Joan shrugged. “I understand, but I won’t let my impatient nature pressure him into anything.”

Morgan chuckled. “Ah, dear sister. I don’t think you’re any more impatient than he is, and that is exactly as it should be.”

Joan giggled in spite of herself. “You know, I do believe you’ve made a correct assessment.”

“What was that?” He cupped his ear and grinned. “You said I was correct about something? It is truly a time of miracles. First you come to my rescue, which thankfully was uneventful, and then you give me credit. I can die a happy man.”

“You can’t die yet, so don’t get too comfortable with the concept. Which reminds me…” Joan quit the room and quickly ran up the stairs to her bedchamber. She had withdrawn the pilfered missive from her widow’s cloak and placed it in her desk for safekeeping. She quickly plucked it from her desk drawer and returned to the library where Morgan waited.

“This.” She lifted the missive. “I’m not sure what it is, but I noticed the older man, the one I pulled from his horse, patting his chest. He patted his pocket, as if reassuring himself it was still there. I thought it might be important, so I stole it at the first opportunity.”

“At one time, I regretted teaching you so much. As it turns out, it was somewhat useful.” Morgan stood beside her as she slid open the shallow wax seal. Two letters fell out, and she opened the first. Ink was smeared across the top, as if the letter had been written in haste, closed before the ink fully dried. Joan read the words, her face puckering as she did so.

“Did you ever find out why the false orders sent that prisoner to the London Tower?” Joan asked, rereading the letter.

“I think we may have uncovered it.” Morgan’s expression lifted as he read over her shoulder.

“Indeed.”

“I learned he made a deal with the magistrate to give information, and it seems as if those he named got wind of it.”

“So they were going to silence him by making it look like an accident at the London Tower,” Joan deduced.

“Exactly, which would likely have worked, had you not discovered the forgery of the sentencing papers.”

“I wonder…” Joan opened the second letter. With a gasp, she read through the sentencing paper, so much like the first, but like it a forgery. “They are wanting the prisoner moved.”

“From house arrest… Makes sense. It’s easy to have an ‘accident’ when on the move. Any number of things could happen. It could be as simple as sabotaging the wheel of a carriage or spooking the horses.”

“Indeed, there are a million ways to do murder. However, this proves their intentions. But these are directions to locate and eliminate this man, Walter Brewer. Is that the name of the prisoner?”

“Indeed,” Morgan answered.

“So, those men…”