The tension in Harlowe’s hands loosened, and he groaned.
Kimpton speared him with a narrowed gaze. “Admittedly, I learned something.”
“What was that?”
“I was stunned to learn how talented you truly were, er, are.”
Harlowe cracked a wry grin.
Kimpton ignored it and his mien grew serious. “In the end, it was a picture we saw in a small shop in Goldhanger that gave us our first solid lead in over a year.”
Harlowe shook his aching head, more confused than ever. “What the devil was I doing in Goldhanger? That’s Essex County isn’t it?”
“Yes. We learned of a doctor by the name of Holks. Someone must have found you in the area and dumped you at his doorstep. Holks’ sister and daughter lived with him. The, uh, daughter was apparently quite taken with you.”
“I need to speak with this doctor. Goldhanger, you say?”
“The man is dead. Brock and I found the house and spoke to Holks’ sister. She was quite angry with her niece—”
“Evie,” he said softly. A vision of a young woman with a wide and generous smile. Her dark hair kept out of her face with one of those silly caps. He used to tease her about it. “She used to bring me paper and lead, and eventually, paints.” His head started to throb. “The house was modest. Shabby, yet comfortable. They lived close to the water.”
“Yes, the River Blackwater.”
“What of Evie? She would be able to tell me—”
Kimpton’s pained expression sent a shot of adrenaline through him.
“She’s still with her aunt, isn’t she?”
“I’m afraid not. We followed her trail to the Tranquil Waters Asylum but… we were too late. Evelyn had been—”
“Murdered. Left on the road outside Colchester. Lady Alymer refused to tell me who. Are you telling me it was Evie that was killed?” He felt sick.
Kimpton nodded.
“Was it Griston who killed her?”
“We never found proof.”
Harlowe let out a pursed breath. “What of Vlasik Markov?”
“Dead. We were on our way to a boat calledWhite Dove.This man, Vlasik, met us at Blackfriar’s Bridge. Griston said he’d seen Vlasik carrying Irene, then Griston shot him. Point blank.”
Harlowe ran a palm over his face and up through his hair, trying to make sense of it all.
“What the devil are you mixed up in, Harlowe? I won’t have you putting my family in danger.”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Perhaps I should leave.”
Kimpton’s mouth flatlined. “Much as I agree, Lorelei won’t have it.”
“She really has no say though, does she?”
He let out a sigh. “Let’s look at this from a practical standpoint. First of all, my wife will accuse me of running you out. And while having you gone holds a certain amount of appeal, I’d rather avoid that route if possible. Second, she is not quite ready to relinquish her hold on your son. She adores that child. For those reasons, I insist you stay. But perhaps between you, Brock, and I, we should work more diligently in putting a timeline together in an effort to recover your memory.”
There was no argument Harlowe could come up with. Besides, Lady Alymer had a calming effect on him he rather liked, and he wasn’t quite ready to walk away from the mystery she presented.
The door to the library burst open, and the fey lady stood in the arch, clutching her wrap at the neck. “Lord Harlowe is missing—”
