“Milord!” Riche’s hail went unheard.
Wrexford’s palms were clammy as he fumbled with the brass latch to his workroom.
“Sorry, sir.” Hands shoved in his jacket pockets, Raven was standing with his back to the banked fire. “I bolloxed the job. But—”
After crossing the carpet in three swift steps, Wrexford swept the boy into a fierce hug.
“Oiy, oiy! You’re cracking my ribs!”
Be damned with appearing a sentimental fool.He held tight, reveling in every little jab and jut of the boy’s bony body.
Sheffield cleared his throat with a cough—or perhaps it was a laugh. Wrexford didn’t care. Raven’s warmth was melting the ice from his blood.
“What happened to your face, lad?” queried his friend.
“I slipped on the cobblestones . . .”
Wrexford reluctantly allowed Raven to wriggle free. The boy’s cheek was scraped, and the bruise spreading over his jaw made his grin look a little lopsided.
“But thanks to Skinny, the smarmy dastard couldn’t catch me!”
“What dastard? And why Skinny—” began the earl, only to have the rest of his question die on his lips as Raven plucked a packet of papers out of his pocket.
“The dastard who pushed Copley under the wheels of a curricle—it was horrible—tried to steal these documents from inside his coat,” explained the boy in a rush. “I figured they must be important, so I snatched them for you.”
The thick papers were speckled with blood, noted the earl, as he accepted them from Raven. “Well done, lad.”
“That isn’t all, sir.”
His hands tightened, setting off a faint crackling.
“Lord Copley whispered something just before the dastard crushed his throat,” continued Raven. “He said, ‘Blue Peter. Watch for Blue Peter.’ ”
Wrexford frowned in thought. “Who would be called by such a moniker?”
“Someone at the docks?” suggested Sheffield. “There are all manner of exotic foreigners working as stevedores or warehouse workers. Perhapsbluerefers to a tattoo?”
“Excellent thinking, Kit. That makes sense. Sir Darius and his friends might know of him.”
“There’s another thing, sir,” said Raven. “The dastard who pushed Copley was wearing white gloves. Seemed odd to me.”
The boy was right. Itwasodd. However, that little detail could wait. The earl moved to his desk. “Never mind that now. Before anything else, we need to look at these papers.”
Raven and Sheffield hurried to join him as Wrexford unfolded the sheaf of documents. The top sheet was a letter, written in a tiny, cramped script. But before he read it, he took a quick look beneath it.
A smile touched his lips, mingling both surprise and satisfaction. He passed several of the pages to Sheffield.
“By Jove,” murmured his friend as he quickly scanned the contents. He paused for a moment to touch the thick wax seals affixed to one page, next to the signature of Jameson Thirkell Mansfield, Earl of Woodbridge, before looking up. “I thought it a lost cause, but you did it, Wrex.”
“Wedid it,” murmured Wrexford, reaching out to ruffle Raven’s hair.
In addition to the legal papers naming Woodbridge as sole proprietor of Argentum Trading Company, Copley had included all the bank promissory notes that Woodbridge had entrusted to the consortium. While the others chortled in celebration, the earl quickly returned to the letter, anxious to know what had caused Copley to have a crisis of conscience.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered after reading through the long and detailed explanation. It didn’t excuse the baron’s choices. But perhaps his final act was an atonement of sorts for his past sins.
“What?” demanded Sheffield.
“Copley has given me all the pieces of the Argentum puzzle.” A grunt. “Save for the name of the real ringleader, which he wanted to tell me in person, rather than commit to paper.”
