Page 48 of A Murder in Mayfair
It was safer to move to the matter at hand. “Shall we proceed with our reports?"
He inclined his head, a consent of sorts.
“As you know, I made some discoveries at Walsh House." I’d had the documents delivered to Steele by one of our footmen.
“The ledgers.”
“Yes. But there was more.” I told him of the debts that had piled up. I shared Julia’s fears, now compounded by Charles’s wife’s hostility.
A flicker of sympathy cut across his face. “Your cousin is suffering unduly.”
“Through no fault of her own,” I added.
He neither agreed nor disagreed.
“What did you discover?” I asked.
“I made inquiries at White’s. Lord Walsh was not only cheating at cards, he was luring men into a fraudulent investment. A silver mine in America. Apparently, he promised returns that never materialized. After obtaining the address of the enterprise, I visited the offices of the Great Western Silver Trust. As I expected, it was a false front. There was only one clerk there, charged with receiving messages and forwarding them to Walsh. He did read them, though, so I have a few names to investigate.
“It does beg a troubling question,” he continued. “If his debts were piling up, what did he do with the money?”
“It’s not in his study or his quarters. I checked thoroughly. Nor does it appear in his bank account. Julia spoke with the banker Walsh patronized. At first, he was hesitant to disclose anything, as the will hadn’t been read. But when she explained there were household bills in urgent need of payment, he relented.”
I met Steele’s gaze. “Walsh was nearly penniless.”
His brow furrowed.
“However, I did find something in his study—wedged beneath the lip of a drawer.” I withdrew the torn scrap of ledger paper and handed it to him.
He read aloud, voice low and steady: “'Transfer — E.L. Bank — to account #9431.'”
“Do you have any idea what that refers to?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, folding the scrap with care. “But I can find out.”
“I hoped you could.”
Steele stared at the paper a moment longer. “He must have created a secret account no one would know about.” He glanced at me, the lines around his mouth tightening. “The question now becomes—why? Why hoard wealth he couldn’t publicly enjoy?”
I pressed my hands together to keep them still. "Perhaps he intended to disappear," I suggested. "To flee before the noose tightened."
"Or perhaps," Steele said grimly, "he was planning something worse."
The fire crackled between us, casting dancing shadows across the room. I caught myself studying him—the hard set of his jaw, the tension in his broad shoulders.
He was not merely investigating. He was hunting. And heaven help whoever he caught.
After a moment, Steele’s voice softened, though it lost none of its intensity. "We must find out where that money is before Dodson does. If he uncovers anything before we do, Lady Walsh—and my brother—may suffer for it."
I nodded once, fiercely. "Agreed."
We remained in silence, the weight of our shared task settling between us like a tangible thing. The intimacy of purpose drew us closer, yet at the same time, another possibility loomed: to save Julia, we might have to condemn Nicholas.
At length, he moved to stand before the hearth, his figure cutting a tall, commanding silhouette against the firelight.
“I’ll investigate the men who invested in the silver mine. I’ll visit them. Discreetly. And locate that bank.”
“And I’ll attend a few ladies’ gatherings—teas and such. Lady Finch and Lady Danforth are bound to attend at least one. I can feel them out about their husbands’ minds on an investment that went so wrong.”
