“Good.” Mr. Eden’s smile returned at once, warm and approving enough that some of Jonathan’s lingering uncertainty eased despite himself. “That is what any sensible man ought to do with advice.”
From there the conversation drifted into other matters. Mr. Eden spoke at length regarding shifting investment trends and new expansions rumored farther east whilst Jonathan updated him on several contracts currently under negotiation.The gentleman possessed an astonishing breadth of knowledge across every branch of business, and more than once Jonathan found himself wondering how a single man managed to keep so many moving parts in his head.
Listening to him speak, Jonathan began to understand why so many gentlemen entrusted fortunes to his care with such absolute confidence. The fellow possessed that rare ability to make even uncertainty sound manageable so long as one remained clever enough and decisive enough to stay ahead of it.
Mr. Eden emptied his glass and set it aside, his gaze turning to study Jonathan. “Have you heard from your uncle?”
Chapter 30
Brows rising, Jonathan nodded. “I sent word straightaway, but he and his family are abroad at present, and I do not know if my letter arrived before they left for the next city.”
“That is unfortunate.” Frowning slightly, Mr. Eden leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers once against the armrest. “I recently encountered an opportunity that struck me as particularly well suited to Mr. Kingsley’s interests. A pity.”
Jonathan’s ribs squeezed tight, and he straightened. “I could telegraph him.”
“Oh, no, no.” Mr. Eden waved the suggestion aside at once with a genial smile. “You needn’t bestir yourself. Another opportunity shall present itself in time.”
Yet despite the gentleman’s reassurance, Jonathan thought of the ledgers that required balancing and the salaries that needed to be paid. Mr. Eden’s guidance had already steadied matters more than Jonathan cared to admit aloud, and the prospect of gaining the support of Eden & Co. felt less like a desirable outcome and more like a necessity.
“I would prefer to try,” Jonathan said carefully. “If you have a worthwhile opportunity, I would very much like to place it before him.”
“Well,” he said lightly, “far be it from me to stand between determined gentlemen and industry.”
The conversation drifted off in other directions, but part of his mind was arranging the contents of the short missive to send to Uncle Oliver, weighing which details to include and which might only burden the matter. Telegraphs required a judicious use of words, after all.
If he acted quickly, he might receive word by tomorrow—and for the first time in weeks, tomorrow seemed capable of bringing relief.
***
By the time Nora reached Berkeley Square, her thoughts had twisted together so tightly that she scarcely remembered the journey home. Skirts gathered in one hand, her feet moved quickly up the front steps and into the entry, carried forward by restless momentum and the terrible need to do something.
And halted.
Rushing about the house like a madwoman would draw attention and questions—neither of which she wanted at present. Forcing in one careful breath after another, she surrendered her gloves and hat with what she hoped resembled composure before making her way through the quiet bustle of the household.
Nora paused near the foot of the staircase, listening. No sign of Papa. At this time of day, the family should be out and about, and the familiar rhythms of home pressed in from every direction. Footsteps moved along the stairs. Doors opened andshut in distant corridors. A clock chimed the quarter hour from one of the sitting rooms. Everything felt maddeningly normal.
Before she could properly reconsider the wisdom of what she was about to do, her feet carried her quietly up the stairs and down the corridor leading to Papa’s study; every creak of the floorboards made her pulse jump despite the emptiness surrounding her. And by the time she reached the study door, her hands felt like ice.
Pushing the door open, Nora slipped inside and eased it shut behind her. The study smelled so strongly of Papa that she half expected the gentleman to be there, but the space was empty. Afternoon light stretched across the orderly stacks of correspondence and ledgers standing upon the great mahogany desk, and Nora approached slowly, the soft rustle of her skirts sounding far too loud in the stillness of the room.
For several moments she simply stared at the desk whilst her pulse beat heavily against her ribs. What precisely was she hoping to find? She had no answer for that, but she reached for the uppermost stack of correspondence and began carefully sorting through it one sheet at a time. Every paper lifted was returned to precisely the same angle and position from which she had taken it, smoothing the edges carefully as though Papa might notice the slightest disturbance.
Shipping figures. Investment summaries. Letters from clients written in varying degrees of panic or gratitude depending upon whether fortunes had risen or fallen. Figures stared back at her in orderly rows. All meaningless numbers. All unremarkable.
Nora turned next to one of the drawers Lionel had rifled through days earlier, opening it far more cautiously than he had. Inside rested a stack of reports, and sifting through the pages, her attention drifted across figures and summaries that blurred before her eyes. Nora couldn’t say for certain what any of itmeant, but she searched each paper nonetheless—when her eyes caught upon a familiar name.
Hatcher & Byrnes.
Cold drifted through her veins, sweeping through her until it settled deep into her heart as she read the report carefully. Though Nora couldn’t claim to comprehend all the nuances conveyed by those swirls of ink, it was easy enough to see it was intended for one of Papa’s clients, detailing precisely where their funds had been placed and the returns each investment had generated of late.
But just the night before, Mr. Hatcher had spoken plainly regarding his relationship with Papa’s company, yet these figures indicated that money had been moving from Eden & Co. into Hatcher & Byrnes for some time. And when she glanced through the other reports sitting beneath it, she spied Mr. Hatcher’s company listed on several.
Nora sank slowly into his chair without fully realizing she had done so, her eyes moving again and again over the same lines as though repetition alone might force sense into them. The paper trembled faintly between her fingers as she struggled to draw breath.
Perhaps Papa had arranged the matter through intermediaries, and Mr. Hatcher did not realize the connection.
Or these reports were mistakes. Errors waiting to be destroyed properly.
