Ambersen nodded slowly, as though he’d already expected that answer. “You’re not wrong to be cautious. Kittridge’s name has surfaced in more than one investigation, but nothing ever sticks. He’s too careful. Or he was.” The older man leaned in, lowering his voice. “But I know someone who may be able to help. He’s not a nobleman, not even close. But he was once part of the machinery.”
Alasdair’s brows lifted. “What sort of man?”
Ambersen exhaled. “His name’s Thomas Cray, though sometimes he goes by Thomas Curren. Depends on where he is, and who’s looking. He used to run ‘errands’ for Kittridge’s allies. Money drops, ledgers, documents that were never supposed to be copied. He vanished a decade ago, just before an inquiry that should have landed three peers in ruin. We all thought he was dead.”
“But he’s alive. Farnleigh told me about him.”
“Indeed. Cray resurfaced quietly, just recently. He was previously in South Shields, but he was seen in London a few days ago. No one knows why, or what made him bold enough to come back. Maybe it’s guilt. Or desperation. All I know is that he’s taken to frequenting a coffee house near Shoreditch. You’ll find the details here.”
Ambersen slid a folded card across the table.
Alasdair picked it up and unfolded it. A name and a location written in a careful hand.
The Hollow Lantern. Weekday evenings.
“Cray won’t be cheap,” Ambersen added. “And he won’t be patient. If you want him to talk, you’ll need to come prepared.”
“Money is nae an issue,” Alasdair said. “I’ve already paid the worst price.”
Ambersen hesitated, studying the younger man. “I don’t need payment either, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Alasdair looked up. “Then why?”
“Because I’m tired. My wife and I… we’ve decided we want out. No more politics. No more pretending. We’ve bought a small estate in Devon. Chickens. Gardens. A place where people don’t whisper through clenched teeth.”
Alasdair thought of Elizabeth. Her hands in the earth. Her laughter beside a lake. A life they might still reclaim—ifhe made it back.
“I thank ye, then,” he said quietly.
“Don’t thank me yet. If I’d known about your search sooner, maybe we’d be farther along.”
“I’m still new to this world,” Alasdair admitted. “At first, the ton wouldnae even look at me without sneerin’. Not ‘til I wed Elizabeth.”
“The Grisham girl?” Ambersen asked. “I heard. You’re both fortunate, you know.”
Alasdair didn’t reply. He’d believed that once. Still wanted to believe it. But belief and certainty were two very different things.
“I’ll meet with Thomas Cray,” he said at last, tucking the card into his coat. “Let’s hope he doesnae vanish again.”
Ambersen nodded. “Be careful. Cray may have answers, but he’s not the sort you turn your back on.”
“I’ll remember that.”
They finished their meals in silence. But Alasdair’s mind was already racing, mapping out his next move, one foot already stepping toward the fire.
Marianne had finally coaxed Elizabeth into leaving her room.
The sisters strolled through the garden, the gravel path crunching softly beneath their slippers.
At first, Elizabeth could barely lift her gaze from the ground. Her body moved as though pulled by invisible threads, obedient but hollow. It didn’t feel like she was walking so much as being walked. Each step was strange, as though her limbs had forgotten the rhythm of ordinary life.
And yet… the air helped. It swept over her in cool, fragrant waves, and she found herself drawing in a deep breath. The breeze carried with it the faint mingled perfume of hyacinths, rosemary, and the last of the roses. It filled her lungs in a way that almost hurt, as if her chest wasn’t ready to stretch so wide again.
The sun, however, felt relentless.
Its golden warmth pressed on her shoulders, her back, her face, as though it wanted to pry her open, burn away her grief, force her into brightness before she was ready.
Elizabeth winced at the heat, even though it was only a mild spring afternoon. She didn’t know if she were grateful or resentful of its insistence.