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Emotions shoved aside, Griffin turned back to the task at hand. “Aye, and the first thing to learn is no’ to refer to yer investigation where anyone can hear ye. Ye’ll note that the study door is unlocked?”

“Aye, and I can play blundering better than ye.”

Before Griffin understood what the young man was about, Bull had stumbled into the double doors, holding onto one as it swung open.

“Hello, lads!” he called to whoever sat unseen inside. “I was looking for His Grace. Is he here? The Blue Room? Och, I should’ve kenned that! Well, my apologies, I’ll leave ye to yer verra important work!” He winked and waved cheerily as he backed out of the room. “Ta!”

His smile dropped as soon as he reached Griffin’s side, and the pair swung in unison toward the larger corridor, moving in tandem as if they’d intended to be strolling this way all along.

“Well?” hissed Griffin.

“There’s three of them in there. Two clerks, I couldnae tell with the third. Perhaps another clerk? He was standing over the shoulder of one of the others—orange, frizzy hair, unmistakable—and looked irritated.”

“A supervisor?”

“Aye, likely.”

It didn’t matter who the third man was. What Bull had found was that the room was occupied during the day, which meant they wouldn’t be able to explore it. “Could ye draw me a map of the desks and such?”

“Only if ye take me with ye when ye break in.”

They’d reached the foyer, and Griffin swung on the young man with a fierce scowl. “Absolutely no’. And I want yer promise—yer word, Bull—that ye’ll no’ go poking about at night any longer.” He leaned closer, trying to ignore the lad’s mulish frown. “Ye ken the man I’m up against is verra dangerous. These scars, they arenae decoration. I just swore to ye to keep yer mother safe, and by God, I’ll do the same for ye, even if that means locking ye in!”

Bull’s frown turned stubborn.

“Swear it, lad! I cannae do my job if I have to worry about yer safety as well.”

“Nae one’s going to hurt—”

“Last night, after midnight, I was creeping through the east wing—it’s almost abandoned over there, but I thought Peasgoode might have another study—a suit of armor fell.” He gestured angrily, giving the approximation of a man holding a big ax. “Damned near took my arm off.”

Bull shook his head. “An accident.”

“Aye, likely. But I cannae be distracted worrying about accidents to ye!”

His angry hiss seemed to hang in the air around them for a long moment, before Bull finally understood his intensity.

With a huff, the lad rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll stay in bed like a good little lad.”

Griffin blew out a relieved breath. “Thank fook.”

Whatever Bull might’ve said was interrupted by a footman, approaching with an envelope on a silver platter. “Mr. Calderbank? A letter for you, sir.”

A letter? Who knew he was here?

He scooped up the letter, too distracted to thank the man. Luckily, Bull did, with that same alarming wink and wave, which sent the footman scurrying off while Bull chuckled.

“It’s from the Duke of Exingham,” Griffin muttered, slicing open the envelope.

Bull’s focus was immediate. “What’s it say? Is it about the investi—the ye ken what?”

But Griffin was already scanning the man’s neat print.

Calderbank,

I hope this letter reaches you, and finds you and your family well. Thorne has told us your plan, and we agree it is a fine one. You have a unique opportunity here. On behalf of the rest of us, do not squander it.

Our agents in C. have been able to intercept a packet from P. The postal franking is unmistakable, in terms of return address. It was unsigned, only a scrawled “W” at the bottom. Make of that what you can.