Barrington exhaled slowly. “Then we know where to look.”
Edward, from the doorway, spoke for the first time. “And we know how high this truly goes.”
No one said more. The reckoning had only just begun.
*
Barrington stood bythe fireplace in the drawing room, flipping through a stack of letters Edward had sent from Alnwick. The final page, penned in a careful hand, bore the Royal seal.
“Your mother sends her blessing,” Mrs. Bainbridge said as she entered, shedding her cloak with a graceful twist. “And a guest list thatrivals a coronation.”
Barrington chuckled. “Of course she does.”
“She’ll host the wedding in London. Early spring, at Clarendon House.”
He set the letter aside and crossed to her. “And what do you want?”
Mrs. Bainbridge tilted her head. “The same thing I’ve wanted for years. You.”
He kissed her then, not cautiously, but with all the intent they had once tucked away behind duty and distance. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his and smiled.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
