Page 67 of The Not So Perfect Duke

What a fascinating glimpse into their marriage. Damon assumed Eleanora ran everything and dictated all aspects of their lives, personal and business. But it was clear Christian had his say as well. A true partnership. How surprising to find that he longed for the same?

They entered the dining room just as Mr. Cleve opened the safe door.

“Bloody hell, that took some doin’. Beggin’ My Graces and ladies’ pardon,” Mr. Cleve stated, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his coat. He then reached for the teacup and slurped it noisily. “It’s open. Have a gander.”

Damon stepped forward, then sunk to his haunches. “Several ledgers. And a strong box.”

“I can get that box open for you, quick as spit,” Mr. Cleve crowed, obviously pleased with himself over cracking open the safe.

Damon stood, reaching in his pocket. “No, I think we can manage from here, Mr. Cleve. Obviously, you are not to repeat to anyone about this job.”

“Me lips are sealed,” Mr. Cleve replied firmly.

Damon thrust the pound notes into the man’s hand. “Paid in full. Take a couple of scones with you, my good man. And thank you. Archie, do you need money to escort Mr. Cleve home?”

“No, Your Grace, I’m fine,” the lad answered. “Come, Cleve. Let’s catch a hansom.”

Mr. Cleve stuffed the money in his tattered coat’s pocket. Then he quickly gathered up four scones and grabbed his tool bag. “You ever need a safe open again, Cleve’s your cracksman.”

Archie tugged on the man’s arm, pulling him toward the exit.

“Tell your nob friends!” Cleve shouted as Archie closed the door.

Eleanora smiled. “Good to have a safe cracker on our list of contacts. Quick, pull everything out.”

Christian and Damon made room on the table, laying everything on it.

There were numerous ledgers. The listings showed a strange cross-section of monetary dealings and numbers and initials. At least now, they understood that the numerical code next to each child’s name corresponded with the transactions in a different ledger.

“Try and find a list of the donors, so we can match with the initials in the entries,” Damon suggested.

“What about the strongbox?” Eleanora asked.

“I have just the thing for that,” Althea answered.

* * *

Althea leaned against the doorframe, holding up a velvet bag. She had fetched it from her room after Edwina departed. “My tools of the trade.”

“Oh, good. Your lock-picking tools,” Eleanora enthused. “Bring them here.”

Althea speedily worked the small lock, and it popped open. Inside were numerous loose pound notes and sovereigns with ten bundles of pound notes tied with string. “Look, there are initials carved on the underside of the lid. SDB. Silas Browning. I would guess that this is his hidden savings. No wonder he was trying to locate the safe.”

Eleanora took the case and sat at the table. “I’ll count it, meanwhile, keep searching for the list of donors.”

The rest searched through the ledgers, going page by page.

“It’s not here,” Christian replied, disappointed.

“Wait,” Eleanora cried. “Look! Folded papers in between the pound notes in this bundle.”

Eleanora handed them to Althea. The list started in 1863, and many names had lines through them. The men were probably deceased or no longer part of the scheme for one reason or another, and enfeeblement was the prime indicator.

Edward Cranston’s organization had fallen through, though he tried to recruit new blood. His plan must have failed. No doubt the reason he abandoned Chellenhome in the last few months before his death. Callous, cruel man.

Althea scoffed. “Whinstone is on the list. Why am I not surprised?” She handed the papers to Damon.

As he examined the documents, he whistled low in his throat. “Some prominent names here, and not just peers. Men of industry, bankers, and a few others that I do not recognize. Many are dead. Here is Sir Anthony Crossley, baronet. Remember, the friend of the late Earl of Oakby? Crossley died in an asylum from syphilis. There were always salacious rumors about Crossley and Oakby. And two Earls of Southen, no doubt father and son, twenty-odd years apart. Baron Stonecliff? Wasn’t he an original member of The Rakes?”