Grace nodded. ‘If this pocket watch belongs to the killer, then he must be a man of wealth,’ she reasoned. ‘Not many men around here own something like this, and I doubt anyone in the village has the skill to craft it. It looks like something made by London watchmakers.’
Mr Stone drew closer, his shoulder almost touching hers, a delicate shiver ghosted over her skin. ‘There’s something else. Look here...’ He pointed to the back cover of the watch. Grace noted a coat of arms engraved there.
‘This is the Averton family crest.’
A soft gasp escaped her before she could stop it. She traced the delicate engraving over the cold metal with her finger. ‘This means an Averton was there. Do you think Averton could be the murderer?’
Mr Stone’s expression darkened. ‘The watch could have been gifted to someone else—we mustn’t jump to conclusions. But since it is likely Gibbs was meeting an Averton, it is a strong lead. I will make enquiries with London watchmakers. It may lead us to our culprit.’
‘If Averton did kill Gibbs, wouldn’t that put the Duke in danger? There could be a murderer among his family.’
Mr Stone’s grim silence told her he had already considered this.
‘We must determine which Averton we are dealing with and why. Gibbs’s associates in London may know more. I have a plan to find them. Taylor will accompany me to identify them.’
‘What about the constable and magistrate? Perhaps they know more about the smuggling operation and which Averton is behind this?’
‘I have written to the Bow Street Runners. They will investigate the constable and magistrate—perhaps they know more—but I doubt Averton would risk revealing himself to a couple of unknown locals. It is far more likely that only Gibbs and his men knew his true identity.’
He hesitated. ‘Do you think we could speak to your cousin? He might know which Averton he recommended Gibbs to. Could you write to him or perhaps ask him to visit?’
Grace winced. ‘I will write to him.’ She dreaded the task, but more important things were at stake. ‘What about Madame Jacqueline’s establishments? I suspect we will find the missing girls there.’
Mr Stone paused, pain crossing his features. ‘I do not want to give you false hope, but finding the girls will be difficult. These places are well hidden, and the girls are moved frequently to avoid detection. They only admit a select clientele, and entry requires vetting by other members. But I have a contact who may help us. It will take time—perhaps even weeks.’
Grace was stricken. What state would the poor girls be in if they even managed to find them? A leaden knot of unease curled beneath her ribs, refusing to loosen.
Mr Stone laid a warm, steady hand over hers—an oddly comforting gesture. His eyes held hers, strong and sure.
‘We will find them,’ he said firmly.
She believed him.
Then, steadying herself, she added, ‘More importantly, we must warn the Duke.’
A ghost of a smile touched Mr Stone’s lips. ‘Lord Armitage has already been informed. But secrecy is paramount to our investigation. There is no telling who else is involved. We simply cannot afford to tip off the real killer. No one else in his family must know of this.’
Grace nodded.
Reaching into his coat once more, he pulled out a small iron key and placed it in her palm.
Grace instantly recognised it—the safe key. He must have taken it from Gibbs’s body.
‘I opened the safe,’ he said. ‘Inside was a large sum of money—far more than could be accounted for by legitimate means. There was also a substantial amount of opium. These parties must have been a front for distributing their goods. It explains how Gibbs maintained Lord Armitage’s expected rental income despite his heavy gambling debts.’
She barely had time to absorb his words before he stood to leave. Instinctively, she rose too, following him to the door.
He turned abruptly, and before she could react, she collided into his chest.
A startled gasp escaped her lips. Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadying her.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She tried to pull away, but his grip remained firm—gentle, but unyielding.
She looked up, her breath hitching. His hazel eyes burned into hers—searching, intense.
The silence stretched between them, taut and charged.
His voice was husky when he finally spoke.
