Chapter 12 #3
Just as Luca reached for his black top hat, the door burst open for the second time that morning.
“I think I have it!” Hillstead exclaimed, his voice pitched with triumph as he waved the worn ledger in his hand.
Luca froze, his hat suspended midair. “Pardon?”
Hillstead strode forward, his boots thudding against the wooden floor, and laid the book upon the desk as though presenting a Crown jewel.
“I believe I’ve made sense of the blasted thing,” he said, flipping it open to a marked page.
His finger traced down the column of coded entries.
“The first time the line item ‘A’ appears coincides with the Duchess of Brackenford’s admission into The Chelmsford Asylum.
The second—‘B’—appears just before Lady Coldwyck was sent there as well. ”
Luca’s pulse quickened. He moved closer, eyes narrowing at the ledger as though the ink might yield its secrets under sheer scrutiny. “And ‘C’?” he asked. “That one appeared only a few weeks ago.”
Hillstead shook his head. “I don’t yet know who it corresponds to. It could be coincidence, of course, but I’d wager it is not.”
Luca sank back into his chair, the weight of the revelation pressing upon his shoulders. “So if we assume our suspicions correct—each initial large payment aligns with a woman’s confinement, followed by smaller monthly ones thereafter.”
“That is precisely the pattern,” Hillstead said, his tone grim.
Luca’s jaw tightened. “Let us suppose the Duke of Brackenford paid for his wife’s commitment. Do you truly believe he conspired with The Chelmsford Asylum to have her killed?”
“I do,” Hillstead replied without hesitation. “Lady Coldwyck died within five months of arriving—just as the duchess did.”
A coldness settled in Luca’s chest. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment, fighting the rising sense of dread. “Then if that is true,” he started, “we have only a matter of months to discover who ‘C’ is and prevent her from suffering the same fate.”
Hillstead gave a slow nod. “Have any ladies gone missing of late?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Luca said. His mind was already turning over names, households, whispers of scandal. “But Miss Winslow might know. She has a particular talent for hearing what others miss.”
Hillstead’s brows lifted with interest. “You seem rather close to Miss Winslow.”
“Yes,” Luca admitted simply. “We are engaged.”
Hillstead lowered himself into the chair opposite, studying him with the knowing look of a man who saw more than was said. “I have known you for some time now, my friend, and I can tell Miss Winslow means more to you than you are willing to admit.”
Luca waved a hand in irritation. “Do not analyze me, Hillstead. You will only waste your time.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hillstead said lightly, though the smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “But I do find it curious you haven’t mentioned Mr. Fairchild of late.”
Luca’s eyes snapped to his. “Leave it.”
Hillstead raised his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish. I will say nothing further.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel. Luca stared down at the ledger again, the cryptic letters swimming before his eyes. A. B. C.
Somewhere out there, another woman’s life hung in the balance and if he failed to uncover the truth in time, she would vanish into the same dark fate as the others.
Rising from his chair, Hillstead stretched with a satisfied air. “I will leave you to it,” he said, closing the ledger with a soft snap. “Be careful when you go to the docks. That place has more shadows than lamplight.”
Luca inclined his head in acknowledgment. “How did you make the correlation between the dates and when the ladies went missing?”
Hillstead’s grin turned wry. “That was easy enough. The Duchess of Brackenford was committed on my mother’s birthday. She wouldn’t stop lamenting it for days. It was the only reason I remembered the date so precisely.”
Luca let out a quiet laugh despite himself. “Your mother’s discontent has proven useful, then. Well done, Hillstead. Good work… again.”
A smug smile spread across Hillstead’s face. “If you will excuse me,” he said, already backing towards the door, “I am going to inform Mr. Wright of what you just said.”
“I shall deny it if you do,” Luca warned dryly.
“I expected as much,” Hillstead called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the corridor.
The door closed, and silence settled once more. He sat for a long moment, staring at the ledger. He opened it and saw the truth laid bare. A. B. C. It had been there the whole time, staring him in the face. How had he missed it?
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. The pattern was clear, and time was not on his side. Whoever “C” was, she was still alive—for now.
Luca rose and reached for his hat once more, determination hardening within him. He needed to speak to Charlotte. If anyone in London’s glittering maze of gossip and secrets had heard whispers of a missing woman, it would be her.
And if his instincts were right, uncovering the truth might mean saving a life.