“Dismissed the following day,” the man replied. “Paid and released.”
James leaned forward. “Where did he go.”
The solicitor shook his head. “That I do not know.”
James straightened, frustration flickering through him. “You know more than you are saying.”
“I swear I do not,” the man insisted. “I was only told to facilitate the arrangement.”
Roderick sighed as they stepped back into the street. “A dead end.”
“No,” James said. “A direction.”
They spent the remainder of the day chasing Fenwick.
By midafternoon, they had convinced themselves they were close. Fenwick had been present at the ball. Fenwick had connections. Fenwick had debts.
“This makes sense,” Roderick said as they reviewed their notes in a cramped tavern room. “He needed money. He knew the household. He had access.”
James nodded, though something unsettled him. “It is almost too neat.”
Roderick frowned. “You would prefer chaos.”
“I would prefer truth,” James replied.
By nightfall, the certainty had unraveled.
Fenwick was in Bath on the night of the ball. Witnessed. Documented. Annoyingly innocent.
Roderick stared at the ledger in disbelief. “Damn it.”
James closed his eyes briefly. “We followed what we wanted to see.”
The second day began with restraint.
They returned to Blackmere and spread everything out across James’s study. Letters. Names. Dates. Movements.
“Start again,” Roderick said. “From the beginning.”
James nodded. “Harrowby hires a temporary footman. He pays well. The man disappears afterward.”
“And Harrowby claims it was necessity,” Roderick said. “One night only.”
James tapped the desk. “Which means the man was not meant to be remembered.”
“Or questioned,” Roderick added.
They reconsidered every assumption.
“Who benefits?” Roderick asked.
James answered without hesitation. “The man who knew my parents’ habits.”
“Which Harrowby did,” Roderick said.
“And so did others,” James replied.
They traced the guest list again. Who arrived early. Who lingered. Who left abruptly.
