impeccable.”
“I should have guessed the truth. The
ton
is always quick to attack a female of imagination and intelligence.” The headmistress reached for a fresh sheet of foolscap. “Those investigations should turn up some answers. As for the duke’s suspicions, did he give you any clue of what we are looking for?”
“There isn’t much to go on,” replied Lynsley, pursing his mouth. “Based on a diary found in the young man’s rooms, Sterling believes his grandson was investigating a group of gentlemen who call themselves the Scarlet Knights—on account of their red waistcoats and wild carousing from dusk to dawn.”
“I’ve heard rumors of their revelries.” Mrs. Merlin tapped the pen to the tip of her chin. “Drinking, gambling, and raising hell in the less savory parts of the city is not uncommon behavior for blades of the
ton,
but the Knights are said to carry excess to the extreme.”
Lynsley turned from the fire and clasped his hands behind his back. “It would all seem juvenile, if not for the people involved. Lord De Winton is said to be one of its regulars, as are several foreign noblemen. Their names are noted with red ink in Lord Robert’s diary.” He withdrew a small object from his coat pocket and placed it on the leather blotter. “This was found as well.”
The headmistress picked up the gold key and carefully studied the blood-red enameled poppy crowning its end. “What is it for?”
Lynsley’s lips thinned to a grim line. “That is what we need to discover. Unfortunately, Lord Robert left no hint of its significance in his writings. But I have a strong feeling that it will unlock the secrets we seek.”
“If we put it in the right hands.”
“Yes. The right hands.” The marquess’s voice was barely audible over the hiss of the glowing embers.
The headmistress took a moment to sharpen her quill. “I think it’s time we summon Sofia.”
Chapter Two
Brushing the grains of gunpowder from her buckskins, Sofia took a seat on the wooden bench outside the headmistress’s private office. With its dark wainscoting and stone floor, the foyer offered few frills to soften a student’s anxiety. A summons to report to the headmistress was never a purely social call. It usually signaled serious school infractions—discipline, detention, demerits. Or dismissal for failing to meet the rigorous standards of performance.
Sofia drew a deep breath and touched the tattoo above her left breast. Only a very few students ever made it to the Master Class and received the small black badge of a hawk that marked them as true Merlins. The rest were assigned to less demanding duties, serving as the eyes and ears of England around the globe.
Were Mrs. Merlin and the marquess having second thoughts about her rank?
Lord Lynsley’s oblique words might have been meant as a kindly warning. Though his austere face rarely revealed any emotion, his blue eyes always held a spark of warmth when regarding any of the students. He had chosen them all—skinny little urchins abandoned in the stews—and monitored their progress over the years. In some sense, he was like the father none of them had ever known.
Had she let him down?
Sofia couldn’t help but think that the recent emphasis on ladylike manners reflected badly on her martial skills. Her gaze slanted to the window, where the fencing grounds, the stables, the shooting ranges, and the training fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. A Merlin must be the match of any man when it came to weapons or hand-to-hand combat. Perhaps the headmistress and the marquess doubted her steel. Her flesh began to prickle. Perhaps they were about to strip her of her commission.
Sofia stilled her fidgets by fingering the necklace beneath her sweat-dampened shirt. The thin filigree chain was new, purchased on a field trip to the fancy shops on Bond Street, but the gold locket had been in her possession since … a long time ago.
The case had the well-worn