She arched a brow as she took the paper. “It seems you’re a nighthawk yourself.”
“I’ve never been one to sleep overmuch, which gives me time to pursue other interests.”
“Such as devising pranks for your staff?”
He grinned. “You have a very clever mind, Miss Dalton.”
“I suspect you do as well, Barnaby. Good night.” She swept past him while unfolding the note. Familiar handwriting scrawled across the page.
Tomorrow evening. Half past eight.
Physic Garden fountain.
Five pounds for a collection of faience amulets.
—Dandrae
Hmm. She refolded the paper as she climbed the grand stairway. The museum was always happy to purchase amulets, and five pounds was a steal—literally.
She padded down the corridor, biting her lip. How could she reconcile taking time away to broker a deal with the fact that Mr. Price had made it abundantly clear she was to have all his artifacts catalogued and valued within the month?
Bother. She huffed a sigh as she reached her bedroom door. Should she take hours away from her job here? And if so, how would she explain her absence to Mr. Price?
She forced open her door harder than necessary. This was exactly the sort of dilemma she’d been hoping to avoid.
Of all the bloomin’ greenery a wealthy Oxford estate could have planted beneath a window, it had to be rosemary? Brudge glowered as he duck-walked in the thin space between shrubbery and stone wall, the scent churning the beans he’d eaten for dinner. Bad memories barreled back of his mother forcing spoonfuls of vile rosemary oil down his throat, claiming it wasgood for a lad. Bogger! She may as well have whacked his head with a brick for all the good that had done him.
He edged closer to the only window with a lamp yet glowing in the big house. Blast that Scupper. They should’ve gotten here hours ago when there would have been more glass-peeping opportunities, but the oaf had insisted they stop by a barber for a quick yank of his sore tooth. What a blubbering baby. And he’d better not still be whimpering while he minded the horses. If the big dolt gave away their presence, he’d knock loose a few more of the man’s teeth.
Anchoring himself beneath the windowsill, Brudge slowly rose, stopping when he barely cleared the wooden frame. What luck! There she was, the devious little Shadow Broker, sitting at the far side of a table that could seat at least fifty. A fortuitous find if expensive. Parting with that fiver to Dandrae to discover her whereabouts had considerably lightened his money purse.
Without warning, her gaze shot to him.
Brudge dropped. Then waited, ears straining for the woman’s footfall, and ... Ahhh, blessed silence from inside.
Once again he eased upward. This time his gaze locked on the ugly statue in her hands. Lamplight glinted on its golden surface. Now, there was a right royal piece! Quite an improvement from a hunk of carved rock.
His gaze drifted upward, mind whirring to calculate if he could stuff his body through the narrow gap of the open window. It had to be just shy of two handspans. He would wriggle through no problem, but she’d likely hear him. Not that a skirt could best a strapping man like himself, but one rip-snapping scream and who knew who’d come to her rescue. And at such a distance from the window to that golden gem, he’d never make it back outside before getting collared. No, snatching the thing now was out of the question ... but besides a true-aim hand in a game of darts, patience was his strong suit. He’d simply wait her out. Slip in once she left the room.
And leave her to brunt the blame for a missing golden trinket.
He smiled at the thought. Served her right for crossing him. Thighs cramping, he shifted his position. He’d been hunkering down for who knew how long when footsteps clapped on the tiled flooring.
“Who’s there? Show yourself.” The woman’s voice drowned out the crickets.
Brudge held his breath. If she spotted him now, would he be able to make it back to the horses before the gamekeeper released the dogs? Then again, with one quick swipe, he could simply jump up and yank the girl outside, knock her in the head, then—
Slam.
He winced lest shards of broken glass rain down from such a rude closing of the window. None did.
Well. That put an end to things.
For now.
Brudge waddled out of the bushes, rosemary branches scratching his face. Once cleared of the demon shrubbery, he paused while scanning the open lawn between the house and wood line. Satisfied no one was about, he sprinted. By the time he reached Scupper, his lungs heaved.
Scupper rose from where he’d leaned against a tree, one hand pressed to the sore side of his mouth. “Ye find ’er, guv’ner?”
