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"I have little reason to remember servants from that unhappy year," she answered. "I prefer not to dwell upon it."

Nobody remarked upon the answer. A woman who had seen her husband's brother die and his sister vanish might reasonably dislike speaking of the household in those months. Yet Elizabeth noticed that her aunt had not asked the obvious question: what had Vogel to do with a coachman who nearly killed her niece?

She put the thought aside. Adelheid was visibly distressed. Elizabeth had never enjoyed discovering weakness in another person's grief.

After tea, Darcy walked with Albrecht in the front hall while Lady Matlock helped Adelheid into her cloak. The prince was more subdued than Darcy had ever seen him.

"My wife is frightened by these inquiries," Albrecht said. "I do not wish to trouble her with old sorrows unnecessarily."

"Nor do we," Darcy answered. "But the same man who once served your household has now supplied a driver connected to an apparent crime against Elizabeth. We should learn what he knows, regardless of the discomfort it causes."

"Of course," Albrecht said, though he looked pained. "I can have the steward at Falkenried send whatever records survive. It may take weeks. Communications are never easy now."

Darcy thanked him and did not offer an assurance that the records would bring only relief.

Finch did not sleep soundly after the gentlemen had gone. The private index had been kept in his own careful hand, and he could not deny that he had found the arrangement unusual when it was made. He had supposed his employer wished to conceal profits from a competitor or make an advantageous private bargain. Such things were not admirable, but in the world of hired conveyances they were not unheard of.

Now a lady had nearly died. A groom had broken his arm. A coachman had vanished, and a gentleman of high consequence had come to ask whether a payment had passed through the office. Finch understood that a clerk could become an accomplice without ever being trusted with a villain's purpose.

He considered tearing the private page from its binding before Mr. Voss returned. The thought frightened him almost as much as the possibility of being questioned. He had a widowed mother who depended upon his wages and a younger brother apprenticed to a printer. If the business failed, both would suffer. But if he hid the entry, he would be choosing his employer's convenience over an injured stranger's safety.

In the morning he went to the magistrate's office of his own accord. He brought the ordinary ledger entries to which he had lawful access and explained that a second book existed within Voss's private room. He had not touched it, he said, but would describe its position and the nature of the entries if asked under proper authority.

The clerk recording his account seemed disappointed that Finch could give no dramatic confession. Finch was relieved. He had spent a night discovering that an ordinary truthful statement could require considerably more courage than an exciting false one. He hoped the courage would be sufficient.

That night Adelheid sent a message to the address Vogel had given her. Her handwriting was controlled, but the page beneath it bore the marks of the pen where she had pressed too hard.

You must not come near our household. The servants have begun to speak of you. I require you to leave London at once.

She folded the paper twice, then unfolded it and added a final sentence.

Do not imagine that the past can be made safe by turning upon me.

It was not a letter she would have wished her husband to read. She had it carried by a hired messenger with instructions to return no reply.

Vogel received it in an alley behind his office. He read it beneath the feeble light of an upper window, then placed it among his private papers instead of destroying it.

For twenty-three years he had believed himself frightened of one woman. Now he began to understand that he was frightened of what he himself had done, and of every person who might learn it.

He sent Finch home early, locked the office, and opened the iron box beneath his desk. Within it lay an old receipt from Falkenried, a fragment of correspondence bearing Adelheid's seal, and records of the recent transfer. If his employers among the nobility had ever intended to protect him, they had forgotten to provide evidence of their intentions. Vogel had provided his own.

He gathered the papers into a packet. Then, hearing footsteps outside, he closed the box again.

In the lane, a man who answered Pike's description passed beneath a lantern and disappeared toward the river. Vogel did not see him. The man did not know that the clerk had already described him to gentlemen whose persistence would not be diminished by a change of lodging.

The inquiry had acquired a name from Falkenried. None of them yet understood why it mattered.

CHAPTER 27

The First Attempt

Jonas Pike was found on the fourth morning after the family returned to London. He had not managed the long journey north that his questions at the coaching yard suggested. Instead he had taken a lodging close to the river, where he hoped the movement of barges and labourers would render one man unremarkable. A man from Whitcomb's yard recognized him, and the information was brought to the magistrate rather than carried first to an angry household.

Saye was grateful for the distinction. Richard was less so.

"I should have liked to ask the fellow a few questions without first explaining to three officials why his answers matter," Richard said.

"And the magistrate would afterwards have been obliged to ask you several questions that mattered more," Saye returned. "I prefer our evidence uncontaminated by your indignation."