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Chapter Twelve

Major Hayes took her at her word and arrived early the next morning.

“How shall we begin?” Cressida was determined to be involved in whatever he did. She’d gone home in a daze the previous evening, wondering exactly what she had agreed to. What abilities were well-suited to this task? What was he going to do that would miraculously locate Papa? Was there some obvious thing she ought to have done weeks ago? Did he just corner people against a wall and look at them with those unearthly blue eyes until they burst out in confession? It would bloody well work on her.

She was still wildly curious to know why he of all people had been sent to them, but like many other things, that seemed to be something he kept to himself. And even that didn’t stop her from feeling a hot surge of anticipation.

“Tell me everything about your father’s trip,” he said. “Even the smallest detail may have significance.”

She was ready for that. She and Callie had made a list, in fact, which she duly gave him, everything they could remember regarding Papa’s mission to London. The major read it closely, asking only a few questions. Cressida waited to hear something insightful, but instead he appeared to abandon the topic altogether.

“Where would your father keep his private papers?”

She frowned. “Why? What has that got to do with anything?”

“It might reveal another destination or another interest he might have had in London.”

Of course. She’d looked for any letters from some other person Papa planned to see, but found nothing. Still, letting a stranger look through Papa’s things. . .

“I’m only after anything that offers an avenue of possibility,” he added as she continued to frown in worry. “I regret the invasion of your family’s privacy, but I’m doing my duty. If you have any other suggestions, by all means share them, and I shall endeavor to follow them.”

She drew breath to argue, then gave it up. She held out one hand. “Of course. You’re right. I apologize, sir.”

He nodded, clasping her hand. Cressida felt a jolting shock at how easily their hands fit together. She must have flinched, for his fingers tightened around hers, firm but gentle. Without meaning to, she clung to him, hoping suddenly that here was the literally helping hand she’d been longing for. His blue gaze never wavered from hers, and for just a moment he squeezed back.

“Papa made his study in the back of the house.” She snatched her hand away and hurried from the room, feeling warm and flustered. It must be the sun streaming through the parlor windows. She was glad of the cooler, dimmer corridor, hiding her flushed face and the way she pressed her hand to her side to stop it trembling. “What do you hope to find?”

He seemed unaffected by that hand clasping. “A diary, bills from merchants he might have gone to see, perhaps letters from acquaintances indicating plans to call. Anything that might give some idea where to turn next.”

Cressida turned into the small room at the back of the house. Empty bookshelves lined two walls, and dark wooden paneling covered the others. A scarred wooden desk and chair stood in front of the room’s only window, and a narrow wooden bench sat opposite it. The paint was faded, the floor scuffed, and the tiny fireplace was cold. Since Papa left, the room had been shut up, and smelled stuffy today.

The major, though, was visibly intrigued. His gaze scanned the room from top to bottom. “Why did your father choose this room?”

She opened the wooden shutters. It was still dim in the room, even on a sunny day, but sunlight fell across the desktop. The window offered a prime view of the stables. Now that he asked, she saw how small and dingy it was, but she gave the answer Papa had told them. “He likes the privacy and quiet of it. My grandmother never comes in here, and it’s out of our way.” She turned to face him, resting against the windowsill. “His papers are in the desk.”

“Right.” With one more survey of the walls, Major Hayes crossed the room and sat at the desk, opening drawers and sifting through the contents.

Cressida had looked at those papers herself, when Papa had been gone a month with no word, and knew they were in a horrible mess. She’d given up trying to put the bills into order—an exceptionally depressing task, given how many there were—when her grandmother scolded her for interfering in Papa’s affairs and shooed her out of the room.

The way the major began sorting through the mess of Papa’s papers was almost preternaturally efficient. His dark head bent over the pile with absorbed concentration, and he must be a very rapid reader, for he seemed barely to glance at a page before setting it into one of three stacks.

She couldn’t stop thinking of what he’d told her the previous evening. He’d dreamed of fighting monsters—a Hydra, Scylla, the Leviathan. Daring, brave pursuits for a boy who would go into the army. Julia had said he’d been unstoppable. And for whatever reason, he’d concealed himself and his very existence from everyone for five years, so he certainly had talents she did not. Why was she so reluctant to accept his help? It wasn’t really because of the whispers about treason. If the army thought him a turncoat, they could have arrested him and taken him to the Tower, but instead they’d sent him here, to help her. She should be grateful.

Instead he made her skin prickle and her heart race, and she was at a complete loss as to how to react, especially not when he turned his piercing gaze on her as if he found her intriguing—even fascinating. Men did not look at her that way. She closed her eyes to keep from staring at the broad expanse of his shoulders and prayed he would find Papa soon, before she truly lost her mind and⁠—

“Did your father keep a ledger?”

Cressida started. He’d been so quiet for so long, she barely heard his question. “What?”

“An account ledger, to keep track of payments. I don’t see one.”

“Oh—yes. He does.”

He waved one hand across the desk top. “It’s not here.”

Cressida bit the inside of her lip. She knew it wasn’t there. It had bothered her, too, for she knew Papa kept one; she’d seen him making entries in it. But Papa might have left it anywhere, or even taken it with him. “I don’t know where it is,” she admitted. “I know he keeps one, but I couldn’t find it when I looked.”

The major sat up a little straighter. “Might he have kept it somewhere else?”