Page 31 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“In my grandmother’s house?” All the anger in Annabeth’s voice was replaced with astonishment.

“Not necessarily. More likely in the house you and I have been clearing out the last fortnight,” Verity explained. “It is something written by your father.”

“Ha!” Lady Lockwood interjected. “Hunter Winfield never did anything important in his life. You’ve been misled.”

“Papa was a well-respected man in some circles, Grandmother,” Annabeth protested.

Lady Lockwood snorted, but before she could reply, Nathan, ever the one to intercede, asked, “What is it you think he wrote?”

“I can’t tell you,” Verity replied. At the others’ skeptical expressions, she went on, “Truly. I have been expressly forbidden to talk about it. It’s government business.”

“They’re not going to give out secrets about the war,” Sloane added. “Even after several years, there are still people and things that must be kept hidden.”

“But Papa had nothing to do with any of that,” Annabeth said, more puzzled than angry now. “He worked in the government, but nothing to do with foreign affairs or the war. He was important to those of us who loved him—but not to the government.”

“He ‘worked’ in a meaningless job,” Lady Lockwood declared. “Something suitable for a gentleman but which didn’t take any actual effort. Drewsbury got it for him for his wife’s sake, to help Adeline’s sister.”

Annabeth resented her grandmother’s attitude, but she couldn’t deny the truth of her words. Her father’s job had been a sinecure, the sort of thing a gentleman could do without losing status.

“Be that as it may, we cannot reveal the particulars of the document we’re searching for,” Verity said with finality.

“But why would anything of Hunter’s be here?” Lady Lockwood asked.

“It was Miss Winfield’s other house we were interested in, ma’am.”

“Of course,” Annabeth said. “That was why you pretended to be a maid, so you could work at the rental house. But you couldn’t have found anything or you wouldn’t still be here.”

“No, and we’ve looked through nearly all of it. There’s still the trunk we brought back for you to go through at leisure.”

“You mean you haven’t already searched it?” Annabeth raised an eyebrow, her voice cool. “I would have thought you picked that trunk’s lock long ago.”

A faint line of red rose on Verity’s cheekbones, but she said only, “No, I did not.”

“The important thing is finding out who attacked you.” Sloane took back control of the conversation. “Whoever did so wanted that document and thought you could give it to him. The best chance we have of finding his identity is to find the document.”

“Is there any reason why you believe the individual is a man?” Verity asked.

“It seems likelier than not,” Sloane replied simply.

“Not all women are to be trusted.” Annabeth shot a look at the woman she’d once thought of as Judy.

“And not all people you might suspect are villains,” Verity replied bitingly.

“Man or woman, it doesn’t matter,” Nathan cut in in exasperation.

“Very well,” Annabeth said. “I’ll start looking this evening.”

“Not you,” Sloane said bluntly. “Verity or I can go through that trunk. What you need to do is leave the city. You and Lady Lockwood can go to Bath or Brighton or wherever you choose.”

“It’s so nice of you to let us have a choice.” Annabeth’s voice dripped sarcasm.

Sloane ignored her remark. “Take Dunbridge with you. He says he’s a good shot, and he can pack a punch.”

“I’m not leaving,” Annabeth told him firmly.

Sloane’s mouth tightened. “Yes, you are. Surely after this afternoon, you realize the sort of danger you’re in if you remain in London.”

“But now I know the reason for the attack, and I won’t let it happen again. I’ll pay more attention to what’s going on around me when I leave the house.”