The Peacock Throne by Lisa Karon Richardson

father and Mr Wolfe? To exact revenge at this late date? No, it’s more likely they demanded the location of the throne before they murdered them. He will either follow me or lie in wait for my return. And then I’ll have him.”
    â€œPerhaps he meant to ensure he would not be pursued or wanted to ensure their silence about the whole affair, or perhaps…” Harting shifted to stare at him with curious intensity. “Maybe the man was known to your father and he could not risk being identified to the authorities.”
    Anthony narrowed his eyes. “If—”
    â€œIf they have this information and are looking for the throne then time is of the essence,” Lydia said.
    Harting straightened his cuffs. “Such an expedition will be enormously expensive.”
    â€œI will go to any length in order to find those responsible for my father’s death.” Anthony glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s far too late this evening, but I shall begin making arrangements first thing in the morning.” Anthony began searching through one of the stacks of paper on the desk. He had been trying to sort through all the financial affairs and had seen something about a ship….
    â€œThere is one more problem.” Lydia was perched on the edge of her chair. “The confession does not specify the location of the throne. By design I would suppose.”
    Anthony dropped the document he was pursuing. She was right.
    Harting was smothering a grin.
    â€œThe diary. Perhaps there is a mention in there.” Anthony grabbed for the volume and began leafing through it. He stared at first one page and then another. The lines of ink were faded andstained in places, but the real problem was the penmanship. He couldn’t make anything of the script. “I can’t read this.”
    â€œPenmanship was not one of Mr Wolfe’s strengths. But I am usually able to decipher it.” Lydia extended a hand for the diary. “I would be pleased to assist you.”
    Anthony glanced at her and for the first time noticed a tear near the waistline of her dress. “It looks as if you are a trifle worse for wear.” He motioned towards the torn fabric. Harting, too, turned an intent gaze upon her. Anthony cringed inwardly. Drawing attention to the tear had been an ungentlemanly thing to do.
    Lydia grabbed at the cloth and clutched it together. “Lucky these are not my good clothes.”
    It was, in fact, the only garment she could call her own. In spite of his acute embarrassment, Anthony smiled. She was stout-hearted to offer jokes at her own expense after everything. He really must see to getting her settled in some suitable position before he left.
    He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We can get an early start in the morning.” He rose and stepped away from the desk.
    Harting and Lydia took the hint. Both stood to take their leave.
    Harting tapped the head of his cane with a long finger. “Just don’t attempt any more nefarious activities. You’ll get caught.”
    The man certainly had an abundance of highhanded gall. Anthony regretted being so forthcoming and showed him the door with little ceremony. He would be asking some questions about Mr Harting, that was for certain.
    Despite his indication to the others that he meant to seek his bed, he paused only long enough to remove his jacket, then returned to perusing the diary. He must wrest from it the secrets of that long-ago journey.

    Anthony cracked open a single eye and groaned. He’d lain his head down only for a moment, to rest his eyes, but now sun spilledthrough the gaps in the drapery and his face rested in a puddle of spittle. Wiping his mouth, he sat up and surveyed his desk. He had made almost no progress on the dratted diary.
    A footman entered and announced the arrival of Mr Harting. Anthony groaned, but nodded permission for the man to be shown in. “But bring in