December 2nd, 1892 - Greengrass House, Ford's room

Noble snooped, sometimes. He liked to have a sense of what was happening in the house, and if he bothered justifying it to himself, it was usually because this had been his house first. Usually he did not find anything interesting. Today, though — today he had, and he'd snatched the letters and fled to his own room before he could even really think about them. Noble read through them twice, and then dawdled — Mama was chaperoning the girls tonight, so the Greengrass boys had the house to themselves, or would if Ford ever came home. He scurried over to Ford's room and left the letters on the desk, although he wasn't sure they were in order, and they were a little more wrinkled than they had been before from when he'd pressed them under his jacket between their rooms.

Noble was drinking gin in the parlor when Ford came home in the green firelight rush of the floo. "Hey," he said, leaning forward in his seat — he couldn't help but look nervous, his hair was askew and he'd been working at his cufflinks for ages, one was buttoned and the other wasn't. "Where've you been?"

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