Page 65 of A Vow for the Viscount
She rose and crossed to the wardrobe, choosing a sensible cloak, sturdy boots, and a reticule containing coins and gloves. It was time to return to the docks. But this time, she wouldn’t be following breadcrumbs. She’d be leaving them.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Friday evening, thesmell of salt and tar wrapped around Mary-Ann the moment she stepped off the carriage near the warehouse offices. The wind off the water was brisk, tugging at the edge of her cloak and stirring the hem of her skirts. It wasn’t quite noon, and yet the harbor buzzed with movement. Sailors called across rigging, crates creaked on pulleys, and dockhands shouted to one another above the churn of tide and trade.
It looked like order. It smelled like business. But Mary-Ann no longer trusted appearances. She held a folded sheet of shipping records in her hand, a legitimate errand in case anyone questioned her presence. She’d taken care to choose a day when she knew Wilkinson would be at the Guild meeting in Newcastle.
Inside the warehouse office, the bookkeeper barely looked up when she entered.
“Morning, Miss Seaton. Didn’t expect you today.”
“I needed to clarify a discrepancy,” she said, setting the folded paper on the edge of his desk. “Cargo weights on theBranford Belledon’t match the manifest totals.”
He frowned, pulling the paper toward him. “Likely a copying error, but I’ll double-check it.”
She nodded, her tone polite, then drifted toward the far wall of ledgers as if browsing.
Two voices murmured beyond the partition. Men were speaking in hushed tones, too faint for words, but the cadencewas sharp. She tilted her head subtly, pretending to examine the spine of a leather-bound log.
“…wasn’t meant to dock again so soon,” one said.
“…barely cleaned out from the last run.” The second voice cursed under his breath.
A hinge creaked. Mary-Ann moved swiftly, taking the nearest ledger off the shelf and flipping it open.
One of the men stepped into view a moment later, wiping his hands on a cloth. He paused when he saw her.
“Miss Seaton,” he said, startled. “Didn’t know you were here.”
“Just reviewing a few entries,” she said, turning a page.
He nodded, slow and wary. “Everything in order?”
“For now.”
He gave a brief nod and disappeared through the side door, heading toward the loading dock.
Mary-Ann replaced the ledger and returned to the desk. “Thank you for your help. I’ll return the report once I’ve gone over it again.”
The clerk gave a vague grunt.
She stepped back out into the wind, her mind racing. A ship that wasn’t supposed to dock again. A last run that had to be “cleaned out.” And no record of it anywhere on the manifest.
She followed the curve of the harbor wall slowly, her eyes scanning the names of moored ships.Branford Belle. Argent Wind.The latter bobbed faintly in its berth, despite being supposedly overdue. She knew its usual captain kept to a strict calendar, never idle in port without cause.
Something was very wrong. And someone was lying. She turned back toward the carriage, eyes narrowed against the light. Let them think she’d come to chase numbers. She was chasing something far more dangerous.
By the time Mary-Ann arrived home, the clouds had thickened, and the light coming through the drawing room windows had cooled to a pale gray. She’d barely removed her gloves when Lydia appeared in the hall, her expression all composed concern.
“There you are,” she said lightly, stepping forward. “I was beginning to worry.”
Mary-Ann handed her gloves to Hollis, who took them with a quiet nod. “No need.”
“I thought you’d gone to the seamstress.” Lydia’s tone was pleasant, but there was a faint edge beneath it.
“Plans changed.”
Lydia followed her into the drawing room like a shadow, her footsteps muffled against the carpet. “I do hope you weren’t out alone. Mr. Wilkinson’s been quite clear about keeping a proper escort.”
