“Why are you sitting at my desk?” Daniel yanked at the frog closure of his cloak and swirled the garment off. He hung it with his hat on the peg behind his desk and rolled the chair close. “I may have to drag you around with me over the next few days, but that doesn’t mean you’re a fully trained detective with a right to sit in this room.”

He knew he sounded petty and gruff, but he was cranky. He wanted Ed back, steady Eddie, who always knew which avenue of an investigation to pursue, who never said a cross word, and who pulled his weight.

Owen scowled, folding his arms. “The guv told me to wait for you to return. I brought back the report and the bullet like you said, and I’ve run all over London the past few days gathering information for you, but Sir Michael isn’t best pleased that you went to Hammersmith without me today. You’re supposed to be training me, not having me run your errands.” He shot a defiant look at Daniel that rasped his nerves.

“Part of your training is to do all those little things that receive no glory or notice but are essential to solving cases. And I have another one for you. The engineer has given permission to enter the warehouse and offices at the mill. I want you to go there with a wagon and boxes and pack up all of Mr. Montgomery’s papers. Bring them back here, commandeer one of the interview rooms, and begin sorting them.”

Owen’s brows crashed down. “Sort them how? And why am I always stuck with paperwork? Why can’t I question a suspect or a witness or something?”

Daniel counted slowly in his head, praying for patience. “Details matter in a murder investigation. You are nowhere near ready to question suspects, even if we had any. As to the office papers, bring in our consulting accountant. I want to know where the mill stood financially and if that played any role in Montgomery’s murder.”

A youngster of about ten summers bounded into the room, his head nearly dwarfed in an enormous cap. “Letter for Mr. Swann.” He held aloft a folded paper with a red wax seal.

“Here.” Daniel waved the child over, fishing in his pocket for some pennies.

Checking the seal, his heart raced. Coles, Franks & Moody, solicitors. Was this the missive he’d been waiting for, to wind up the patronage once and for all?

He broke the seal and read quickly, his heart sinking. Instead of his long-sought emancipation, this was another directive from his guardian. Another “favor” asked, to which Daniel could not yet say no.

He could not wait for the scheduled appointment to wind up his guardianship.

Chapter 6