10
When her trunks arrived, the castle staff settled Elizabeth and her belongings in a southern-facing guest chamber overlooking Castle Harbrook’s rear garden.
After ridding herself of pink-and-blue chalk residue, she dashed off a quick message apprising her family of the change in plans, then painstakingly copied the map Miss Oak had loaned her in order to send a duplicate home to her siblings. If some discrepancy might indicate a secret hiding place, cartographer Tommy would be the one to spot it.
After dispatching her correspondence, Elizabeth took a much longer time going through her full stretching routine. Her newly clean body seemed to be holding steady at sixty-five percent, but there was no sense getting cocky and tempting fate. Who knew when she might have to take up arms again?
With luck, the answer was: soon. Elizabethlovedtaking up arms. Defending a castle was the mission she was born for. She just had to be ready.
Once her joints were as limber and supple as they were likely to be for the day, she began her search for the will—or at least a helpful clue—in the long corridor spanning the guest quarters. She tested every stone for cracks that might contain a slip of paper, felt behind every sconce, and inspected every looking glass.
Which was how she managed to trigger a hidden lever that dropped a hook that activated a pulley that lifted a chute that dispensed a row of iron balls that crashed into a miniature weighted wagon whose spinning wheels yanked a wire… that dislodged the carpet from under her feet.
Elizabeth flailed her arms for balance, cursing not beneath her breath but at the top of her lungs, in the hopes that Mr. Lenox would hear it wherever he was hiding. She managed to save herself from falling onto the stone floor, but the sudden twisting motions jarred her joints and hips enough to ensure she’d be limping for hours.
She gritted her teeth in fury and renewed determination. She would not let this case best her, or this castle, or its deranged temporary owner. A future orphanage of children were counting on her. Limping or not, she would find that damned will if it was the last thing she did.
By the time Elizabeth made her way back to the earl’s study, her fresh new morning gown was streaked with dust and her never-particularly-impressive patience was wearing thin.
“What the devil have you been doing?” Mr. Lenox asked, sliding partially out from beneath a hotchpotch of planks and tubes and wires.
“What I’ve been hired to do,” she snapped crossly. “Which shouldn’t include fending for my life against your utterly unnecessary contraptions. What the double-devil areyoudoing?”
He launched into a lively explanation about wood grains and counterbalances and geometry.
She blocked it out. Her attractive host had changed his clothes and put his abdominal muscles away. The rest of the details were superfluous.
The gist of his situation was obvious enough: He was an inveterate tinker who had rigged the entire castle with devices designed to entrap and confound enemies… and, apparently, the bodyguard stationed to protect him. As if medieval architecture wasn’t perilous enough.
The tinker was clearly spending the earl’s money on materials for his inventions. Which, to be fair, was arguably a better use of Densmore’s funds than losing all of the earldom’s resources at the gaming table.
Elizabeth crossed her arms and glared at him. She was trying to do things that would make a difference for her client, whilst Mr. Lenox was devoting his time to…this, whatever “this” was.
“Finding the will would be easier if you showed me how to avoid bumbling into traps meant for our enemies,” she groused uncharitably.
He paused with a nail in his mouth and a hammer in his fist. “You need my help?”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t need anything from anyone, especially you.”
He set down the hammer and craned his head to give her his full attention. “On my best day, I am dreadful at navigating interactions with other humans. But in our case, I believe you are objectively giving conflicting signals.”
“I’m vexed you changed shirts,” she muttered. “And that I’ve not solved the puzzle yet.”
“It’s been”—he checked his pocket watch—“three hours.”
“And yet, there’s been no sign of the will!” She threw her hands wide.
“All right.” Mr. Lenox spat the nail out from the corner of his mouth. He slid out from under his machine and brushed off his trousers. “I’ll help for a little bit. Not because you need assistance, but because two heads are more efficient, and it sounds like we both appreciate efficiency.”
“And both hate other people,” Elizabeth added. “That’s the best thing we have in common.”
“I said I can’tunderstandother people.”
She nodded. “That’s exactly what I hate about them.”
Living with her birth family had been awful. Everything about Elizabeth displeased them. If she asked for help, she was ridiculed as weak. If she attempted to do more than her body allowed, she would wind up on the floor gasping in pain, so she was disparaged as worthless. If she tried to explain her physical limitations, she was called a liar and assigned even more grueling tasks in retaliation. Which of course she could not complete in the short time allotted, causing the cycle to start all over again. Things only got worse when they rejected her altogether and sent her to live with even harsher guardians.
Many years later, once Elizabeth had found the kindhearted, multi-talented Wynchesters, she learned that the mere presence of a sword was often more than enough deterrent to attacks, whether physical or verbal. Was it any wonder she’d vowed never to lower her defenses to outsiders again?
