The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

finding the one he wanted.

“Give me a minute to find the relevant page.” Jameson threw the file on to the desk, dropped into Mr Wild’s chair and scanned the documents.

“Did you take tea with Mr Wild this morning?” Nicole asked merely to note the solicitor’s reaction.

Jameson looked up. “Mr Wild takes his tea in his office while examining the day’s schedule.” Holding her gaze, he added, “I am not looking to replace my partner if that is what concerns you. The man is simply ill.”

But Mr Wild was never ill?

“Ah, I think this is what we’re looking for.” Jameson picked up the sheet of paper and held it up. “I may need some light as the script is rather small. You’ll find a spill and tinderbox on top of the mantel.”

Oliver set about lighting the candle lamp on the desk while Jameson took a magnifying glass and stared at the words on the page.

“Gold bracelet with a cabochon-cut amethyst.” Jameson read from the list. “Aquamarine gemstones set amongst intricate cannetille work. Gold pearl encrusted cross pendant—”

“Wait.” Oliver stepped closer to the desk. “So the necklace is listed as part of the estate.”

Mr Jameson read from the list once again. He looked up, his expression grave. “Yes, we verified all details after your father’s death. It means that Miss Flint is a liar and—” He stopped abruptly and inclined his head to Nicole. “Forgive me. The lady purporting to be Miss Flint has deceived us.”

It was a foolish mistake, Nicole thought. But why wear the necklace? Miss Murray could not have anticipated meeting Oliver. Unless she assumed it would add credence to her story when it came to dealing with the solicitor. Indeed, had Mr Wild been dealing with the case of Morton Manor he may have noted the discrepancy.

Nicole considered the man seated behind the desk. Was Mr Jameson to be trusted? He certainly didn’t act like a man guilty of fraud or deception.

“Well, it all seems rather odd,” Mr Jameson said. “Miss Murray mentioned the necklace numerous times. She asked for the name of someone at the bank who dealt with the storage of valuable jewels. She said she’d have more confidence dealing with the same clerk your father used.”

“And yet she knew the necklace was a forgery,” Oliver added.

Who knew what went on in a criminal’s mind? Nicole could not quite fathom her brother’s logic, either, and he was kin. “Perhaps Miss Murray and Mr Burrows plans to deceive amounted to more than a manor house.”

“Whatever her motive, we must decide what to do now,” Oliver said with some frustration. “Do we confront the woman and call the constable? Or report the incident to the Lord Chancellor and ask him to oversee the details of the will?”

“The choice is yours to make, my lord.” Jameson’s grave expression suggested he didn’t envy the earl the task.

“It is fair to assume that the document Miss Murray had in her possession naming her heir cannot be genuine, either,” Nicole said. The lady could not have forged the document on her own. “Therefore, it stands to reason that Mr Burrows is her accomplice. He had access to samples of Lord Stanton’s handwriting, could have easily obtained a copy of the lord’s signature and used his seal.”

“What are you saying?”

Nicole shrugged. Despite Miss Murray’s arrogant display in Jameson’s office, she couldn’t help but pity the woman. Many women resorted to underhanded methods just to survive.

“Call me naive,” she said, “but I’m simply saying that Miss Murray might have had no choice but to act as she did.”

Jeremy was not the only man to use devious methods to force a lady to do his bidding. Lord Mosgrove was not the only man who refused to take no for an answer.

The room fell silent as both men considered her comment.

The scraping of the front door against the jamb caused them all to suck in a sharp breath.

“Someone is here.” Jameson stood slowly, careful not to make a sound.

The bell jingled.

“It must be Andrews,” Jameson whispered. “But what is he doing here at this hour?”

Chapter Seventeen

They stood rooted to the spot in Mr Wild’s office as the clip of shoes echoed through the corridor. Whatever the clerks purpose for being there, surely he would have entered his own room. Yet the patter of footsteps grew progressively louder as they drew nearer.

Oliver glanced at the slight gap between the door and the floor. Would Mr Andrews notice the orange glow of candlelight seeping underneath? Then again, Mr Jameson did not need to explain his reason for being there to an assistant.