“Do you have her address?”
“Nathaniel would have made note of it. It will be somewhere in his office.” She rose. “I’ll search through his files.”
Grant followed her.
Jenny’s description of the room’s disorder did not describe the shocking state of the office. A malicious, frenzied search had taken place, with more damage done than was surely necessary. Ink splattered over the desktop onto the Persian carpet and across the gold damask seat of a wingchair. Drawers were upturned. Every cupboard emptied of its contents. Books pulled from bookshelves were scattered over the floor, some ripped apart. A framed picture had been pulled from the wall and smashed, and the small safe forced open.
Grant examined the splintered wood of the window frame. “He got in here. How did he manage to climb the wall and cross the grounds without being seen by your watchman?”
“We had a storm that night. With thunder and lightning.”
“That would have made it even more difficult. Unless he knew the way?”
Jenny rubbed her arms. “You think he’s been here before?”
“Unlikely to be a workman. The note was written by someone who could read and write well. Someone masquerading as a workman, perhaps?”
“I’m not sure if the steward hired any new garden staff. I would have to ask him.”
“Have you put on more men to watch the house?”
“Yes. Armed men patrol at night.”
“Good.”
He squatted to examine the small safe. The door had been jimmied open, the contents strewn about. “He might have been after money or jewels.” Grant picked up the books and began to replace them on the shelves, but it would take longer than the winding of a month clock to return this room to its former elegance.
“Nathaniel didn’t keep money or valuables in this safe. Just accounts and paperwork.” Jenny turned from the desk. She held out a small leather-covered tome. “His address book.”
Grant took it and flipped the pages. “There’s a Harrogate address for Grayson here, presumably his mother’s.”
“If I find anything after the maids straighten the room, I will send a footman with a message,” Jenny said as they walked along the corridor.
He tucked the warning note into his waistcoat pocket. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“How kind of you. You must return to your bride.” Her cheeks colored. “And I do have someone I can call on. Sir Ewan. He employed the armed guards for the grounds, and he is also very knowledgeable about the estate and handling my husband’s investments.”
“Has Snowdon made mention of your husband’s railway shares?”
“He has. He believes I should purchase more of them.”
“Does he plan to invest in the company himself?”
Her fingers played with the cameo broach at her neck. “He said not. Says his ready funds are needed elsewhere.”
Grant nodded. “I must go. I will advise you of anything I discover.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Please tell Lady Northcliffe that I look forward to meeting her. I am sorry I was unable to attend the wedding.”
Grant rode Ares along the road bordering the river to a cacophony of bird calls. Ducks waddled over the bank beneath the willow trees. He thought of the note in his pocket. Had Nat got himself involved in something shady? They were no closer to knowing if his death was linked to the railway. A clearer picture might emerge when, and if, Scullen’s assailant talked.
Jenny’s attitude had surprised him. She’d flushed pink when talking about Sir Ewan Snowdon. Were they growing closer? Although widows often remarried once the mourning period ended, this attraction, if that was what it was, seemed out of place when she and Nat seemed so fond of each another, although no one could ever be sure what went on behind closed doors. He urged his horse into a canter, and hoped that Snowdon was not about to take advantage of a lady in distress. Should he attempt to do so, he’d find himself pinked with Grant’s sword. He seemed to have made himself snug here. Where was Snowdon the day of Nat’s death?
Chapter Eighteen
“IF YOU MOVE your bishop there, I shall take your queen.” His Grace smiled sympathetically at her.
“I am sorry, Your Grace.” Mercy hastily moved the piece back. She studied the board and found a safer spot, knowing it was inevitable that he would beat her within the next few moves. Two long, lonely nights had passed since Grant left. The duke proved himself an entertaining companion, and she’d grown fond of him, but could not seek his company often during the long days, for fear she would tire him. That left her free to complete the final chapters of her book. She sat at the desk and watched the diligent gardeners as they dug the beds and raked the paths beneath her window. Always so focused on her work in the past, she now struggled to immerse herself. The details constantly slipped away from her.
