Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(55)

His hesitation told me that was true. And at that moment, I saw Grant open the door and slip inside.

“I’ll be careful,” I told the watchman. “I know how to stay out of sight—a girl’s got to do that too. You’re probably right, and I just mixed up the streets. Thanks for your help.”

I hurried away and walked down Pine until I couldn’t see him. Circling around, I made my way to the back of Miller’s town house, which faced another building and created a narrow alley in between. The windows at street level were barred, but the upper ones weren’t.

“Took you long enough,” a voice said from above. Looking up, I saw Grant watching me from a second-story window, arms crossed on the sill as though he’d been lounging there all night.

“I’m the one who took a long time? You should’ve let me pick the lock while you asked for directions.”

Grant’s response was to toss down a rope. I’d climbed plenty of times on my family’s farm and easily made my way up. Two small candles were lit inside, and he handed me one. “Only light we can use without being seen. Search everything, no matter how unlikely. If he’s got something here, it’s not going to be anywhere obvious.”

We still examined the expected places: desk and bookshelves. There were papers and ledgers, but all were clearly marked accounts of army transactions. From there, it was odder locations, like drawers and bureaus. Finally, under Miller’s mattress, I found a single piece of paper.

“Got something,” I called. “More accounting. But no clear explanation.”

Grant came up behind me and peered over my shoulder. “That first column is ship names. Those dates go back to last summer, probably when they came into port. I’m sure customs records will confirm Miller was the agent who did the inspections.”

“Five yards oilcloth, ten pounds tin . . .” I tapped the column next to the dates. “Cargo?”

“Stolen cargo. Small amounts, siphoned off the top, probably not significant enough for their owners to notice or protest. It’d be easy for Miller to make that happen, especially with any shipments that sat in the customs houses for a while.” Grant’s eyes narrowed. “I bet someone noticed, though. Probably figured their goods were stolen by sailors, not a customs inspector. We’ll have to go through the official records for any filed complaints.”

“Look at the names next to those. Craft is listed five times.”

Grant nodded along. “Because he’s one of the couriers who carries off the contraband. Those were his assignments.”

“Do you know the others?” Four other names were listed multiple times, presumably other couriers who’d transported the cargo Miller helped steal for the traitors. Madisin, Bush, Skarbrow, and Cortmansh.

“Bush. Not the others—at least I don’t think so. I know a Madison with on, not in; Miller might just be a terrible speller. Regardless, men rarely keep honest records hidden under their mattresses. It’s not the bed’s purpose.”

“You mean sleep?”

“Oh, Mirabel. You’re such an innocent.” Grant took out pen and paper from inside his coat and began copying the records. “It’s like you don’t even understand men sometimes.”

“I understand them well enough. There was this one I met on a ship. I got him to do a big favor for me.”

“Not that big. And you know, I’ve been thinking about that time.”

“Oh, have you?” I asked archly.

He paused and looked up, a rueful expression obvious even in the candlelight. “The falling sleeve. Real or faked?”

“Real.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He returned to his work with a sigh. “That makes it even worse.”

“What?”

“Forget it.”

When he finished, he returned the ledger to its original hiding spot, and we planned the complicated task of making our exit. We didn’t want to leave any sign of our visit, so we couldn’t just climb down the rope and leave the window open.

“I’ll go down,” Grant explained. “You’ll untie the rope, step down onto that ledge, close the window, and jump.”

He said it so reasonably, so easily, that I had to replay it in my mind several times, just to make sure I hadn’t missed the part where it actually made sense. I peered out the window. “Ledge” was a bit of stretch. It was really a type of ornamental molding that wrapped all around the building between the two floors. There was a flat surface on top of it, probably just wide enough for my feet to fit. Certainly not his.

“That’s a big jump,” I said at last.

“Not really. These stories aren’t that tall—not like the place you’re staying. Besides, I’ll catch you. If you’re okay with that.”

“As opposed to you missing?”

“You’ve been in men’s arms all night. I figured you might be tired of that.”

“I can handle one more set—assuming I land in them. I’ll probably knock you over.”

“Then I’ll break your fall. The risk is on me. Now, come on.”

I was skeptical of who was really taking the greater risk, especially as I watched him easily climb down the rope and then beckon for me to follow. He was right that this was a much shorter building. It was classy but not meant to impress the way Wisteria Hollow did with its vaulted ceilings and gables. And the ground, at least, was packed dirt. I had to imagine cobblestone would hurt more.