Page 72 of Unmasking the Diamond
A louder voice cut him off. “Go back to your secretary duties and let the men—who do thereal work—talk.”
Now Luca looked up.
Mr. Wright’s cheeks reddened. “You are a ninnyhammer, Hillstead.”
Hillstead grinned broadly as he plopped into the chair across from Luca. “I have been called worse. Just this morning, in fact.”
“That is not surprising,” Wright muttered under his breath. “Do try not to annoy Lord Luca.”
Luca closed the ledger with a soft thud. “That will be all, Mr. Wright. Thank you.”
His secretary gave a stiff bow, shooting Hillstead a look of profound disapproval before withdrawing and closing the door rather forcefully behind him.
As silence settled again, Hillstead leaned back and said, “If you require a new secretary, I could find you one.”
“Mr. Wright is quite proficient,” Luca replied.
“Yes, but he does it with a condescending attitude.”
“Only with you,” Luca said, allowing a faint smile. “You two have never managed to get along.”
“That is because he hates me.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t antagonize him.”
Hillstead sobered, his humor fading. “I heard about Mr. Griffin.”
The smile left Luca’s lips. The loss still sat uneasily with him. “Yes. Most unfortunate. And now Miss Dawlish has vanished into thin air.”
Hillstead’s gaze flickered to the closed ledger. “Were you able to glean any leads from that?”
“Nothing new,” Luca admitted, pushing the worn, leather-bound book across the desk. “Perhaps you might have better luck. My eyes are beginning to cross.”
Hillstead accepted it carefully, flipping through the pages. “This might take some time,” he murmured. “I’ll review it at my desk, see if anything stands out.”
“I would appreciate that,” Luca said. “I’ve stared at it for far too long and deciphered nothing.”
Closing the ledger, Hillstead straightened. “I do have some good news.”
“I could use some.”
“I looked into Miss Dawlish. It appears she has a son who runs a factory near the docks.”
Luca’s brows drew together. “Miss Dawlish has a son?”
“That she does. An illegitimate one,” Hillstead replied. “A Mr. Roger Dawlish. He was educated at boarding schools and kept well away from her social circle.”
“How did you uncover this?”
“When Miss Dawlish fled, she dismissed her household staff. I managed to track down one of her former maids,” Hillstead said, with a smug note of pride. “The girl was all too happy to speak ill of her mistress since Miss Dawlish refused to give her a reference.”
“Did she reveal anything else of value?”
Hillstead shook his head. “Only that Miss Dawlish detests lavender. It gives her a dreadful headache.”
“That is not remotely useful.”
“I agree,” Hillstead said, producing a small folded slip of paper from his pocket. “But this might be. Here is the address of the factory that Mr. Dawlish runs, and you will never guess who owns it.”
