Chapter 12: The Old Records

James read the first ledger standing up, which he never did.

Then he sat down on the floor and read the rest.

Grant and Harry were out.

Matthew had summoned them to his rooms for the evening.

The common room was empty except for a stove, a lamp and a stack of green books.

Felix sat cross-legged opposite him, eating nothing, which was how James knew how worried he was.

"That's your mother's hand," Felix said quietly. "At the bottom of each page."

James looked at the signature.

Lady Phoenix, in a small clear script, with a flourish under the P.

The host's memory rose in him, warm and aching.

A kitchen, a woman laughing, a pair of cold hands on his cheeks.

He had never met her.

He found, to his surprise, that he missed her anyway.

"She wrote no interest on every loan," James said. His voice sounded odd. "Every single one."

"Forty books of it."

"And Matthew's name is only here." James turned the last page. "Delivered by M. Phoenix, clerk of the household."

"He carried the letters. That's all."

"Odds that Matthew is a liar," said James, "are ninety-eight percent."

"And the other two percent?"

"Maybe he's also a very bad clerk."

Felix laughed, and then stopped, and put his hand over his eyes.

"I ate bark, James," he said into his palm. "I thanked the wrong family for ten years."

"You were twelve."

"I'm twenty-two now. I should have asked."

"You were told not to." James reached across the stack of ledgers and took his wrist.

"Nobody asks until somebody gives them a reason. Now you have one."

Felix lowered his hand.

His eyes were red, and he looked at James for a long moment.

"I should be furious," he said. "I will be, tomorrow."

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