“Oh, nothing of value, I am sure.” His gaze did not quite meet hers. “Only, one would not want sensitive materials in the wrong hands. Old cases. Government inquiries. As a precaution.”
Eleanor’s mind snapped, unbidden, to the hidden catalogue. “No official documents,” she said. “Only his own notes and journals.”
Pritchard’s eyes narrowed, then softened into a practiced concern. “Of course. He was a most thorough record-keeper.” His voice dipped. “There are, however, individuals… perhaps you have heard of a Mr. Halford?”
The name landed like a pebble dropped into still water, and her stomach tightened. Not because she knew him, she did not, but because the syllables sounded placed, as though he were testing a pressure point he expected to exist. Eleanor’s thoughts snapped to the catalogue hidden in her father’s book, to the neat cold numbers that had no business sitting beside Byron and Pope.
Her pulse quickened.
“He served as an unofficial secretary to several inquiries your father contributed to,” Pritchard continued smoothly, “and it was his custom to keep duplicates. Entirely aboveboard, you understand. But one never knows when the government will take a sudden interest in its own history.”
Eleanor filed the name away with care. Halford. She lifted her chin. “I can assure you,” she said, “that nothing dangerous will leave this house without review.”
He made a small bow. “Very good. I do hope you will not find my queries offensive, Miss Hargrove. One must always err on the side of caution, especially with such a distinguished family legacy.” He rose, smoothing his gloves. “If you should see fit to set aside any papers that require special handling,” he added, “do let me know.”
“Of course,” Eleanor said.
When he had gone, she remained in the study for a long moment, the air thick with his sandalwood and bergamot cologne.
She was bothered by the meeting. It was not merely that he had asked about government correspondences, but also that he had asked so soon. So directly. As if someone had already alerted him to something he had not earned the right to know.
Eleanor retrieved her father’s slim volume, opened it, and pressed the folded catalogue sheet to her palm.
The paper was cool and thin, yet it felt suddenly heavy—as if it carried not only ink, but the weight of whatever had frightened her father enough to leave warnings instead of explanations. She closed her fingers over it until the edges bit, welcoming the small, honest sting.
Her father had not simply left her a puzzle.
He had left her a warning.
* * *
Eleanor had never loved sleep. The hours before dawn were the only ones reliably her own. They gave her time to reorder the world without interruption, time to let her mind gnaw at oddities until they became truths.
But tonight, as rain whispered against the window and the house settled into the tentative peace of shared grief, even she found herself drifting. The sound that distracted her was tiny and metallic. A careful click. Then, after a pause long enough to make her doubt herself, the soft scrape of a latch.
Her heart steadied instead of racing. Fear could come later. Now there was only assessment.
She swung her feet to the floor, stepped into slippers, and took up her candlestick. Habit made her seize the pencil nub she always kept by the bed.
She paused at her door, ears straining.
Nothing. Only the hush of rain and, somewhere below, a clock ticking.
Then the sound came again from the direction of the study.
She moved into the corridor, keeping to the runner to muffle her steps. The house was dark, but her memory of its angles and thresholds was perfect. She paused in the hall, her gaze sweeping its length.
The study door stood ajar. She tip-toed toward it, inhaled once, then pushed it open and stepped into the room. She strode to the desk, glanced around, then stilled as the window creaked.
She turned.
It opened.
A man in dark, nondescript clothing—neither servant nor gentleman, climbed through with practiced familiarity. His face was unremarkable in the way of men who preferred to be forgotten.
“You are not here by invitation,” Eleanor said.
He said nothing.
