"Less than an hour, I think." Samuel held out the torn envelope. "Mercer's horse is gone. So is the cash from the estate office."
Nathaniel's gaze dropped to the empty space where Eleanor's copied evidence had been kept. "He knows where she is going."
The words came softly. Samuel went still. Nathaniel was already reaching for his coat.
"Send a rider to the magistrate. Another to Henshaw's warehouse. Tell them Mercer is not to remove or destroy a single record."
"And you, Your Grace?"
Nathaniel pulled on his gloves. "I am going after Eleanor." He stopped with one hand on the door. Three days earlier, that would have meant overtaking her carriage, ordering her home, and finishing the matter himself. His fingers tightened around the brass handle. "No," he said.
Samuel blinked.
Nathaniel turned. "Send two men by the northern road quietly. They are not to approach her unless she is in danger."
Samuel's mouth almost smiled. "Very good, Your Grace."
By noon, Eleanor stood inside Henshaw's warehouse office with dust on her gloves and six enormous ledgers open before her. The clerk had objected until she produced Samuel's written authority. Then he had objected to her being a woman. Eleanor had waited through that objection, too.
"There." Her finger stopped beside a reference number.
Henry Reed's genuine grain purchase had been for eleven pounds. Blackmir's account showed five hundred. Another entry revealed eighty pounds disguised beneath a tenant payment of six. Then another. Each false amount had been transferred through Reed Agricultural Supply before disappearing into an account controlled by Margaret Mercer.
Eleanor's pulse beat hard against her throat. "I need certified copies."
The clerk frowned. "That will take time."
"Take it."
A door slammed below. Eleanor's head lifted. Heavy footsteps crossed the warehouse floor. Mercer appeared in the office doorway, breathing hard from his ride.
"Miss Reed."
Eleanor closed the nearest ledger. "Mr. Mercer."
"You have caused quite enough trouble."
"That is an interesting complaint from a man who stole from his employer."
His face changed. "You cannot prove theft."
Eleanor rested her hand on the ledger. "I no longer need to."
Mercer took one step forward. The clerk moved nervously toward the wall. "Give me those papers."
"No."
"Do you imagine the Duke will believe you after what was found in your father's name?"
The old wound landed, but not as deeply as he intended. Eleanor lifted her chin. "He does not need to believe me. The bank records do."
Mercer reached for the ledger. Eleanor pulled it back. Before his hand touched her, a voice came from the doorway:
"I would reconsider."
Nathaniel stood there, coat damp from the road, two men behind him and the local magistrate at his shoulder. Mercer's face emptied.
Eleanor stared at Nathaniel. "You followed me."
"At a respectful distance."
"Debatable."
"I am improving gradually."
The magistrate stepped forward.
What followed was not dramatic; that was its satisfaction. Ledgers were compared, signatures were examined, and the false company was traced. Mercer's explanations became shorter as the evidence became longer. By evening, he was under formal investigation, and the missing correspondence had been recovered from his saddlebag.