The private back office of Drew & Sons Antiques & Hardware on Church Street in Harrowby smelled of beeswax furniture polish, old cedar drawers, gun oil, and dried bookkeeping ink. High dark wood display cabinets lined the walls, holding Victorian brass sextants, antique pocket watches, silver tea services, and velvet-lined trays of foreign coins. Rain beat a steady, rhythmic rhythm against the heavy barred sash window that looked out onto the churchyard.
Tamsin Drew sat behind a massive dark wood kneehole desk, wearing a green baize apron over his tweed waistcoat, a jeweler’s binocular magnifying glass pushed up on his forehead. Spread flat before him was the large calfskin trade ledger, its double-entry columns ruled with red ink and filled with dense black script. On a velvet jeweler’s pad in the center of the desk sat five heavy silver coins. Their milled edges shone under the green-shaded brass banker’s lamp.
Opposite him sat Ben Morland, still wearing his stained boiler suit, his rough hands resting flat on his knees. In his breast pocket he carried Ada’s medical receipts from the Harrowby chemist and the town contract cancellation notice from the district school board. A pot of boiled tea sat on an iron trivet beside a plate of sourdough crust, steam rising faintly into the warm air.
