He leaned closer as I traced the river from west to east, the motion steady despite the anger simmering beneath my hand.
“It cannot be within the city,” I continued. “A place like that would not endure scrutiny for long. Too many eyes. Too many opportunities for inconvenient questions.”
Finch nodded. “And yet it must be close enough to reach without difficulty.”
“Close enough that the journey itself would not invite suspicion. The girls were likely taken first to Riversgate in Chelsea—a house near the river. Lady Rosalynd found out about it yesterday from her modiste. The girls’ abductors would not wish to travel far once the deed was done.”
“Carriages leave traces,” Finch said.
“But the river would not.” I slid my finger downriver, past Westminster and Lambeth, feeling again the chill of the water Rosalynd and I had seen that morning.
I moved farther east, beyond the denser markings of the city. “Here,” I said, indicating the stretch beyond Woolwich. “This is where London thins. Country houses begin to appear. Estates with river frontage. Private moorings. Places no one visits unless invited.”
“And far enough from London that no one would think to look there,” Finch said.
“Yet close enough to reach from Chelsea in under an hour by launch,” I replied. “They take the girls from Riversgate under the cover of darkness, put them on the river, and leave London behind.”
Finch studied the map in silence. “It would have to be some wealthy landowner’s house,” he said at last. “Someone whose name alone discourages enquiry.” His gaze lifted to mine. “An aristocrat?”
“Yes,” I said. “It fits.”
Only a man with a title could host such lavish entertainments without protest. His status alone would be enough to silence enquiry. The thought was sickening.
“He need not be the one directing the scheme,” I asserted. “But he’s immoral enough to accept payment for the depraved use of his property.”
Finch’s brow furrowed. “Someone paid him, but who?”
“Someone who profits from leverage,” I said. “Someone who enjoys having powerful men under his control, because it allows him to direct them as he pleases.”
Understanding settled over Finch’s features. “The bastard who financed Vale’s drug operation.” His mouth twisted with disgust. “No one knows his name, Steele. He keeps himself well in the shadows.”
“Every man has a weakness,” I said. “Eventually, he will make a mistake. When he does, we will know.” My attention returned to the map. “For now, our focus must be on that property—and on those girls.” I straightened. “I leave it to you. Hire whomever you must. I will pay whatever it takes. We must find it before another girl pays with her life.”
“Right.”
Milford reappeared at that moment, an envelope resting on a silver salver. “This arrived by hand, Your Grace.”
The seal was unmistakable.
Rosehaven.
I dismissed Finch with a nod. “Send word as soon as you have anything of substance.”
He inclined his head and departed.
The seal broke cleanly beneath my thumb. The note was brief.
Steele,
I am aware of the events of last night. Your presence at Rosehaven House is no longer welcome. Until further notice, you are barred from the house and grounds entirely.
—Rosehaven
I folded the letter with deliberate care and set it atop my desk, aligning it with unnecessary precision.
Not anger.
Something colder. Harder.
