“Will, they didn’t.”
“What?”
“The door, it’s not broken. They only broke your locked cabinet and desk. If you’re certain you locked it…”
My stomach sank. Either a skilled lockpick worked on the door but smashed anything locked in my office, or more likely, they had a key to the front door.
One glance at Kit made it clear he had reached the same conclusion.
“Do you suppose we should call a constable?” I asked.
“And tell them what? Someone made a mess? They only consider cash, jewels, that sort of thing. They won’t see the value in information. Not that Bow Street has ever found anything of value anyway. Or returned anything they did find.”
“So, proceed as usual? Keep an eye for anything suspicious?”
“Seems to be the best plan. We could revoke everyone’s keys, but I’d rather find out who did it.”
I sighed and headed back to my disaster of an office. No sooner had I opened the door than I found Bates on his knees on the floor, sorting away.
“Bates, I asked you to leave the mess to me.”
“Right, sorry, sir. I just wanted to be of service.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but back to your desk, if you please.”
“Of course.”
I settled back on the floor with a repressed groan. Bates had fussed with my piles, and I had to start them all over again. In an impressive display of control, I managed to refrain from commenting about it. It took hours to finish, and I wasn’t entirely confident that everything was perfectly returned as it should be. But there was nothing missing that I could recall off hand.
I called Kit in to join me on the floor with a sigh.
“Can you grab my accounts ledger, it’s in the bottom right drawer,” I told him, digging my key out of my pocket and holding it to him.
“Don’t need it,” he muttered, reminding me of the smashed lock.
He spread the book out before him and grabbed the first half-sorted stack.
“Right, we’ve got paperwork for both the Ainsleys. The apartment, the club, and the bakery. Everything looks to be inorder for the apartment.” He muttered, mostly to himself, before making check marks or notes while I continued to sort.
“Is the Hasket paperwork missing?” Kit asked.
Everything stopped. Ice filled my veins.
There were still any number of possible explanations. But my blood had always been right on the battlefield. I wasn’t about to question it now.
They knew.
I had no idea how, but they knew we were hunting them. Gabriel’s killer knew.
Which meant…
“Celine!”
Nineteen
CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON, JUNE 14, 1816
CELINE
