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“In all great undertakings, there is usually a trace of madness.”

—Tacitus

A fter Charity departed, Peregrine collected the guards and found his carriage. Quickly, he explained their destination while the six guards who had been sent with him mounted horses to ride in escort.

Hodges looked unimpressed by the pageantry. “Six bloody guards? You really think Goldbourne’s just sittin’ there like some daft duck paddlin’ in circles?” Hodges scoffed. “Even if he was, he’d spot this a mile off.”

“That would require far more luck than I’ve enjoyed lately,” Peregrine admitted.

“No, I don’t expect we’ll find Goldbourne himself.

But if we can uncover more about his counterfeiting operation, that will be the next best thing to finding him.

We have to try. And if Her Majesty’s guards can both watch the doors and give me the consequence to overawe the officious little oafs who would keep me out of his office, I will take it gladly. ”

Hodges grumbled. “About time Her Majesty gave a damn someone’s out to kill you.” He pulled his cap snug around his ears as Perry climbed into the carriage.

The procession was enough to draw the eyes of passersby, especially after the guards split into two groups, a pair clearing the way up front while the others followed behind.

Their loud voices called for all to make way for business of the Crown, and Peregrine fancied he could hear Hodges’s eyes rolling all the way from inside of the carriage at their utter lack of discretion.

After the disaster at the bank the day before, Peregrine had little hope that Goldbourne would still be lingering. The man would have gone to ground. But hurried departures left traces—and that, Peregrine intended to exploit.

Outside the bank, he gathered the guards close.

“There’s a rear entrance off the alley,” he said.

“Hodges knows the way. Two of you, go with him and ensure that no one goes in or out that way. The rest will come in with me. Quietly, if you please. We are here to find loose threads, not cause a scene.”

The guard captain echoed his agreement and then divided the men as directed. Hodges gave Peregrine a look that said plainly without words to make sure someone was watching his back.

The reception area was just as it had been the day before, and the clerks were studiously uninterested, no hint that any of them expected trouble.

Peregrine scanned the room, eyes narrowing in search of the clerk with the ink-stained cuffs who had so helpfully escorted him into an ambush. No sign of him.

In his place sat an older man at the side desk, plain-faced and heavy in the jowls.

But the moment the booted tread of Peregrine and the guards crossed the threshold, the man’s salt-and-pepper head jerked up.

He scrambled around the desk with the brisk, strained energy of someone determined to be useful.

“I am Clark Timmons. May I be of service?” he asked, his eyes flicking from face to face, fingers twitching at his sides .

“We’re here for Mr Goldbourne,” Peregrine said flatly—loud enough for every clerk and customer to hear. “Take us to his office. Now.”

The man got flustered. “Mr Goldbourne is not in?—”

“That’s immaterial,” the guard captain cut in from behind, stepping forward and gesturing sharply. “You.” He pointed to a nearby clerk. “Show Sergeant Ives the back entrance. Sergeant—station one man at the rear and begin a full sweep. Every room.”

Sergeant Ives saluted crisply and moved without hesitation. Another guard took position at the front entrance, and the remaining men began to spread through the building.

“Now, Mr Timmons,” Peregrine said coolly, “if you would be so good as to lead us to Mr Goldbourne’s office so I can finish conducting Her Majesty’s business?”

Timmons swallowed hard. Colour drained from his face, and sweat bloomed along his temples, but he obeyed.

Unlike Peregrine’s last visit, this time the clerk took him to a narrow interior staircase and led the way up two flights.

At the top, he paused before a broad door overlooking the street.

Exactly the sort of office a banking partner would occupy—and exactly the sort of place where men who thought themselves untouchable liked to hide.

The thick carpets and gleaming wood panelling from the lobby continued into Goldbourne’s office, all polished oak and quiet wealth.

A massive desk dominated the space, backed by a wall of built-in shelves.

Sunlight poured through the open shades, catching on the scattered papers strewn across the desk.

“Does he normally leave his office in this state?” Peregrine asked as he stepped inside.

Mr Timmons hesitated. “Not quite this bad, but yes, sir. He hasn’t been in for two days.”

Not since Peregrine’s solicitor had started digging. And at that point, Goldbourne had chosen to put his efforts towards silencing the inquiry rather than covering his tracks.

