Beatrice ignored him.

“My brother discovered Nathaniel’s investigation.”

Eleanor’s hands had become cold.

“What happened?”

“He threatened Catherine.”

Her mother.

Eleanor’s eyes filled.

Beatrice continued.

“Nathaniel pretended to agree to leave.

But before he did, he created something Edmund could never destroy.”

She touched the ring.

“A seal.”

“What seal?”

“Proof.”

Nathaniel copied the most important documents.

Then he had a solicitor certify them.

The certification stamp was unusual—a private notarial seal small enough to reproduce only using the engraved matrix hidden within the ring.

The copies were placed somewhere safe.

Without the seal, they could be challenged.

With it, they could destroy the Blackwoods.

Eleanor stared at the empty compartment.

“It’s gone.”

Beatrice looked at Adrian.

“Because someone removed it.”

Adrian smiled thinly.

“And if I had, you have nothing.”

Dr.

Vale said:

“You are holding four people at gunpoint.

I would suggest your confidence is somewhat optimistic.”

Adrian swung the pistol toward him.

“Silence!”

That movement was enough.

Mrs.

Fenwick threw a vase.

It missed Adrian entirely.

But he flinched.

Eleanor moved.

She struck his wrist.

The pistol fired into the ceiling.

Plaster exploded.

Dr.

Vale tackled him.

They hit the floor.

Adrian clawed for the weapon.

Eleanor kicked it beneath the bed.

Footmen rushed in.

Within seconds Adrian was pinned beneath three men.

He screamed curses.

Threats.

Promises to dismiss everyone.

Nobody seemed impressed now.

Eleanor stood over him.

“Where is the seal?”

Adrian laughed.

“Go to hell.”

Then another voice said from the hallway:

“Try his watch.”

Everyone turned.

Thomas Reed, the youngest footman, stood near the door.

His face was pale.

“What?”

He swallowed.

“I dress Mr.

Blackwood when Parsons is away.”

Adrian’s expression changed.

Thomas continued.

“His gold watch.

He never lets anyone wind it.”

Adrian began struggling violently.

That was answer enough.

Mrs.

Fenwick removed the watch from his discarded coat.

Dr.

Vale examined it.

The back opened normally.

Nothing.

Thomas said, “The second hinge.”

There was another tiny catch.

Dr.

Vale pressed it.

A false compartment sprang loose.

Inside lay a piece of steel no bigger than a thumbnail.

Oval.

Engraved.

Lady Beatrice began sobbing.

Nathaniel Ward’s seal.

Constable Reeves arrived twenty minutes later.

So did two additional officers.

Adrian Blackwood was placed under guard.

He protested.

Threatened legal action.

Demanded servants be arrested.

Nobody listened.

Eleanor sat with the ring and seal on Lady Beatrice’s table.

Her father had held these objects.

That fact felt impossible.

She asked the question that mattered more than stolen money.

“Did he escape?”

Beatrice looked away.

Eleanor knew.

“No.”

The old woman’s silence became unbearable.

“Tell me.”

Beatrice whispered:

“Edmund’s men caught him at the river.”

The room blurred.

“Was he killed?”

“We believed so.”

“Believed?”

Dr.

Vale looked up.

Beatrice’s hands twisted inside the blanket.

“One of the men who followed him returned alone.

Edmund said Nathaniel had fallen into the river during a struggle.”

Eleanor closed her eyes.

Nineteen years.

Some part of her had continued hoping.

Even when hope had become foolish.

Now it died quietly.

Then Beatrice said:

“But three months later, I received a letter.”

Eleanor opened her eyes.

“What?”

“From Nathaniel.”

Everything stopped.

“He lived?”

“At least then.”