“No idea,” Tommy answered cheerfully. “I’m counting on you two to let me know when we’ve found what we came for.”
“I’ll take the desk,” said Viv.
She settled into the tall, well-cushioned armchair. It felt like floating on a cloud. Good God, how did Mr. Olivebury get any work done? She could sleep in this thing.
Tommy tossed her the ring of keys. “If any of the drawers are locked, one of these might work.”
“Thank you.”
Viv peeked under her eyelashes at Jacob. He was on his knees before the bookshelf, releasing a quartet of mice from his coat pockets.
“What are they trained to sniff again?” Viv asked. She knew the answer but liked the warm rumble of Jacob’s voice.
He pointed at each mouse in turn. “Opium. Gunpowder. Pound-note ink. Refined sugar.”
Viv had her doubts that the answer to the mystery lay in a missing box of chocolates, but then again, if someone had broken into her house and stolen her emergency candy supply, she might not have wished to tell the newspapers about her secret addiction, either.
Just like she didn’t wish to admit her fascination with a certain Wynchester.
Despite herself, Viv could not help but be charmed by the handsome poet. Jacob was an unpublished writer like herself, and a sweetheart of a man around whom animals flocked like mystical fairy tales. If he’d told her his trained mice could lead them to gold, silver, uncut diamonds, and whooper swans, she absolutely would have believed it.
Jacob stroked the short fur behind the ears of the currency-sniffing mouse, which wiggled in obvious pleasure.
Viv couldn’t blame the creature. She’d reacted in much the same way when Jacob had caressed her wrist. Which was why she’d run from the barn rather than acknowledge her obvious attraction.
Ever since that day, Viv had wished she’d stayed a little longer. Experienced a few more strokes of his finger. Perhaps even—
The door to the study flew open.
Shite! Viv leaped up from the chair and shoved the ring of keys into her pocket. She hadn’t even had a chance to try them yet, and already they’d been caught in the act.
The hall boy stood in the open doorway, this time flanked by two young maids.
Reinforcements. Not a good sign.
“What do you think you’re doing in here?” demanded the elder of the two maids.
Jacob’s turn to deflect suspicion.
He’d made a nearly inaudible whistle, and now all four trained mice scrambled back and forth across the expensive carpet as if the politician’s study doubled as a playground for rodents.
“Chased these creatures in,” Jacob replied briskly. “If you’d like to wait out in the corridor, I’m sure I’ll have them rounded up in no time.”
To Viv’s surprise, the maids did not cringe back in alarm. If anything, they looked relieved that there was such a simple explanation for the trespassing.
“I told you that mouser isn’t worth a boiled bean,” the younger maid said to the older one. “We ought to acquire a new one, if you ask me.”
“Pah,” said the hall boy. “Who needs cats when you have me? I’ll catch these mice and wring their necks quick as you can say ‘squeak.’”
He dashed forward, arms outstretched, a mean smile stretching his lips.
Jacob brought his fist to his lips as if covering a cough—though in fact he was hiding another barely audible whistle.
All four mice immediately ceased crisscrossing the carpet and vanished into the shadows instead.
The hall boy stumbled, glancing around the study in confusion.
“You can wring the rodents’ necks later,” said the older maid. “I’ll have the mouser sent in. But all humans must exit. No one is to be in the master’s study without him present.”