Before he could press further, a gruff voice echoed from the corridor. “What’s this about?”

“Crown business, sir. Step aside,” the captain said curtly.

“That will be the other partner, Mr Hartwell,” Timmons whispered, just loud enough to reach Peregrine.

“Keep an eye on him,” Peregrine called to the nearest guard. Then, without waiting, he moved to the desk and began sorting through the mess. “Timmons, if you value your freedom, you will answer every question I ask. Sit there. Speak when spoken to.”

Timmons obeyed, dropping onto a secretary’s chair in the corner. He gripped the edges of the seat like a man expecting to faint and hoping to hold himself in place.

Despite the disorder of the papers, the desk held nothing more than what one might expect.

Mostly ledgers, staff records, asset lists.

Peregrine thumbed through quickly, setting aside anything bearing the names of Tory donors or political clients for later scrutiny.

The scribbled notes he handed to Timmons one by one, forcing him to decipher Goldbourne’s handwriting.

Nothing. No link to his mother. No hint of criminality. Just immaculate records and the faint stink of evasiveness. Despair scratched at his spine. And then he cast his eyes around the room. “Can you think of anywhere else in here where Goldbourne might have kept information? Perhaps a safe?”

“No, my lord.” Timmons wiped nervous sweat from his brow and cast Peregrine a pleading look. “If you have no other need of me, may I go?”

“Join the others downstairs until the guards decide what to do with you all.”

Timmons dropped the papers he had studied back into a pile on the desk and scurried out of the room without so much as a backwards glance. Peregrine half-wished he could follow, leaving this mess to someone else, but there was nothing for him but to continue his search.

There had to be something more here. Goldbourne would have needed some way to keep track of his illegal activities. It was simply a matter of finding his records.

“I need Hodges,” he said, and then he ordered one of the guards to fetch him from the back alley.

When Hodges showed up, Peregrine waved the man in. “Help me. I need to search every nook and cranny of this place for any sign of something hidden. Some hidey hole.”

He barely had time to start searching before Ives leaned through the doorway. “My lord,” he said, voice low and grim, “there’s something you’ll want to see.”

The tone alone raised Peregrine’s hackles. “Trouble?” He followed Sergeant Ives down the corridor.

The guard’s hand rested firmly on his sword hilt. “Yes, my lord—but not the sort we expected. Best if you see it for yourself.”

Sergeant Ives led Peregrine down to the ground floor, then around a narrow corridor and onto a staircase that descended into the basement. The air grew colder with each step. “We found him in a supply cupboard,” Ives explained.

Peregrine saw the open door ahead and braced himself, expecting ink-stained cuffs and the smug face of the junior clerk who’d lured him into an alley. What he did not expect was exactly what they found instead.

“Goldbourne,” Peregrine muttered, lowering into a crouch. The banker had been propped upright against the inside, but his head lolled to the side. His mouth was slack, eyes open and glassy.

“He’s cold,” Sergeant Ives said. “Been here since yesterday at least. Possibly longer.”

Peregrine didn’t reply. He only stared, heart pounding dully behind his ribs. Goldbourne hadn’t run. He’d been silenced. Which meant that however much he might have been entrusted to do, Goldbourne had not been the one to take Cameron’s place.

Someone else was his mother’s new right hand, and whatever information Goldbourne had possessed died with him.

I did warn you. Goldbourne had his uses, but I knew from the beginning he would be far too easy to find , his mother purred.

Hell and damnation.

Scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Peregrine stood, trying to think quickly. Who else might have enough power to be Marian Fitzroy’s puppet? If one man in the Order could be corrupted, it was possible that there were two.

“Unfortunate.” Peregrine could find no other word to describe the situation that wouldn’t betray how close he was to losing his temper.

“Search his pockets, just in case he has anything useful on him, and send someone to check his home. I will go back upstairs to the office to see if Hodges has uncovered any other surprises.”

But he was growing more pessimistic. If Goldbourne had been betrayed by what he thought had been a friend, everything here might be lost.

He was back to guessing.

Was Chandros or Pembroke more likely to benefit from this play? Or had Xavier staged everything, down to the encounter in Vauxhall, to remove himself from suspicion? Frustration ripped at him. Maybe Charity had been right after all. Perhaps they should have given all of the men to the Queen.