Miss Hastings' Excellent London Adventure (Brazen Brides Book 4)(41)

 

Since it was of no use to her present inquiry, she reluctantly closed the book. The surface of his desk was untidy. It appeared her uncle had difficulty getting rid of communication, whether they be tradesmen's bills or two-month-old newspapers. These varied papers were not neatly stacked. Had her uncle left it this way, or had the mur- -, James Ashburnham messed it whilst looking for something?

 

Thinking of Ashburnham going through her uncle's personal papers made her furious. She almost laughed at herself. Examining her uncle's papers was not even a fraction as evil as premeditated murder. She prayed her uncle's murder would be avenged.

 

"Was this desk as messy the day you found out Mr. Wycliff's address?" she asked.

 

Adam stopped rummaging through the second drawer and eyed the desk. "It was by no means tidy, but it does look as if someone else has been here."

 

That prickly chill returned, creeping down her spine. Confirmation was not comforting.

 

She drew a deep breath and returned to the task. Ideally, she sought a slip of paper from Ashburnham, begging to meet with Uncle Simon Sunday. A solitary man like her uncle had little in the way of personal correspondence.

 

"Look at this," Adam said, handing her a stack of letters tied together with string. "Your uncle appears to have kept every letter you sent."

 

"Let me see." With a lump in her throat, she thumbed through the letters. Those on the bottom had been written when she was a little girl. How touched she was that he'd kept each of them.

 

With misty eyes, she looked up and met Adam's solemn gaze. "I beg you not to turn into a watering pot," he said.

 

Despite her sadness, she laughed.

 

"You know, pet, I don't think we're going to find anything—now that we know Ashburnham's been here. Anything that would have established his presence here Sunday has been destroyed."

 

"I know you're right, but I hate to give up."

 

He cupped his hand on her shoulder. "We're not giving up. I swear to you."

 

Their eyes locked. In that instant she knew he had absorbed all her troubles as his own. She was almost overwhelmed. Adam was the only person she had ever been this close to. Powerless to stop herself, she placed a hand on his forearm.

 

"We go into the City next. My tea shipment has arrived," he said.

 

"So we shall have our own example of James Ashburnham's handwriting."

 

* * *

 

"I doubt if a lady has ever stepped inside this building," Adam told her as his coach came to a stop in front of Number 23 Cheapstowe. Being on a questionable street in the East End, this was not a place where any of the Birminghams conducted business. The building was more of a storage facility for their construction projects.

 

He looked at the building with fresh eyes and realized it could use a bit of refurbishing. The red bricks had to be a hundred years old, and the structure leaned to the right. A new coat of paint was also needed around the eaves. He'd bring up the matter with William, who—now that he was married—served as a domestic problem solver for all the Birmingham interests. Lady Sophia had put her foot down, forbidding her husband to conduct clandestine activities that could land him in prison—or in a grave.

 

Old Riley let them into the ill-lit warehouse. "That shipment what came late yesterday be right over here, sir."

 

Fortunately, it was far beneath a clerestory window which shone directly on the stack of boxes. Adam asked Riley for a knife. He then neatly excised the address square from the box on top. "That's all I need for now. Help yourself and the missus to a box of tea."

 

Riley's eyes widened. "A box that size will last the rest of our lives!"

 

Adam chuckled as he walked away and proffered his arm to his wife. "We return to Mr. Emmott's now. Perhaps he's gotten an opinion from his handwriting expert."

 

"And now you'll need the expert to look at this."

 

He patted his pocket. "That and the note alleged to have been written by Harold Faukes."

 

"Should you not have something written in Mr. Faukes' hand to compare it to?"

 

"An excellent suggestion, dear one. We will first go to the Ceylon Tea Company."

 

She gasped. "I don't know if I can stand to be near that horrible murderer."

 

"I know, love. But he doesn't know that we know." He pressed her hand. "You have no reason to worry when I'm with you. I will always protect you."

 

"I know," she whispered.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13

 

 

 

 

She had been so terrified at the prospect of coming face to face with James Ashburnham that when the carriage came to a stop in front of the Ceylon Tea Company Emma could not bring herself to leave the coach.