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‘Can you access it?’ The clerk’s answer was a short laugh.

‘Not on your life. I wouldn’t dare take the risk… But the thing is, I reckon after whatever he found out in London… Mr Holt’s intending to destroy them all.’

‘Tomorrow.’ Rob guessed. He swore softly.

‘So why tell us about it?’ Billy quizzed him bluntly.

‘Because someone ought to know,’ Marsh said simply. ‘And because you came in today grieving a child you knew. Someone who’s important to you. Not just another orphan nobody cares about…’ He stopped and sniffed, dashing at his eyes and taking a hurried swallow of his beer before continuing in a whisper, ‘It’s orphans that bloody Society deals in. They’re the commodities, and I… I’ve known for nigh on two years now that the children they take in don’t come back out, and I… I can’t live with myself anymore.’

The background noise faded away as they looked at one another wordlessly.

‘I think we need another drink,’ Rob commented, ‘and perhaps something to eat.’

‘Steak and Kidney puddin’’ Billy returned promptly, ‘wi’ lots o’ gravy.’

Glancing at their informant’s white face, Beatrix nodded. ‘All of us I think,’ she murmured. ‘And perhaps a couple of brandies might not go amiss.’

Protesting that he really needed to get home, the clerk nevertheless remained where he was and managed to demolish most of his pudding while Billy took care of the rest.

As soon as they’d finished, Rob pushed aside their plates and leaned towards their informant, his face devoid of expression. ‘Where is this study? Can it be accessed from the outside? His voice was clipped, decisive, and nothing like the mild manner he’d exhibited so far.

Marsh hesitated, and Beatrix could clearly see the indecision on his face. Then his whole body seemed to sag. ‘The study looks out over the rear yard. It’s the second window from the corner. But it has bars on it. The only way you can get in from the outside is through a coal grating about a foot square.’ He looked over at Billy, then shrugged, adding, ‘The panelling is behind the bookcase on the north wall. I… I think you’ll need something to lever it with. I don’t think it’s locked, but the fitting… you can’t even tell it’s there. The night-watchman does his round at ten and again at two.’

‘There’s no key to this strong room?’

Marsh shook his head. ‘Holt relies on the fact that no one knows it’s there.’ The clerk glanced at the clock above the bar and reached for his coat. ‘I’ve told you all I dare. Not that I think it’ll do you much good, unless your lad here’s a master criminal and has a side job as a contortionist.’ He stood up and shrugged on his coat. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I could have done more to help…’ Then he shook his head and was gone, out into the darkness of Fore Street.

For a long moment none of them spoke. Then Billy sighed and looked down at the four clean plates stacked up in front of him. ‘He might ‘ave mentioned the size of the bloomin’ ‘ole afore I finished three steak puddin’s.’

* * *

Benedict sat on the edge of the bed in his guest room at Cliff House. A guest room it might be, but it had begun to feel much more a home than his lodgings in Exeter. Mostly, he knew because Arabella was under the same roof.

Arabella.

Just thinking about her had him hardening, but it was so much more than that. He wanted them to have a life together. He wanted it so badly, it hurt – especially as he currently had no idea how it was ever going to happen.

Ben was well aware that he was quite possibly living on borrowed time. He had no doubt that staying in the police force and going to York was akin to signing his own death warrant.

But what if he simply resigned? Would he be left alone? An accident would be all too easy to arrange, especially if they knew he hadn’t stopped his investigation.

But who were they? Who was Jacob White?

No matter how much he wanted Arabella, he would never be able to walk away, leaving White and his cronies to continue their monstrous crimes. He simply wouldn’t be able to live with himself, and his life with the woman he loved would be doomed from the start.

Climbing to his feet, he undid his cravat, loosening his collar, and began undoing his shirt. Despite the late hour, he was unable to rest. The minute he tried to sleep, he knew his mind would immediately begin replaying everything that had happened in a continuous loop.

Somehow, they had to bring the man who called himself Jacob White to justice. Ben was still uncertain as to whether he should ask for his brother’s help. In truth, the only reason he hadn’t asked already was the fear that Arthur might actually refute the seriousness of his claims. The overwhelming belief in his brother’s world was that a title made one exempt from authority. Oh, there were undoubtedly a few responsible - even honourable- peers, but Ben couldn’t escape the truth that Viscount Lavenham wasn’t one of them.

If he approached Arthur for help in identifying their chief suspect, the likelihood was that he’d simply refuse to get involved. But then again, he might advise the real Jacob White to disappear until everything had blown over.

A knock at the door brought his deliberations to an abrupt halt. Frowning, he went to open the door.

Standing on the other side was Bella.

‘Is something wrong?’ Ben felt the now familiar dread land like a chunk of lead in his stomach.

To his relief, Arabella shook her head. ‘I just needed to speak with you,’ she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.