At his side, Maggie peered at the letter. “What does he mean bydemons?”
The fact that I failed my mother. That she died...because of me.
“My uncle has a fanciful way of expressing himself,” he said tersely.
To his relief, Maggie gave him a curious look but didn’t press him on the subject. “And those symbols? Do you know what they mean?”
“They’re Chinese characters, I believe.”Concentrate, man. Don’t get distracted by things you cannot change.“When Horatio says I must look to the past, I think he’s referring to a place that has something to do with my mother.”
“We need to find someone who can tell us what those characters mean,” Hypatia said.
“A visit to Limehouse might be in order?” Newton referred to the dockside district which was home to many Chinese sailors and laborers.
“Or how about Tessa Kent’s man, Ming?” Maggie suggested. “He’s closer. The fewer new people we need to involve, the better.”
“Good thinking,” Rhys said. “I’ll send her a note and ask to meet with him today.”
As he set the letter on the desk, his gut told him he was missing something.
Life’s greatest rewards go to those who stray from the beaten path and carve their own.
He was damned tired of following Horatio’s trail of crumbs. He had no desire to face his past; what if there was a way around it? What if he could circumvent this stupid game?
Reaching out, he jiggled the desk drawers. Locked.
“Pass me that penknife, would you?” he said to Maggie.
When she handed him the mother-of-pearl-handled blade, he inserted it, jimmying the lock until he heard a satisfying click.
“You have some hidden skills, Your Grace.” Maggie’s brows rose.
“Eton,” he said by way of explanation.
He opened the top drawer and found a jumbled mix of writing implements and assorted odds and ends. Finding nothing of import, he repeated the process with the middle drawer. It wasn’t until the bottom one that he made a discovery: Horatio’s appointment book.
He placed the leather-bound journal onto the desk and began to flip through the pages. His pulse accelerated as Horatio’s spiky handwriting revealed the dates, places, and people he’d interacted with in the last year.
“Look here.” With simmering excitement, he showed Maggie several pages. “In the weeks prior to Horatio’s death, he made five visits to Gruenwald’s.”
“That seems excessive if he were only making arrangements for Mrs. Ingle,” Maggie said.
“My thoughts exactly.” Rhys leafed through the rest, including blank pages, and came to the end of the book. He was about to go through it again when his thumb encountered a ridge on the inside of the journal cover. “There’s a bump in the back cover.”
Maggie peered over. “Yes, I see it. A raised line. As if the book wasn’t properly bound or…”
“Or someone inserted something inside the cover.”
He used the penknife again, this time to carefully slice through the binding. The leather separated easily from the paper board. He slid his fingers into the narrow pocket…and fished out a thin card made of hammered gold. Gruenwald’s logo was embossed on the gleaming surface, along with the wordsEdward Rhys Hugo Jones Cavendish.
“Sweet heavens,” Maggie breathed. “What is that?”
The thrill of discovery sizzled through Rhys. “A membership card to Gruenwald’s—and, if I’m not mistaken, the key to the treasure.”
After sending off a note requesting a meeting with Ming, Rhys and the others made the short trip to Gruenwald’s. The goldsmith occupied an unassuming brick building on Fleet Street next to a publishing press. Inside, Rhys noted the iron bars over the elegantly dressed windows and the armed guards stationed discreetly throughout the showroom. The place was as fortified as a citadel.
He led the way past impressive displays of gold and silver plate to the counter, manned by a clerk in a leather apron.
“Good afternoon.” The fellow bowed. “How may I be of assistance?”
