Wrexford led the way to the ground-floor storage room where Raven had wedged open the window. A quick tug raised the sash, and he slithered inside. Charlotte was right behind him and pushed it back into place. After taking a thick piece of felt from his pocket, he cleaned the bottoms of his soft-soled shoes and wordlessly passed the cloth to her.
The storage room’s door had been locked for the night. Wrexford eased the bolt open and checked the corridor. Upon finding all was still, he crept into the gloom.
Tyler had procured a floor plan of the interior, and the earl had memorized the way to Copley’s set of offices. A small folding lantern was in his pocket, but he didn’t wish to risk a light until they reached the baron’s inner lair. Navigating by touch and feel, he followed the wall to a side stairwell. Their steps padded noiselessly over the smooth stone.
Another door, which opened to reveal an unblinking darkness.
Charlotte grasped his sleeve just as he started forward, and cocked an ear. Wrexford heard it, too—the click of steps echoing from the front of the building.
They waited. The sound quickly faded away. There was, he knew, a night porter on duty at the main entrance. The logbooks and company correspondence that sailed with every East India merchant ship could arrive at any hour.
He signaled for them to continue. Copley’s offices were to the left, behind an ornately carved set of locked teak doors.
Snick, snick.The steel probe jiggled, and the tumblers released with a discreet sigh.
A bank of windows on the wall facing Leadenhall Street allowed in just enough illumination to show a large room filled with long rows of wooden desks and stools on either side of a center walkway. In daytime, a regiment of scriveners would be busy with pen and ink . . . fifty tiny hearts beating in tune, compiling the leather-bound ledgers that recorded the Company’s lifeblood flowing in and out.
Straight ahead was another set of teak doors, ornamented with inlaid ivory. These, too, were locked.
“You reallymustshow me how to do that,” said Charlotte, crouching down beside him to watch.
“You’re dangerous enough as it is,” he replied. “I shudder . . .”Snick, snick.“To think what mischief . . .”Snick, snick.This mechanism was more complicated than the first one.
“Ah, finally,” he said. The doors swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Wrexford gestured for her to enter the inner office, then carefully reset the lock.
The large room was tastefully furnished in dark woods, with brass accents on the document storage cabinets adding a nautical look to the well-ordered space. Two desks sat side by side. A glance at the open appointment book on the nearest one seemed to indicate this was where Copley’s personal secretaries toiled. A small side office looked to belong to a senior administrative assistant. After a cursory glance at the stack of ledgers, he returned to the main room.
Up ahead, an archway opened into a short corridor. Charlotte was already wreathed in its shadows, moving lightly on the balls of her feet.
She returned a moment later and gestured for him to come along.
“This must be Copley’s private lair,” she said once he had joined her. “The door has two locks.” A grimace. “I feel as though I’m inside one of those elaborate Russian wooden dolls. You know, the ones that nest inside one another.”
“Matryoshkadolls.” He set to work with his steel probe.Secrets within secrets.Logic said that Woodbridge’s documents, if they were indeed here in East India House, would be kept where an underling wouldn’t inadvertently come across them.
And Copley struck him as a logical gentleman. If he wasn’t . . .
Charlotte seemed to be thinking along the same lines. She looked back over her shoulder at the outer offices. “We won’t have time to search everywhere. What would you suggest we do? We can either both search the baron’s lair, or you can concentrate on his room, while I use my intuition to guess where in the outer rooms he might have hidden the banking papers.”
Wrexford found himself wavering, but only for a moment. “Blackmail . . . Even if the story Copley told me was a humbug, it shows his concern with blackmail. I think he will be keeping them close.”
A nod signaled her agreement.
He took hold of the door latch and eased it open. “Then let’s get to work.”
* * *
Charlotte heard a soft hiss escape from his lungs as he stepped into the office. In the next instant she saw why.
Along with the array of bookcases and storage cabinets, the room held a number of display shelves showcasing exotic curios, many of which were quite large and ornate. In addition, there were a number of carved wooden statues—they looked to be Hindu deities—painted in jewel-tone colors, with bits of gaudy glass adding extra glitter and texture.
All of which could contain hidden compartments, perfect for hiding a sheaf of paper.
“Hell and damnation,” she agreed as he reset the locks.
“Let’s not waste our breath feeling sorry for ourselves,” he muttered. “I’ll start with the desk.” He took out the folding lantern and set the candle and shutters in place, then indicated the small oil lamp on the tea table. “We’ll have to chance a second light.”
