“Shut yer gob, or it’s another penny off your wages,” Smith snarled.
Mrs. Sutter’s face reddened. She looked angry and on the verge of tears.
“It were my fault,” Charlie said hastily. “I couldn’t get an edge o’ the box straight and asked Mrs. Sutter for help. The fine should come out o’ my wages.”
Smith looked her up and down. Despite her wig, spectacles, and ample padding, Charlie felt naked beneath his salacious perusal.
“Perhaps we can work somefin’ out, Mrs. Gibson.” He leered at her. “Come to my office after your shift.”
Disgusting pig.
“What seems to be the problem ’ere, Smith?” Devlin cut in. “This is my section.”
“The problem is that your hens are clucking and setting a bad example for the others,” Smith said righteously. “Someone ’as to keep ’em in line, so I gave a fine and a warning.”
“Neither are yours to give in the area I supervise,” Devlin said. “I’ll take care o’ it.”
Smith opened his mouth to argue, but eyeing Devlin’s pugnacious posture, clearly thought better of it and stalked off.
“Back to work,” Devlin clipped out. “Or I’ll be deducting your wages myself.”
Mrs. Sutter sent Charlie a relieved look, and they both got back to making boxes.
Returning home that evening, Charlie was satisfied with the day’s work. She had learned some important information, especially about Emmett Brompton. Although Mrs. Sutter hadn’t known the name of Brompton’s friends—a “well-heeled gent and lady” was all she recalled—she had provided details that the Angels or Jack’s team could investigate further.
During Charlie’s break, she had also snuck out to surveil the building where Mrs. Sutter had said the “machines” were stored. The wooden structure stood two stories tall with shuttered windows. There were exits at the front and back, guards posted at each. A pair also patrolled the grounds; when spotted by them, Charlie had pretended to be lost.
Her instincts told her Brompton’s manufactory was hiding something sinister. She would convene with Devlin and figure out a plan to get into that mysterious back building tomorrow night. Although Mrs. Sutter had mentioned that the guards worked in shifts around the clock, between Charlie, Devlin, and Livy, they could create a distraction and get inside.
Charlie entered her bedchamber, more than ready to unwind with a bath and supper. Packing matches was hard work; her feet were killing her from standing all day. Moreover, Jack had been keeping her up at night. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right that she was in no shape to accompany him to the Public Records Office this evening. She would catch a few winks before he returned in the wee hours.
She rang, and her lady’s maid came in a few minutes later, holding a package.
“This came for you, my lady,” Jenny said.
Charlie took the parcel. Wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine, it felt solid…like a book. “Who delivered this?”
“That was the strange thing, my lady. Someone rang the bell and left the package on the doorstep.”
Unease prickled Charlie’s nape.
“Thank you, Jenny. Please have a supper tray readied.”
After Jenny exited, Charlie sat down on her settee. She stared at the object in her lap, then took a breath and unwrapped it. Inside was a letter and volume bound in cognac leather.
She unfolded the missive. The handwriting was feminine, embellished with swirls and curlicues. As she read the perfectly rendered lines, her blood turned cold.
To Whom It May Concern,
This is a true statement written on the 12thday of November, in the year of our Lord 1838.
I am Judith Courtenay, the Dowager Marchioness of Fayne, and I attest that a man named Jack Granger is responsible for the death of my son, Sebastian James Courtenay, the fifth Marquess of Fayne.
Mr. Granger entered my home as a servant and used his wiles and animal magnetism to take over my household. My family fell prey to his powers, and we did not realize the extent of his manipulation until it was far too late. He pretended to befriend my son Sebastian, a frail boy who was vulnerable to Mr. Granger’s dominant and persuasive personality.
Prior to Mr. Granger’s arrival, Sebastian and I had a close and affectionate relationship; by the time Mr. Granger left, he had caused a painful rift between my darling son and me. He sowed seeds of rebellion in Sebastian, causing him to leave home in a reckless, precipitous fashion once he reached his majority. Preying upon Sebastian’s sense of honor and duty, Mr. Granger encouraged my son to engage in perilous espionage activities with the purpose of getting Sebastian killed.
How do I know Mr. Granger’s intent? Because after Sebastian’s death, Jack Granger assumed the identity of the Marquess of Fayne to enjoy the privileges of the esteemed title. He lived abroad to prevent his fraud from being detected. And, to guarantee my silence, he blackmailed me using as his weapon the greatest shame of my life. But for the sake of my son’s memory and my own conscience, I can no longer keep quiet.
