Nothing.And a quick check with the span of her fingers confirmed that there was no hidden space. After replacing everything exactly as it had been, she closed and relocked the lid.
Charlotte was allowing herself a quarter hour for the search. She gauged that she had maybe eleven minutes left.
The chest of drawers contained nothing but gloves, shawls, and small clothes. Moving around the four-poster bed, she saw the night table held only a glass-globed oil lamp and a book. Within its pages was a bookmark, but no other papers.
Behind her, the clock on the mantel was ticking off the seconds.
Hearing no disturbance in the corridor, she ducked into the dressing room. A large painted armoire held a number of gowns, while next to it sat two trunks with several smaller traveling cases stacked next to them. Faced with a choice, Charlotte made her decision quickly and headed for the luggage. If the letters were hidden within the silks and satins, they would remain safe from her prying eyes.
Unlatching the small brass-banded box that sat atop the others revealed a collection of pens, bottled inks, and sealing wax. No papers, and the thin layer of felt was glued tightly to the interior wood, allowing no hiding place.
The sense of urgency was growing. Drawing a breath to settle her spiking nerves, Charlotte quickly shut it and moved on to the next one.
Damn.It held only ribbon-trimmed ballroom slippers.
The dark, smooth ebony of the bottom case was cold to the touch—or maybe it was just that the blood pulsing through her fumbling fingers was heating to a hellfire pitch. It took several tries to open it before she realized it was locked. Once again, she plucked the pin from her hair and worked the catch free.
Charlotte felt a spurt of surprise on seeing the contents were all items belonging to a gentleman. She picked up the handsome pocketwatch and turned it over.EJAwere the ornate entwined initials engraved in the gold case.Her husband’s personal effects?That made perfect sense. Mrs. Ashton would naturally wish to ensure they were kept safe.
Logic said there was nothing to be gained by a further search. But a hunch was prickling at the tips of her fingers so Charlotte delved deeper. Several briarwood pipes . . . a pouch of watch fobs, a battered leather sketchbook . . .
Was that a noise coming from the corridor?
She pulled it free and began thumbing through the pages.Faster, faster.
More sounds—she couldn’t linger any longer.
As the cover snapped shut, a small folded sheet of stationery fluttered free. A rushed look showed it was addressed to Isobel. That was enough to make up her mind. Charlotte jammed it down her bodice and hurriedly put everything back in order.
A quick dash brought her to the doorway, where she halted to cock an ear.
Octavia’s voice rose from the foot of the stairs. “. . . sufferingabeastlyheadache. I fear the smallest sound will beagonyto her.”
Charlotte rushed to Octavia’s door and after fluffing her skirt, assumed a slow, shuffling step as she headed for the landing.
“I apologize for upsetting the household,” she said weakly.
Both Mrs. Ashton and Octavia looked up. A man was standing several paces behind the widow. He, too, darted a glance at Charlotte, then quickly averted his eyes. Head bowed, he began toying with the brim of his hat.
“There is no need to apologize, Mrs. Sloane,” said Octavia. “Illness is nothing to trifle with. You must rest for as long as need be.” She turned to Mrs. Ashton. “I’m sure you agree.”
“Of course,” answered the widow slowly. “I simply need a moment to fetch some papers from my desk for Mr. Blodgett before he leaves, then we’ll leave you in peace and quiet until you’re feeling better, Mrs. Sloane.”
“That’s very kind of you, but it’s truly not necessary. The worst has passed.” Charlotte started down, leaning heavily on the bannister. “Indeed, I think it best if I return to my residence, where I have powders to help prevent a further attack. My maid is still delayed at the modiste shop . . . but Miss Merton, if I might trouble you to accompany me in a hackney . . .”
“I would be happy to do so.” With a rustling of skirts, Octavia joined her on the stairs. “Please allow me to assist you.”
“Thank you,” murmured Charlotte, accepting her friend’s arm.
Mrs. Ashton stepped aside to let them pass. “I do hope you’ll recover quickly.”
“Thankfully the attacks come infrequently, but alas, they give no warning.” She gave a small wince. “And tend to be severe while they last.”
“Then please don’t let me keep you,” replied Mrs. Ashton.
Blodgett shuffled back deeper into the shadows to make room for them to move through the archway leading to theentrance hall. He was a handsome man, noted Charlotte in passing. His gaze kept darting to the widow—the woman seemed to attract men like flies to honey—but as he shifted, his eyes met with Charlotte’s for an instant.
Passion.For all his show of proper subservience, Charlotte caught the hot spark of some fierce emotion before he looked away.
