Thornbrook Park by Sherri Browning Page A

the certificates and portraits that hung on stark white walls. When Mr. Gibbs returned, a stocky, brown-haired man walked with him.
    â€œMrs. Kendal. Mr. Edgar Strump, Esquire, at your service. Come along to my office and we’ll talk.”
    Relief washed over Eve. “Thank you for seeing me.” She followed him down the hall to a crowded little room so stuffed full with shelves of books and papers that there was barely room for a desk and two chairs. She eased around the far side of the desk and wedged her way into the seat he indicated for her.
    â€œNow, Mrs. Kendal, what can I do for you?”
    â€œMy husband, Captain Kendal, passed away last year, as you may be aware. Earthquake. In India.”
    â€œBad business, bad business. Yes, yes, of course. So sorry for your loss. So sorry.”
    â€œThank you. I’ve come to inquire into his investments. I believe he made arrangements with you?”
    â€œArrangements, arrangements.” Mr. Strump tented his fingers as if he was struggling to remember. “Yes, yes. We made arrangements. We did. We did.”
    She wondered if she would suffer through Strump repeating himself all afternoon. “You did? I would like to know what arrangements. Where did he invest our money, and is it possible to get any of it? Are there dividends, perhaps? Anything of note?”
    â€œOh.” He flattened his hands on the desk. “It will take some time. It’s all in my files. Some time, I say.”
    She followed his stare to a cabinet in the corner of the room. Papers leaked out of every drawer, the cabinet so crammed that the drawers couldn’t completely close. She inhaled deeply, a futile effort to draw patience from thin air. “How long, Mr. Strump? Tomorrow? Next week?”
    â€œOh, tomorrow. Tomorrow, to be sure. Come back in the morning, and I’ll have it all sorted out.”
    â€œTomorrow, really?” Her mood brightened. It was more than she had hoped after seeing the state of Strump’s office. “When you say sorted out, what exactly do you mean? Have you any idea where our money is? Is it simply a matter of tracking down the relevant accounts? Anything you can tell me now would be a help.”
    â€œFinding the accounts, yes. The relevant accounts. But memory, too.” He tapped his forehead. “I remember Ben Kendal well, bless his soul. A good man. Most of your husband’s money went into a diamond mine. Diamonds, good business. Strong investment. I introduced him to the owner of the mine right about the time I found a house for him in Raipur.”
    â€œA diamond mine?” Ben had handled all the arrangements for their move without her, not wishing to trouble her with business. How she wished she had insisted on being part of the planning.
    â€œIn Golkonda. I have notes on the transaction around here somewhere. There might be some delay in actually retrieving your funds, but I think you should be very pleased. Very pleased.”
    She remembered Ben taking a trip to Golkonda shortly after their arrival, but a diamond mine? A practical man, he would have had to be convinced of the security of such an investment. “Thank you. I will be back in the morning, then.”
    â€œIn the morning,” the solicitor parroted. “A new day, Mrs. Kendal. A new day.” He walked her to the front door.
    â€œI certainly hope so, Mr. Strump. Until tomorrow, then.” Filled with hope, she walked out into the cloudy afternoon. Her business concluded earlier than planned, she thought perhaps she would have some tea and do some shopping, maybe buy a new dress for her dinner with Captain Thorne.

Nine
    Marcus felt vaguely unsettled as he left Eve Kendal to make his way to the Cooper flat. Without the soothing effects of her influence, the prickling under his skin had returned. Being back in London should have brightened his mood, but perhaps a visit with the Coopers would improve his state of