Sam ground his teeth so hard he thought they might shatter. With one hand he gripped the slippery ledge, and with the other, he wiggled the knife, then smacked it, nearly sending himself backward off the wall in the process.
The latch clicked, the window rising just a hair. Sam could have melted with relief right back down to the ground, but as it stood, he feared escaping death twice in one lifetime wasn’t in the cards.
He gripped the ledge with his left hand and pushed with his right. The window slid up enough edge his shoulders through. The pressure on his chest made his rib feel like it was cracking all over again. He wouldn’t be climbing out this window. Whatever he had to do, he was walking out through a proper door.
Below him, Chase had already passed the first-floor window. Sam considered kicking him in the face, but no. Lord only knew what kind of debt he’d owe the widow then. With a final push, he slithered to the floor, catching himself with his one good arm and tucking into a roll. He lay there a moment, unable to breatheas his rib screamed. Chase climbed through with an elegance that revealed he’d done this sort of thing hundreds of times.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“I’m dying,” Sam wheezed.
“Take a minute. Wait here.”
Chase left him on the floor, investigating the room in total darkness with a predator’s sure gaze.
Sam drew in a breath and rolled to his left, pushing himself to his knees and then his feet. Tomorrow he’d be too sore to leave his bed.
Chase had a slight hobble.
“You’re hurt?”
“Bloody hound got a nip of my calf. I’m fine.”
“Oh, so you climbed the trellis lame and bleeding,” Sam said somewhat bitterly.
Chase shrugged.
Sam’s pride took a hit, but he decided not to care just now. He had no use for climbing trellises in the rain in future. As long as he could satisfy Daisy, what more did he need in life? Holding his left arm to his side, he scanned the room. It was covered in wall-to-wall shelving—as if a stately library had been cleared of books—and its vast space was filled with an assortment of relics and morbid objects encased in glass. Weapons, bones, sculptures, anything and everything that one could imagine. Including what Sam was sure was a human skull. And to think Daisy would have been subjected to this family. Who was worse, Lord Claystone, his wife, or Cliffton?
Chase hobbled up the stairs to the second level of the former library and began reviewing the items up there.
“You said the chest was in the study.”
“Leave no stone unturned,” Chase replied gruffly.
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find Lady Claystone’s diary.”
It wouldn’t be in here. This was Lord Claystone’s madness on display. If he’d learned anything about women from his sister, it was that their secrets were kept close, near their most private possessions.
Sam moved to the door leading to the hall. He turned the lock and opened the door slowly. The noise of many people came from the main stair, a party in full swing. He eased out into the hall, spotting no one. Sam stealthily moved down the hall, which was lit by a lone oil lamp on a side table. He tested one door and found a gentleman’s bed chamber. Lord Claystone’s, no doubt. He would want to be close to his treasures. Farther down he found another door. This bedroom reeked of perfume and powder. Sam entered, the room softly lit by the fire in the hearth and two lamps. Sam hurried in and closed the door. He went for the bed first, digging under pillows and sliding his hand under the mattress. Then he peered under the bed. Nothing. Nary a speck of dust. He sighed and went into the dressing room, the darkness suffocating after that brief stint in light. Sam went by touch, digging through undergarments and stockings.
“Where would a lady like the countess keep her diary?” he mused aloud.
Sam snapped his fingers. Her writing desk—because she wouldn’t conceive of anyone daring to invade her privacy. She held her world in a tightfisted grip.
The door to the hall suddenly opened, and Sam dove into a wall of gowns. He tucked his knees up against his chest and hoped it was Chase, but the chatter that entered the room told him otherwise.
Two maids came into the dressing room. One opened a jewelry box under the watch of the other and placed something inside. Then they turned and left.
Sam rested his head against the wall at his back and waited a moment more. This night couldn’t end fast enough. He climbedout from behind the gowns, wincing as he stood. He was too young to feel this weak and sore. He stalked into the bedroom to inspect the writing desk. Sam opened the top, then the drawers, but one was locked.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He couldn’t count on luck for anything. He’d probably used up all he had for his lifetime.
The door opened again and Sam froze, but this time it was Chase with a small chest under his arm. Suffice it to say he’d achieved his goal.
“I think it’s in this drawer,” Sam said.
Chase sauntered forward. With his free hand he pulled a ring of small tools out of his pocket. “This one. Slide it in and give a good wiggle and shove.”
