“Sit down, Genevieve,” Arthur said, not unkindly.
Genevieve complied, suddenly feeling a bit faint.
“I will check with the hotel staff, and if they can confirm Mr. McCaffrey’s rental of the room, I will print a retraction.” He sighed, peering at her from under his bushy brows. “But I’m not sure I can keep you on staff. You all but admitted to this behavior in public.”
Unbidden, tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry to have disappointed you,” Genevieve said miserably, frantically blinking to keep the tears from spilling. Arthur was almost like a second father to her.
He now sat in the chair next to Genevieve and offered his handkerchief, which she gratefully accepted. “Oh child.” Arthur comfortingly patted her back. “I’m not disappointed in you. You’re young, but not fresh out of the schoolroom. You’re old enough to know your own business. But the reputation of the paper, you understand, and the other young ladies employed here … let me think on it.”
It was unfair, but Arthur was correct. If word got out, it would appear that he condoned such behavior, and the reputations of the secretaries and other women who worked at the paper would suffer.
“I do understand, Mr. Horace. And I want to thank you for all that you’ve done for me over the years,” she said sincerely. She knew he hadn’t wanted to give her a position originally but had been pressured to do so by her family’s position.
The older man smiled gently. “You’re a good reporter, Genevieve,” he said, which made her start crying anew. “Take the rest of the day off,” he suggested. “Get some rest. I know you’re friends with Miss Maple, and I’m sure she needs you now. I’ll let you know my decision.”
Nodding unhappily, Genevieve went to her desk to retrieve some notes she’d locked in her desk the past Friday. It was more imperative than ever that the truth be revealed, but she needed Daniel’s insights to help her patch together her discoveries about Lexington Industries. To figure out what it all meant.
To help her ascertain who Robin Hood really was.
Her stomach contracted. If he would even speak to her now, given the newspaper article.
Genevieve’s heart caught in her throat as she slipped her key into her top desk drawer, only to have it slide open of its own volition. Someone had tampered with the lock. The drawer was open.
The cold sweat immediately reappeared, chilling her despite the well-heated room. She affected an air of casualness as she reached into the desk, well aware that whoever had broken into it might be watching. The previous week’s notes on Lexington Industries were still there, but as she began to withdraw them, her fingers grazed something cold and metallic.
Puzzled, Genevieve clasped the object and pulled it out.
A small, glittering box sparkled in her palm. It was silver, its top encrusted with rubies and diamonds forming the shape of the Russian Orthodox cross.
Her heart pounded. She let her gaze slowly traverse the newsroom, but everyone was immersed in their own tasks. Clive was nowhere in sight and hadn’t been all morning. Only Luther was glancing at her from where he was speaking on the telephone. He gestured that he would be off in a moment and then he would come to her desk.
She gazed back down at the small objet d’art in her hand. She recognized it, of course, from her childhood explorations at Reginald Cotswold’s house. It was surprisingly heavy for such a small box.
It was a calling card. A message. Reginald’s murderer was sending a clear threat: back off, or you’ll meet the same fate.
Genevieve pocketed the box and grabbed her bag. Not caring who was looking, she dashed toward the stairs, once more not wishing to wait for the elevator. Past Luther, who put down the phone and called after her; past Verna, who jumped out of her path, startled; and past countless other reporters, stenographers, typesetters, and secretaries. Let whoever was working with a murderer see her run. She didn’t care; she had only one thought: to get to Daniel before the killer did.
CHAPTER 19
“You haven’t been able to find him?” Eliza asked sympathetically, cutting a slice of cake. It had been three days since Arthur ejected her from his office. Four since she had seen Daniel.
Genevieve shook her head, regarding the lovely piece of pastry on her plate. She loved cake. But today she couldn’t seem to swallow a crumb. Her mind was swirling. She looked out the front window of Eliza’s townhouse and gauged that she had about twenty minutes until the sun began its early, late-winter descent.
She would wait another ten minutes, then make her excuses and depart for home, where she would make her preparations for the night. A pang shot through her at the thought of leaving Callie, but Callie would be in Eliza’s capable hands. Besides, hopefully she’d have good news for her friend by morning.
It was excruciating to see their typically laughing, lighthearted Callie in so much pain. She had deep circles under her eyes and stared, pale and drawn, at the newly budding trees in the park though the window of Eliza’s family’s sitting room, ignoring her friends’ conversation.
Ever since the shock of losing the diamonds the previous weekend, which few knew constituted all that remained of the Maple family fortune, Eliza and Genevieve had been feverishly worried for Callie. Genevieve, setting aside her own anxiety about whether or not she had retained her job and about the fiendish newspaper article and equally fiendish Clive, had joined Eliza to think of amusements that might distract their friend, including a trip to the popular Elmsbury tearoom, which they had attempted that afternoon.
It had been an absolute disaster.
Rumors of Genevieve’s scandalous behavior had spread.
She didn’t know by whom. Maybe someone had seen her
