“The couriers were just told to look for a young lady, blond, who answered to Elizabeth, or else to leave the items at a specific location if I wasn’t at home.” Beth gave her a rueful smile. “I didn’t realize there’d be another of me at home when I wasn’t.”

Oliver was shaking his head. “But where did all this start, Beth? On your end, not Lord Sheridan’s.”

Beth glanced around at the collection of people, clearly not wanting to say in such mixed company. “I . . . you know I’ve always collected bits of this and that as I explore the islands. Well, one day I found the map his lordship mentioned. I didn’t dare hope it was anything as promising as an actual treasure map, so I sent it to the Scofields for authentication. I thought that, with their connections, they could help me determine what it was. And they were quite excited. They sent it back with the promise of a buyer of any Mucknell or Prince Rupert items. I thought . . .” She shifted, dropped her gaze. “You know I’d always wanted to spend a Season in London.”

Oliver let out a sigh. “Beth.”

“I thought it would be nothing but a bit of fun! Poking around all my favorite spots, trying to match the map to one of the islands—I never for a minute thought anyone would get hurt. Not until they all started focusing on silver.” Her fingers knotted together. “Once greed reared its ugly head though, I knew I’d got in too deep.”

She still hadn’t said where she’d found the map—and Libby suspected she wouldn’t, even if asked directly. Not to all of them.

Casek didn’t look mollified. “And what of your stalking about the islands at night in white, like a ghost?”

Beth visibly started. “What makes you think—”

“I found your shawl on Samson after one of the supposed sightings. It’s monogrammed, you know. With the Tremayne crest.”

Beth’s cheeks flushed. “Much of my prowling about had to be at night. In case anyone heard me or saw me, I wanted them to chalk it up to a story. They’d dismiss it then. Not go looking too deeply.”

Mabena rubbed at the bridge of her nose, making Libby wonder if the headache was making its return. “A fine kettle of fish you’ve cooked up, as my mother would say.”

“Well, luckily, his lordship is here to set it all to rights.” Casek lifted a challenging brow. “Isn’t that right?”