She Sold Paintings on the Street to Survive — Until the Wealthy Merchant’s Offer Shocked Everyone!
Chapter 6
The next clue was hidden inside Clara’s mother’s portrait.
Clara discovered it while cleaning the frame.
A small folded letter had been placed beneath the backing.
The handwriting was her mother’s.
Nathaniel must never trust the man who carries the black cane.
Clara read it twice.
Then she looked at Nathaniel.
He carried a silver-headed cane.
Not black.
“Your mother was warning me about someone else,” Nathaniel said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Then the door opened.
Harold Bell entered.
He carried a black walking cane.
Clara’s blood ran cold.
Bell noticed the letter in her hand.
For the first time, his polite expression disappeared.
“You should not have found that.”
Nathaniel stepped between them.
“What did you do to Samuel?”
Bell smiled.
“Nothing.”
“You were in the warehouse.”
“Twenty years ago.”
“You were there.”
Bell’s eyes moved toward Clara.
“Your father was stubborn.”
“He was murdered.”
Bell sighed.
“Perhaps.”
Nathaniel raised his pistol.
“Tell us the truth.”
Bell laughed.
“You still think truth matters to men who own half the river?”
Nathaniel’s face darkened.
“You are finished.”
“No.”
Bell stepped backward.
“You are.”
He pulled a pistol from beneath his coat.
A shot cracked through the room.
The mirror shattered.
Clara screamed.
Nathaniel fired.
Bell fled.
They chased him down the corridor, but he reached the rear door and disappeared into the rain.
On the floor, Clara found a small metal object.
A seal.
It bore the same damaged eagle from the painting.
Nathaniel stared at it.
“That belongs to Edmund Blackwell.”
Clara looked up.
“Then Bell works for him.”
Nathaniel shook his head.
“Perhaps.”
“You said he was dead.”
“I was wrong.”
That evening, Nathaniel received a letter.
No signature.
Only one sentence.
Stop searching, or Clara will suffer the same fate as her father.
Clara read it.
She did not cry.
Instead, she folded the letter carefully.
Then she said:
“We need to find Edmund Blackwell.”
Nathaniel looked at her.
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“Then how will we?”
Clara pointed to the old painting.
“The ship.”
Nathaniel understood.
The damaged eagle marked Blackwell’s private fleet.
“If he survived,” Clara said, “he would need a port.”
Nathaniel opened an old map.
There was one place where a ship bearing that mark had been reported.
A small coastal settlement three days south.
They left before dawn.
