In the end, she sent for Stokes. The sergeant continued to insist that it was Scotland Yard that had ordered the search. “In that case,” she snapped, all patience long gone, “the inspector will support you, and the search will go ahead. But until I hear confirmation of this nonsensical order from someone directly associated with Scotland Yard, you and your men will touch not one thing in this place.”
Folding her arms, she sat back in her chair, and waited.
She didn’t invite the sergeant or his constables to sit; given the turmoil of her feelings, she felt she was letting them off lightly.
It took some time to fetch Stokes; the light was fading by the time she glimpsed him coming through the front gate.
A minute later, he stood beside her desk, looking from the warrant to the copy of their notice, then back again.
Frowning, he looked at the sergeant, now standing to attention before the desk. “I, myself, am in charge of the case of these missing boys, Sergeant. No order regarding the case would be issued by Scotland Yard without my knowledge, indeed, without my signature.” He held up the warrant. “I have no knowledge whatever of any order regarding the Foundling House.”
The sergeant blinked; his expression blanked. “But…I saw the order myself, sir. Came in last night in the satchel from the Yard.”
“I see.” Stokes’s frown didn’t ease. After a moment, he glanced at Penelope. “My apologies, Miss Ashford, to you and your staff. There appears to be someone playing games with our investigation.”
He looked at the sergeant. “I accept, Sergeant, that you were only following orders. However, those orders were false. Indeed, fake. I’ll return with you to”—he glanced at the warrant—“Holborn and explain to your superiors. I’d like a word with them, to see if they can shed any light on these spurious orders.”
The sergeant’s face had fallen, but in the circumstances he was happy to leave. He waited for Stokes to lead the way out; he started to follow, but then, with grudging respect, paused to nod to Penelope. “My apologies, too, Miss Ashford.”
Penelope met his eyes, then inclined her head in acceptance.
The police presence withdrew in Stokes’s wake.
It took another hour of calming and reassuring to settle the house and its occupants back into their regular routine. By the time she finally returned to her office, Penelope felt wrung out.
Miss Marsh was waiting in the anteroom. “I checked all the files—the ones in your office, too. I couldn’t find anything amiss.”
“Thank you.” Penelope smiled tiredly. “That’s one less thing to worry about.”
Miss Marsh smiled shyly; she seemed about to say something, then apparently thought better of it. Bidding Penelope a good night, she left.
Glancing out the window, Penelope saw that evening had drawn in. It was already dark, the yellow flare of street lamps shining like moons through the encroaching fog.
Another day had gone by and they’d got no further; instead, she felt drained after dealing with the vexatious sergeant and his unfounded charges.
Walking into her office, she sighed—and saw Barnaby standing by her desk.
He opened his arms—without a word, she walked into them and let them close around her. Leaning her head against his chest, she sighed again. “It’s been an awful day.” After a moment, she asked, “How did you know to come?”
“Stokes sent word.” He hugged her, then released her and urged her to sit in her chair. Pulling one of the other chairs around the desk, he set it near hers and sat close, studying her face. “Stokes’s message was brief—just that there’d been some bother here arising out of a falsely sworn warrant. I want you to tell me everything you can remember about the warrant and anything else the constables here said.”
“There was a sergeant in charge.” She sat back and described the warrant, and how their notice had been put with it to lend the accusation credence.
“The sergeant said the notice was sentwiththe order for the search?”
She cast her mind back, then nodded. “Yes. Specifically with. He took it as an explanation for the search.”
After a moment, she said, “I didn’t want to risk taking the high moral ground and letting them search, just in case there was something in the files to be found.” She caught his eye. “Something none of us here knew about.”
Taking her hand, he gently squeezed. “That was good thinking. Did I hear Miss Marsh say she hadn’t found anything?”
Penelope nodded.
“Regardless, you were wise not to take the risk. This was distressing enough—had someone planted some evidence of something nefarious, the scandal could have seriously damaged the standing of the Foundling House.”
And her reputation.Barnaby studied her face, the unrelenting stubborness that masked her tiredness. “How did you learn of the search? Where were you?”
She grimaced and told him. “Despite there being so few ladies still in residence, the news that the Foundling House was the subject of a warrant will be all over town come morning.”
