“Felix,” Gabriel said. “Your note.”
Felix handed over a folded sheet and the key to a cabinet tagged on a string. “The porter swears he locked the door after the supper set. When he unlocked it to help a lady whose hem had caught on a splinter, he found these. Brown wig. Brown gown. No name. No maker stitched in the lining. The combs are common. The seam at the hem is new.”
Leticia glanced at Barrington. “She changed in that room, stole in that room, and left the costume there.”
“Neat work,” Barrington said. “She could have walked past the front door with a glass of lemonade, and no one would have looked twice.”
“Mrs. Penstone’s necklace,” Gabriel said. “You are certain we can tie it to the retiring room and not the floor.”
“We can now,” Felix said. “Her maid confirms she adjusted her mask behind a screen and noticed the clasp was a bit loose. When theyreturned to fetch her shawl, the screen had been shifted. She assumed a draft. I do not.”
Leticia stepped closer to the table where Felix had set a small drawing of a clasp. “A diamond set inside a larger diamond. If the light holds still, a raven inside the stone.” She did not touch the paper. She did not need to.
Barrington watched her with that open, soldier’s gaze that took stock and kept counsel. “You have a theory.”
“I have a path,” Leticia said. “We keep chasing ghosts and chance encounters. I would like ledgers instead. Mrs. Penstone’s cousin bought her necklace through a friend. That friend had a seller. Sellers leave trails when they want money. Auctions. Private rooms. Subscriptions. Society notices that pretend not to name names.”
Felix’s mouth tipped, quick with approval. “The papers.”
“And the jeweler,” Gabriel said. “Even if the piece did not pass through his hands, he will have seen similar work. Someone cut that tiny raven. It is a boast disguised as secrecy.”
“Good,” Barrington said. “Felix, take Lady Salisbury’s lead. Assemble the notices tied to private sales of diamonds this past season, and any report of a necklace of severe style with a charm at the clasp. The Morton estate pieces make a useful comparison. We have those sketches.”
“I know the archivist at the Gazette office,” Felix said. “He owes me a favor and a lunch.”
Gabriel set the found cabinet tag beside the drawing. “We also want a list of who had a key to that retiring room and when it was issued. There is planning here. Planning leaves hands.”
“I will have it,” Felix said. “Today.”
Barrington nodded, glanced at Leticia. “You understand this makes you part of the team, Lady Salisbury.”
“I am already part of it,” she said. “I would prefer to be useful.”
“Spoken like a woman I admire,” Mrs. Bainbridge said from thedoorway, bright as the sun, a basket on her arm. Leticia had not heard her enter. “I have brought more muffins because the colonel cannot be trusted with only one.” She set the basket down and greeted them all with a smile that took the edge off the morning. “Shall I have tea sent in, or are you all determined to starve in the name of justice?”
“We will eat while plotting,” Barrington said. “It improves the temper of men and investigations.”
They took tea. They did not linger over it. When they rose, the plan was simple. Felix to the Gazette and the records office. Barrington to question the porter and anyone who managed keys. Gabriel and Leticia to the jeweler on Westgate Street, to ask polite questions and earn less polite answers.
Outside, the day had sharpened. A breeze off the water kept the sun from bullying the street. Leticia fell in beside Gabriel. “You did not say all of what you are thinking.”
“I rarely do,” he said, with a glance that held apology and something warmer.
“Say enough,” she said.
“The raven is a mark. Marks belong to men who believe the world should remember them,” he said. “Men like that do not trust many. They trust themselves and a few hands they think they own.”
“Tresham studies the Order,” Leticia said. “He would know the marks.”
“He would,” Gabriel said. “So would anyone who wants to raise the Order’s ghost with a cache of glittering proofs.”
They turned onto Westgate. The jeweler’s window was clean and full of soft things that would make a dull day kinder. As they reached it, a figure stepped back from the glass and into the flow of foot traffic. Erica. She saw them, offered a bright nod that held nothing to apologize for, and was gone in the next breath, as if the town had swallowed her like a coin.
Leticia held her place at the window and studied a watch chain asif she meant to buy it. “Do we follow?”
“No,” Gabriel said. “We ask our questions.”
He pushed open the door and stood back to let her pass first. The shop smelled faintly of oil and lavender. It was quiet in the manner of a church. A man in a sober coat looked up from a tray of pins and smiled the way men smile when they are certain they will send you out lighter in the pocket and pleased with the exchange.
