Barrington’s study looked more like a campaign room than a gentleman’s retreat. Papers lay in meticulous stacks across the desk. Maps flanked the wall beside a half-filled brandy decanter. At the far end of the mantel, a lone vase of wilting roses spoke of a recent feminine touch. Likely his longtime friend Mrs. Bainbridge’s attempt at softness.
Barrington stood at the hearth, sleeves rolled, spectacles perched low. He glanced up briefly.
“You’re late.”
“I’m titled now,” Ash replied. “Baronial grace takes time.”
“You move like a man trying to avoid an assignment,” Barrington said as he poured two glasses. He handed one over. “Don’t bother. You’ll take it.”
“Will I?”
Barrington didn’t answer. He crossed to the desk and laid a page flat.
“Three thefts,” he said. “All local. One during the Wycliffe Assembly, another at the Fairchilds’ garden supper, and the third after a card party at the Harringtons’. Each theft was quiet and precise. No alarm was raised.”
Ash took the paper and scanned it. “Jewels?”
“Mostly. Valuables, but none were unique. What matters is the aftermath. Each victim received a letter, unsigned and explicit. Pay, or private affairs will be exposed.”
Ash frowned, examining the paper in more detail. “Blackmail?”
Barrington nodded once. “All couched in language meant to suggest ties to the Order.”
Ash looked up. “The Order’s finished, isn’t it?”
“Their known leadership has been captured or scattered. Edward’s final report is still forthcoming, but from what we’ve discovered, the structure is gone. The Order, as it operated, no longer exists.”
Ash narrowed his eyes. “But…”
Barrington met his gaze. “We never identified the true leader. Not conclusively. Every name we traced led to another shadow. And now, someone is picking through the wreckage, rebuilding, or repurposing. They’re using stolen funds and the threat of scandal to piece together something new.”
Ash’s jaw tightened, half reflex, half memory. “So this thief.”
“We’ve taken to calling them the Raven,” Barrington said.
Ash’s chin lifted. “The Raven. That was the Order’s mark.”
“Yes. Clever. Silent. This is no common criminal. This is a threat to study, not chase. Like a raven, this is someone who is at home in the dark and drawn to glittering things.”
“Poetic.”
“Unavoidable.”
Ash took a slow sip of brandy. “And you believe they’ll strike again?”
“I do. These thefts weren’t random. They were deliberate. Targeted.Someone is testing our reach while they build influence, one gem, one secret, one whispered threat at a time.”
Ash set the glass down. “You want me to stop them.”
“I want you to observe,” Barrington corrected. “The Marchmont Masquerade is in two nights. Nearly every person of consequence will be there. I expect the Raven will be among them.”
“And you’re sending me?”
“You’re newly titled, unmarried. More importantly, you’re on the guest list. You’ll draw no attention. You’re the perfect man for it.”
“Splendid,” Ash said. “I’ve always dreamed of serving His Majesty in lace and a mask.”
Barrington reached for a sealed envelope. “This one actually opens doors. Try not to misplace it.”
