random throughout the tomes. He could consolidate them, but that alone would take the best part of a day.
More worrying, though, was the other stack. There were, torn from seemingly random scraps of paper—newspapers, paper napkins, journal pages—hundreds upon hundreds of tiny jotted notes that seemed to be as perfectly obtuse as possible. One read "O 80" while the next read "P 5" and the next after that read "D 2; 3."
For a moment, he regretted the man's death once again. Even having never known him, there must have been some guiding meaning behind such obscure notes, but whatever they meant to the man who had written them had died with him.
Now they were meaningless codes on several hundred scraps of paper. That they had been gathered here, James guessed, suggested that they had something to do with money, but as to their meaning he could only wildly speculate.
Still, he guessed that with a little bit of effort he would be able to fit all the pieces together. Rather like a puzzle.
As he sat back and relaxed, he heard someone moving outside the study door. He had heard servants moving around several times as he worked, but he had ignored it. There was bound to be bustle about the house, in such a large estate.
This was unusual, though. He heard steps approaching, and then they slowed, and then stopped. He guessed they must have been right outside the door; they had come closer, but never gone further away that he could hear.
What was going on, then? Perhaps he was simply paranoid. After all, there was no reason at all for anyone to be snooping on him. He knew next to nothing about household affairs, had few possessions of any value, and if the sneak had been interested in the accounts, they could have come right in the open door.
Still, James strained to listen for footsteps. He heard none. Whoever it was, they had either become extremely quiet, or they hadn't moved since he had heard them come up.
It must have been paranoia, he reasoned, but it did little to calm him. This was not his house, and these were not his accounts. Whoever was snooping would be doing it for some reason, and he would look awfully foolish in front of his new employers, asking for money he hadn't been promised after someone had got away with the family's secrets.
All because he hadn't bothered to investigate some strange footsteps.
He stood up and turned toward the door, walking as silently as he could. He reached out, barely letting his hand graze the door knob. He took a deep breath and tried to still the ever-louder beating of his heart. Then he let the breath out, and twisted the knob and pulled the door in one swift motion.
A young woman, pretty, with long red hair piled onto her head, stood in the doorway. She had a long, narrow face and a button nose, and light freckles, and the green eyes that the Irish were prone to.
"Miss Geis," he said softly. "Is anything the matter?"
She looked at him with fire in her eyes, and dared him to do…something. He had noticed it earlier, as well: a combative attitude he couldn't explain. Whatever was on her mind, she kept it to herself.
James noticed that she was wearing her corset, now. His cheeks turned red and he tried not to think about it. It was hard to look her in the face, as well. He had met plenty of pretty women before, even gotten a kiss or two from some. This was the first one who was so completely off-limits, and it made reacting to her presence difficult.
For a moment he considered inviting her into the study. She would have known her father better than anyone; if the puzzle of the notes could be solved, she would be the one who could solve it. But then he looked at her again, and saw the look in her eyes. A mixture of mistrust and dislike, he thought, mixed with something that might have been anger.
Perhaps it would wait.
5
Mary
The sun was already streaming in through her window when Mary Geis rose. It still felt odd to her, and she had rolled over several times
More worrying, though, was the other stack. There were, torn from seemingly random scraps of paper—newspapers, paper napkins, journal pages—hundreds upon hundreds of tiny jotted notes that seemed to be as perfectly obtuse as possible. One read "O 80" while the next read "P 5" and the next after that read "D 2; 3."
For a moment, he regretted the man's death once again. Even having never known him, there must have been some guiding meaning behind such obscure notes, but whatever they meant to the man who had written them had died with him.
Now they were meaningless codes on several hundred scraps of paper. That they had been gathered here, James guessed, suggested that they had something to do with money, but as to their meaning he could only wildly speculate.
Still, he guessed that with a little bit of effort he would be able to fit all the pieces together. Rather like a puzzle.
As he sat back and relaxed, he heard someone moving outside the study door. He had heard servants moving around several times as he worked, but he had ignored it. There was bound to be bustle about the house, in such a large estate.
This was unusual, though. He heard steps approaching, and then they slowed, and then stopped. He guessed they must have been right outside the door; they had come closer, but never gone further away that he could hear.
What was going on, then? Perhaps he was simply paranoid. After all, there was no reason at all for anyone to be snooping on him. He knew next to nothing about household affairs, had few possessions of any value, and if the sneak had been interested in the accounts, they could have come right in the open door.
Still, James strained to listen for footsteps. He heard none. Whoever it was, they had either become extremely quiet, or they hadn't moved since he had heard them come up.
It must have been paranoia, he reasoned, but it did little to calm him. This was not his house, and these were not his accounts. Whoever was snooping would be doing it for some reason, and he would look awfully foolish in front of his new employers, asking for money he hadn't been promised after someone had got away with the family's secrets.
All because he hadn't bothered to investigate some strange footsteps.
He stood up and turned toward the door, walking as silently as he could. He reached out, barely letting his hand graze the door knob. He took a deep breath and tried to still the ever-louder beating of his heart. Then he let the breath out, and twisted the knob and pulled the door in one swift motion.
A young woman, pretty, with long red hair piled onto her head, stood in the doorway. She had a long, narrow face and a button nose, and light freckles, and the green eyes that the Irish were prone to.
"Miss Geis," he said softly. "Is anything the matter?"
She looked at him with fire in her eyes, and dared him to do…something. He had noticed it earlier, as well: a combative attitude he couldn't explain. Whatever was on her mind, she kept it to herself.
James noticed that she was wearing her corset, now. His cheeks turned red and he tried not to think about it. It was hard to look her in the face, as well. He had met plenty of pretty women before, even gotten a kiss or two from some. This was the first one who was so completely off-limits, and it made reacting to her presence difficult.
For a moment he considered inviting her into the study. She would have known her father better than anyone; if the puzzle of the notes could be solved, she would be the one who could solve it. But then he looked at her again, and saw the look in her eyes. A mixture of mistrust and dislike, he thought, mixed with something that might have been anger.
Perhaps it would wait.
5
Mary
The sun was already streaming in through her window when Mary Geis rose. It still felt odd to her, and she had rolled over several times
Similar Books
The Birds of the Air
Alice Thomas Ellis
The Rebels' Assault
David Grimstone
The Golden Fleece
Brian Stableford
Jace
T.A. Grey
Mating Rights
Jaide Fox
The New Champion
Jody Feldman
Pretty Is
Maggie Mitchell