Chapter Fifteen
Jaxsen’s luck had been of the rotten variety. Volland was very much awake and was much better at home security than most. The estate’s entrance had a lock that wasn’t easily picked, and the servant entrances were all secured. When she finally did find a window that gave way when she tried to open it, a maid began cleaning in that room.
At midnight.
What maid cleaned random rooms at midnight?
She frowned. The kind that were accustomed to entertaining evening guests who didn’t stay in bedrooms but held conversations in parlors usually only used in the day.
After waiting far too long for the maid to finish her work, Jaxsen snuck into the window, a silent groan stifled as she noted the muddy state of her boots.
After sliding them off, she dropped them out the window and behind a small bush.
From the impeccably clean parlor, she made her way cautiously down the hall toward the spilled light from open doors. For all his ability as a businessman, Volland’s home was sparsely furnished. It was risky, being in the open hall. As a merchant, she’d expected him to have artifacts and goods from foreign places, but it was nearly bare and neat as a pin -- no tapestries to hide behind and no tables to duck under.
Taking a deep breath, she silently tiptoed in her stockinged feet toward the door and listened. The sound of rustling paper was the only noise in the loud silence. The clock chimed, startling her, and she heard a low curse before the scaping of a chair against a wooden floor.
Jaxsen quickly noted several escape routes but gambled on a door beside her. Upon a glance inside, it was dark, so she slid in, waiting.
The sound of footsteps indicated that Volland had left his study and was retreating down the hall in the direction of the door.
Mentally, she calculated the hour, remembering the earlier chimes.
It was the same time they had visited the gambling hall, when Daverson and Wessix had wagered, lost intentionally, and then vacated the premises to visit the house down the street.
Was he heading there now?
Jaxsen waited, practicing the patience she’d so carefully cultivated, and when the faint jingle of a harness reached her ears, she counted five more minutes before slowly turning the cool brass doorknob and peeking into the hall.
It was silent.
She waited one more moment then tiptoed toward what she assumed was his study. Peeking around the corner, she noted the low burning fire and an immaculate desk.
Frowning with disappointment, she made sure she was truly alone and quickly searched the desk, the drawers, everything.
Blank paper and wax were in one drawer.
Another held empty black ledgers.
And one more held a small flask.
She bit her lip and glanced around the room. It was sparsely furnished as well, with only the bare minimum.
Then as if a candle had been lit, the room made sense.
He wasn’t staying there.
He was in the process of moving.
To France?
She searched for a sideboard -- brandy, snifters, anything that a self-respecting Englishman would have in this study.
Nothing.
All important documents? Gone.
It could only mean two things.
