Page 20 of An Icy Christmas Engagement
“He was perfect,” he said at last. “If he harboured any ill will towards me, it was without my knowledge.”
“Hm.” Mr. Thatcher scribbled furiously in his pocket book. “You said there was more than one incident?”
“Yes, this is the other,” Harrison told him, gesturing to the offensive report on the desk. “Our shipment has gone missing without a trace.”
Mr. Thatcher’s pencil paused. Then began its scribbling again. “Is there anyone outside of you two who would be privy to the trade routes?”
“Linton, my secretary who showed you in,” Cedric told him. “I could give you a list of any other employees who would know such information.”
“And what of your competitors?” Mr. Thatcher asked, pausing his writing to peer at Cedric over his spectacles. “I assume you have a few.”
“Mostly friendly competitors, to my knowledge. Though, of course, that opinion has changed as of late. I could provide you with a list of that as well.”
“That would be appreciated. I would need both lists by the end of the day.”
“Not a problem.”
Mr. Thatcher closed his book and tucked it back into his coat. “I believe that is enough information for me to begin an investigation. But before I go, is there anyone who you are suspecting?”
Cedric looked at Harrison. Harrison looked at Cedric. For one eager moment, he considered telling the private investigator just who had been resting on his mind for the past few days.
But instead, he shook his head. “Nothing is certain right now,” he said. “But if I do think of someone, you will be one of the first to know.”
“Please.” Mr. Thatcher nodded his head stiffly. “I shall take my leave then.”
Cedric straightened. “Linton,” he called.
“No need,” Mr. Thatcher told him, holding up a hand. “I can see myself out.”
Cedric nodded and watched as the stoic man took his leave. Once he was gone, he finally looked at Harrison, who was grinning expectantly at him.
“That was smart of you,” Cedric conceded, reclaiming his chair. “I should have thought of that.”
“Worry not, my friend,” Harrison sang. “Mr. Thatcher, as serious as he may be, is the best private investigator in London. If he cannot get to the bottom of this, then no one can. And while he takes care of that, we can focus on putting out these fires.”
Cedric rubbed his temples before reaching for his quill pen, already feeling a megrim forming at the correspondences he would have to send out to explain and apologise for the loss.
“You take care of that,” Harrison said. “I’ll head down to the wharf and see what I can learn.”
Cedric didn’t respond with anything more than a curt nod, focusing on the task at hand. But when he heard the telltale sound of the door closing behind Harrison’s retreating figure, he returned the quill to the inkwell and sighed. His eyes fell on the invitation Linton had brought in.
Deciding to get it over with, he picked it up and broke the seal, reading quickly. It was for Lady Maria’s annual Christmas ball, an event the late Countess of Colenhurst had never missed. Cedric didn’t want to go. The last thing he cared to do was mingle with lords and ladies when he had such a pressing matter to deal with.
But he also understood the importance of a ballroom. And if he didn’t attend, not only could it open his earldom up to criticism, but he could also miss out on maintaining crucial relationships thatcould help him outside of the ballroom. As much as he loathed the thought of doing so, he knew he would have to go.
Mr. Thatcher was a beacon of hope, though it was a little amusing describing a man like that in such a manner. But Harrison was right. Cedric could leave getting to the bottom of this mystery in his hopefully capable hands while he managed his business—a business that was beginning to burn down from the inside.
He just hoped he could put it out before the legacy he’d inherited came crumbling down around him.
Chapter Eight
“Caroline, there you are!” Elizabeth flew herself to Caroline’s side, pulling her closer with one tug of her arm. Caroline had hardly made it through the front door before her mother came rushing towards her.
Louisa had wisely taken a step away before she got caught in the crosshairs. “Lady York,” she greeted politely, wearing that tiny smile that hid the amusement shining in her eyes. “Did you rest well?”
“Oh, yes, I most certainly did,” Elizabeth told her. “Though I am a little surprised by the lack of servants. It took a while for someone to assist me in getting ready this morning.”
Caroline tensed, an apology on her mother’s behalf ripe on her tongue. But Louisa beat her to it.
