Terrance leaned in to look at the pot, a slow grin spreading across his face as he eyed it. “Well now, isnae that something?” he said, reaching out to run rough fingers over the smooth surface of the pot. “Crafted by ye, was it?”
Charlie nodded, her gaze shifting between Terrance and Angela. Angela pulled up a stool for Charlie and then set about making tea. Terrance, meanwhile, kept Charlie engaged with discussions about the changes happening around Niall’s estate. She found herself relaxing in his company, finding him amiable and genuinely interested in her ideas. Angela returned and poured tea from the new pot into cups for each of them.
It was easy to forget her true purpose here, but she needed to get some time alone if she was going to find any answers.
As if on cue, Terrance stood up, pushing his chair back. “I think I’ll go finish up those chores before it gets too dark.” He winked at Charlie. “Ye’ll stay and keep Angie company, willnae ye?”
Charlie forced a smile, feeling a sudden stab of guilt for deceiving them. “No problem.”
Terrance left by the back door, leaving Charlie alone with Angela. Charlie cleared her throat.
“Could I use the privy?”
“Of course,” Angela said. She waved towards a door at the back of the room. “Through there, to the end of the hall and ye’ll find a door to the courtyard. The privy is just on the other side.”
Right. She would never get used to these outside toilets.
She climbed to her feet and followed Angela’s directions. Her heart began to race and she resisted the urge to hurry, trying to appear nonchalant as she left the kitchen by the door Angela indicated. Beyond, she found herself in a long, bare corridor with unplastered walls and flagstones on the floor. Clearly, this was part of the servants’ section of the house, which is what she didn’t want at all. Instead of following Angela’s instructions, she took a guess and turned left, soon finding herself at another door. She turned the handle and peeked through.
It opened out into a much grander hallway and she spotted the front door of the house directly ahead. To the right of this, a wide, sweeping staircase climbed to the upper level. Charlie paused, listening, but could hear nothing. The house was eerily quiet. Seizing her chance, she darted through the door, closing it quietly behind her, and darted up the staircase before she could have second thoughts.
It came out into a wide corridor with a thick rug running the length of the polished floorboards and dark oaken doors along the sides. Charlie crossed to the nearest, turned the handle, and poked her head through. A bedroom. Not what she needed. She moved to the next. Another bedroom. Still not what she needed.
Her heart rate ratcheted up at each delay, expecting any minute for Angela to come looking for her, and then the game would really be up. Three doors down, she came across one that was locked. She’d come prepared for this though and pulled a tiny, thin-bladed knife out of her pocket. She’d taken it from Knox’s work shed when he hadn’t been looking.
She slid the tip of the knife into the lock and began to wiggle it around. She’d learned how to pick a lock from the countless times she’d managed to lock herself out of her apartment after nights out as a student, but she had no idea if locks of this era would work in the same way.
She was in luck. She sagged in relief when she heard a ‘snick’ and was able to turn the handle and push the door open. It swung silently inwards, revealing a large, mahogany paneled room. This was not a bedroom, but a study or meeting room. Two plush armchairs sat in front of the cold fireplace and a large desk took pride of place by the window.
On cat’s paws, Charlie crossed to the desk. Part of her was screaming that this was insane, that she was going to get caught, but the other, more stubborn part of her refused to listen.
Carefully, she slid the desk drawers open one by one. The first held only quills and a jar of ink, the next had a leather-bound ledger filled with figures that made no sense to Charlie. The third drawer was locked.
Taking a long breath, she crouched and inserted the knife blade into the lock. This one was trickier and Charlie’s heart was galloping by the time she heard the telltale little click.
With trembling hands, she pulled the drawer open. A tied bundle of letters sat in the bottom. Hesitantly, she reached in and lifted them out. Pulling out the first one, she opened it and scanned the writing. It was written in code, just like the ones that Niall used to communicate with his employers. Pulse racing, Charlie examined the next, and the next. They were all coded. Why would that be unless they contained something MacAllister didn’t want seen?
She took two of the letters, folded them, and stuck them through the slit in her skirt that gave access to the ridiculous tie-on pockets that women of this time wore under their dresses. The remaining bundle she returned to the drawer and carefully closed it so MacAllister wouldn’t realize anything was missing.
She hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her, and ran back down the stairs as fast as she could. She was halfway along the corridor towards the door that led back into the servants’ part of the house when a voice spoke from behind her.
“Ye! What are ye doing here?”
Ice walked down Charlie’s spine. She turned and saw a tall figure standing in the doorway. Outside, on the drive, she could just make out a lathered horse being led away by Terrance.
Charlie’s heart leapt into her mouth as her gaze fixed on the figure’s angry face.
It was Boyd MacAllister.
