He waited—because if Holt suspected the widow was being watched, he would move cautiously. He would not leave while she was within easy reach. He would not reveal too much while strangers lingered.
Edmund drank slowly, allowing his posture to suggest nothing but mild indifference. He did not stare. He did not scowl. He did not draw attention to himself but he listened with a concentration that made the roar of the tavern fade to a distant surf.
Holt leaned forward again, his voice lowered. The older man’s words were still too soft to catch, but Holt’s were rougher and louder.
“… key,” Holt muttered.
The word struck Edmund like a spark.
“… she must have it,” Holt continued. “… Larkin would have kept a spare there.”
The thin-faced man laughed. “Safe? A widow keepin’ a key? She ain’t a bank.”
Holt’s mouth twisted. “Widows keep letters… any keepsake to remember their dear departed. She probably doesn’t even know she has it.”
The older man hissed something. Holt lifted a hand, clearly dismissive. Then he said, in a tone that made Edmund’s blood go cold, “It don’t matter what she thinks she’s keepin’. That key opens what we need. We get it, and we’re back in business.”
Back in business.Edmund’s mind raced. If they believed Elise held the key, then someone had seen enough of Larkin’s work to know he did not operate without a contingency plan. Someone had noticed that his widow remained near Plymouth instead of retreating to family or London.
They had been watching her, perhaps for weeks; perhaps longer.
If Holt had the missing ledger, then the cipher would allow him to interpret it. Without the key, the ledger remained a locked box. With it, every name and route and secret could be laid bare.
Edmund’s unease grew into something urgent, more desperate.
Elise Larkin was not merely suspicious to the Crown—she was prey to men who believed her a vault.
If Holt also believed her to be a vault, then he would not stop at questions.
Edmund’s gaze flicked, almost involuntarily, toward Elise. She was moving again with her tray, face composed and postureordinary, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed that she had heard too.
She was afraid, yet displaying a particular kind of courage, and one Edmund recognized too well: the courage of necessity.
He watched Holt push back his chair, rise and exchange a few murmured words with his companions. They lingered a moment longer—too long for mere drinkers—then began to move toward the door.
Edmund did not follow at once. He waited until Holt and his men were outside. He waited until their voices faded into the harbour night. He waited until the tavern’s attention shifted to other matters.
Then he rose and made his way toward the bar, as if only now remembering he had no desire to remain in such company. He paid Mr. Grey, who looked at him with that same keen, knowing glance he had given Elise—an expression that suggested the man saw far more than was healthy for anyone near a Crown operation.
“’Tis late for a quiet stroll,” Grey remarked, his voice flat.
Edmund returned a mild smile. “I find I sleep better after fresh air.”
Grey snorted. “It be fresh enough outside to take your ears off.”
“I shall try to keep them,” Edmund replied, and stepped out into the night.
The air was bitingly cold. The sea was loud, and the wind carried the smell of salt and old weed. The harbour lamps swung slightly, and somewhere beyond the docks a dog barked.
Edmund did not see Holt immediately.
He moved along the darker edge of the street, letting the shadows of sheds and boats conceal him. He had spent too many nights in Spain and France, too many nights in alleys and ruinedcourtyards, to be clumsy now. Plymouth was small compared to London, yes, but darkness made every place large.
Holt and his companions appeared ahead at last—three dark shapes moving down toward the wharf before turning inland, away from the sea. Edmund followed at a distance, careful to keep them in sight without being seen.
They halted near a narrow lane, spoke briefly, then separated. Holt went one way with the older man and the thin-faced fellow took another route.
Edmund considered following Holt. Then he heard, behind him, the lightest scrape of a shoe on stone. He turned and saw Elise.
