The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

Oliver cast her a sidelong glance and turned to Jameson. “We have a good reason for being here. Regardless of how this looks, I can assure you our intentions are honourable. Call the constable. And I am certain, once he’s heard our case, the magistrate will ensure Miss Flint here receives the justice she deserves.”

“Justice? Are you speaking about her claim on Morton Manor?”

“Why else would we be here? We have proof things are not what they seem and simply sought to give the files a more detailed inspection.”

Jameson pursed his lips. “If you have proof, then I’m more than happy to hear it, although next time I suggest waiting until office hours.”

“This couldn’t wait.” Oliver brushed his hand through his hair. “Since leaving here this morning, we have been investigating the matter of which Miss Flint has a claim on Morton Manor.” Oliver inhaled. “The well-spoken lady who brought the document, and who is in possession of my grandmother’s necklace, is a maid who goes by the name of Matilda Murray.”

“A maid?” Jameson thought for a moment. “Well, some ladies fall on hard times when left without a family for support.”

“Trust me. My father would not have given an heirloom to a maid.”

“Perhaps Miss Flint is the name she uses when … when forming personal attachments with those who like to see her perform. When one considers the document signed by your father, it is evident he knew her by that name.”

Nicole sensed Oliver’s frustration. But the legal profession dealt with facts, not supposition. Of course, the solicitor could have a vested interest in the outcome.

“We followed Miss Murray from the theatre this evening. To a coffeehouse on the Strand. It so happened that Mr Burrows, my father’s man of business, arrived to meet her. Does that not strike you as odd?”

Mr Jameson scratched the grey hair just above his temple. “As your father’s mistress, it seems acceptable that she would be acquainted with his man of business.”

Nicole listened to the conversation with interest.

Mr Jameson seemed most reluctant to accept any other explanation. The vision of Mr Wild lying sick in his bed flashed into her mind. It certainly seemed odd that the man should take ill on the day Miss Flint came to collect her inheritance.

What if Mr Jameson had added something to his colleague’s tea to keep him out of the way?

“So you refuse to accept something strange is afoot?” Oliver said. “Why will you not listen to me when I tell you that my father would never have given that harlot my grandmother’s necklace?”

Mr Jameson sighed. “I fear your father’s death has left you a little …”

Nicole stepped forward as a thought sprung to mind. “Then if it is not your grandmother’s necklace it must be a copy, perhaps a paste imitation to make the lady’s claim appear more convincing. I assume the family jewels are still in the vault at the bank?”

Oliver raised a brow and nodded as recognition dawned. “And I intend to inspect their security first thing in the morning.”

“Were the jewels not listed in your father’s will?” Mr Jameson enquired. “Surely there will be a record of all notable assets. Unfortunately, I have not seen the papers.”

It was the first helpful comment the man had made.

Oliver rubbed his chin. “All heirlooms are catalogued, though I fail to recall the precise details.”

“Then can we not check the papers now?” Nicole gestured to the door. “Under the present circumstances, I am sure Mr Wild would not object if we examined the files.”

“I consider it unethical to rummage through a man’s private office in his absence,” Mr Jameson said.

Oliver’s expression darkened. “And is it ethical to grant ownership of a house to someone who has gained it by fraudulent means?” The words sliced through the air — clear, crisp yet with a threatening undertone.

Mr Jameson bowed his head respectfully. He tapped his finger on his lip whilst lost in deep concentration.

The tense silence lasted a few seconds.

“Very well, my lord.” Jameson grabbed the Benting file from the desk as if fearing they had an accomplice waiting to spirit the document away. “In this instance, it can do no harm. After all, you have already borne witness to its contents.”

With a satisfied grin, Oliver said, “Then lead the way.”

Jameson picked up his satchel and placed it on the chair. “Let’s be quick about it.”

They entered Mr Wild’s office and closed the door. Mr Jameson was obviously used to working in the dark for he did not light a candle. He searched through Mr Wild’s drawers, pulling files and checking the contents before eventually