They turned into Lady Eastbury’s drive. Her carriage waited at the curb, the groom dozing in the shade, hat tipped forward. Inside, the house smelled faintly of rosewater and beeswax. Lady Eastbury met them in the hall, a sealed note in her hand and her expression bright with curiosity.
“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” she said, catching the name on Gabriel’s lips. “Celeste Harcourt? Why, of course, I know her. We’ve been on the same charity committees for years.” She moved toward the drawing room, waving them in ahead of her. “I saw her not long ago at the Historical Society’s autumn preview. She was in conversation with Erica Notley. It was quite animated, if I recall.”
The words landed like a pebble in still water, creating ripples that spread. “Do you know what they spoke about?”
“Not a word,” Lady Eastbury said, settling into her chair. “But I remember thinking it an odd pairing. Erica rarely leaves Sommer-by-the-Sea unless there’s gossip to be had, and Celeste is more likely to be found at a card table than an exhibit.” She tapped her finger on the armrest. “Why the sudden interest?”
Gabriel answered her with care. “We believe Mrs. Harcourt’s necklace may be connected to other recent… disturbances.”
Her brows lifted, but she didn’t press. “Then you must meet her. I’ll invite her for tea tomorrow. I’ll say we’re gathering ladies to discuss the floral exhibition. No one refuses tea when flowers are mentioned.”
“Perfect,” Gabriel said. “We’ll keep it casual.”
Felix rose. “I’ll keep my attention on the others, Denholm, Erica. If they’re in league with this thief, they may try to move the next piece before we get close.”
When he’d gone, the quiet in the room felt deliberate, as though the walls themselves expected her to speak. Leticia turned to Gabriel. “You’ve told me almost nothing about the Order. Now’s a good time to change that.”
He studied her for a moment, weighing the request. “The Order of Shadows began as a network hidden inside scholarly circles of collectors, antiquarians, and patrons of the arts. They weren’t after beauty. They were after leverage. Jewels, rare manuscripts, artworks, all kept quiet, all valuable enough to buy loyalty or threaten ruin. Each piece bore a mark so its history could be traced within the Order, whose symbol is a raven inside a diamond.”
“Why jewels?” she asked.
“Portable. Untraceable once removed from a setting. And they can pass from hand to hand under the guise of sentiment,” he said. “A necklace given to a bride might seal a political arrangement as effectively as any signed contract.”
Leticia’s voice was low. “And decades ago, the cache was broken up?”
“Yes,” he said. “Some sold quietly through intermediaries. Some were given as ‘gifts’ that carried more obligation than affection. We believe someone is reclaiming them now, not to hide them again, but to reassert the Order’s presence.”
The idea unsettled her more than she expected. “If my mother’s brooch has the raven engraving, it makes her brooch—”
“—part of the same history,” he finished gently. “And a reason to be careful.”
Lady Eastbury, who had been listening without pretending otherwise, added, “Celeste bought her necklace in Bath, four years ago. Private sale, I believe. She never named the seller, only said it camethrough an old family connection.”
Gabriel made a note of it but didn’t press. “That’s useful. We’ll keep it in mind.”
Leticia sat back, her gaze tracing the floral border of the carpet while her mind worked at the loose ends. Bath. Four years. An old family connection. She filed them away, not as a puzzle to solve today, but as threads she might pull when the time was right.
Lady Eastbury smiled faintly. “You’ll have her here tomorrow at three. Until then, let us not wear the air thin with secrets. Stay for supper, or at least let me send you with a jar of my chutney.”
They took their leave not long after. The sun had lowered toward the harbor, sending long bands of light across the paving stones. The wind carried the salt of the sea and the faint cry of gulls.
As they stepped outside, a boy in a blue cap crossed the street toward them, an envelope in hand. He slowed as he neared, glancing once behind him before offering it to Gabriel.
“For you, sir.”
Gabriel reached for his pocket, but the boy shook his head and darted off down a side lane. Leticia’s gaze followed him until he disappeared. The sound of his footsteps lingered longer than the sight, quick and light, as if he’d been told not to be caught.
Inside was a single slip of paper, the writing elegant, the ink fresh.
Be careful what she learns.
No signature. No address.
Gabriel folded it once, slid it into his pocket without comment.
“You’re not going to tell me,” she said quietly.
“Not until I know what it means,” he replied.
