Whoever had curated the records of the original Sinners Club had done an excellent job. The content of each box was meticulously recorded in a document placed at the top of the box and organized by date and by subject matter. As a result, Diana knew rather too much about the kitchen accounts and how much alcohol the Sinners consumed and even where it had been obtained. But she hadn’t found anything of a more personal nature. Not even a hint about the origins of the club, or the person she was attempting to trace. Nico had warned her, but she thought she’d find something, some little trace that would’ve escaped a man’s eye. And she knew more than she’d told Nico. Some things were too private to ever share. She sat in the front attic of the house, a cushion on the bare floorboards beneath her bottom and a candelabrum at her side. It was quite late and none of her employers, male or female, were supposed to be home. Even Mr. Maclean had gone out, but she suspected he’d done that deliberately to avoid her reminding him that it was Friday night.
