“I can’t believe Tessa gave Glory a ferret of all things,” Maggie said.
Beside her on the carriage bench, Hypatia replied, “It is a rather odd gift, I must say.”
“That’s because it’s not a gift,” Rhys said.
“It’s not? Then what is it?” Maggie asked.
“Revenge,” he said dryly.
The bloody thing—which Glory had named Ferdinand the Ferret or F. F. for short—had already hissed at him thrice before they left the hotel. As F. F. was the descendent of Rhys’s nemesis, the infamous Swift Nick Nevison, this hardly came as a surprise.
Shaking her head, Maggie said, “Well, at least Glory and Ferdinand took to each other. And she was so over-the-moon to have a pet that she was happy to stay behind at the hotel.”
“Small mercies,” Rhys muttered.
The carriage came to a sudden stop. Parting the curtain, Rhys saw that they’d arrived in Limehouse, the dockside neighborhood east of London. Tall ships crammed the thriving commercial docks, a jungle of masts and sunburned sails as far as the eye could see.
Rhys opened the window. “Why are we stopped?”
“Beg pardon, Your Grace, but there’s a collision up ahead,” the groom said. “Two overturned carts blocking the thoroughfare and no way around it.”
“How far are we from our destination?”
“Just three blocks east, Your Grace. Not five minutes away.”
Rhys turned to the others. “Would you mind walking?”
The ladies readily agreed, and he and Newton helped them alight. The driver would meet them at the address as soon as the road cleared. Rhys offered his arm to Maggie, keeping her close as he led the expedition down the dockside street. The buildings were dilapidated, leaning together and appearing to prop each other up. The businesses they housed catered to sailors and dockworkers—taverns, lodging houses, and supply shops, mostly.
Barrows crammed the dusty pathway, hawkers shouting out their wares. The scent of meat pies mingled with the sewage-tinged brine of the Thames. Limehouse was home to seafarers from all over the world, and they passed men from Africa, Spain, and China speaking in their native tongues.
“According to Ming’s directions, Plum Forest should just be around the corner,” Rhys said, leading the way around the bend. “He said it’s next to a boarding house…”
He came to a halt, his heart thudding.
Beside him, Maggie gasped, “That—that can’t be it.”
He stared at the charred remains of the building. Most of it was rubble. A small section of the front wall remained standing, a sign hanging crookedly from it.
Stalking over, Rhys pulled out his uncle’s letter, holding the Chinese characters next to the sign. A match. ThiswasPlum Forest—or had been.
The final clue to the treasure was now nothing more than a pile of ash.
“We’ll think of something else,” Maggie said to Rhys as they climbed the carpeted stairs at Mivart’s that evening.
“Yes,” Rhys agreed, but his expression was not hopeful.
They’d spent the entire day in Limehouse trying to pick up the scent from the ruins of Plum Forest. From a helpful hawker, they’d learned that the restaurant had had a kitchen fire a few days ago. The owner, a Chinese man, had been killed in the blaze; he had no known relatives in London. Maggie and Rhys had tracked down two of the servers who’d survived the fire, and neither recalled anyone resembling Horatio visiting the restaurant, nor did they know anything about a hidden key.
While Maggie and Rhys had hunted down those dead ends, Hypatia and Mr. Newton had gone through what little remained of the building. What hadn’t been destroyed by fire had been taken by scavengers. The pair had even asked around to see if there were other businesses and/or places named Plum Forest; no one knew of any.
“Tomorrow is another day,” Hypatia said. “We’ll get cleaned up, have a good night’s rest, and tackle the problem afresh in the morning.”
Maggie appreciated her sister-in-law’s optimism. It was needed at the moment. For doubt had taken root, and she battled the spreading vines of panic. After tonight, they would only have four more days to produce the treasure to the cutthroats.
And they had no leads, no clues…nothing.
“Miss Foley makes an excellent point.” Newton’s spectacles were askew, his face dirt-smudged, yet he still managed to look chipper. “We could make a list of new strategies tonight. For instance, perhaps we could go back to the bank, try to negotiate our way into the vault...”
