Marjory only rolled her eyes at that.
Amelia unbuttoned her cloak and handed it to her sister. Amongst the rubbish piled up beneath the window, there was a half-rotten box thatmighthold her weight. She eased it over, gingerly placing her foot on it. It held her weight, more or less, and she gripped the windowsill tentatively, hauling herself up.
It was not an easy process. The sill was wide, to be sure, and the window swung open with ease, but Amelia could not gain any purchase on the slimy bricks to push herself up.
There was no movement or cry of alarm inside the room, which was reassuring, at the very least. At last, Amelia managed to scramble upward, get her elbows onto the sill, and from there pull herself over it, plunging headfirst onto an unforgiving stone floor.
“Amelia?” came Marjory’s muffled voice from outside. “Did you fall? Are you hurt? That was a very loud bang.”
Amelia sat up gingerly, pressing her fingertips to the new bruise forming on her forehead.
“I’m fine,” she responded, wincing. “I just knocked my head a little. Stay out there, and keep a sharp eye.Idon’t want to go to gaol, either.”
She rose uncertainly to her feet and took a moment to ascertain where she was.
The room appeared to be a storeroom, with a single closed door presumably leading to the rest of the building. Judging by the heavy, musty smell in the air, it was seldom used.
A few dusty, cobweb-littered barrels and crates cluttered up the corners, along with a few surprisingly well-maintained pieces of furniture, including a chest of drawers with a tarnished mirror set on top of it. The floor was plain stone, the walls whitewashed.
Movement in the corner caught her eye, and she spotted a mouse scrambling to safety.
Thank heavens I have never been the sort who shied away from mice or spiders,Amelia thought with a wince, and set to work.
Marjory’s notebook was nowhere to be seen. If she had indeed dropped it on the floor beneath the window, it could easily have slid underneath a piece of furniture or behind a box.
Amelia tiptoed between the boxes and crates, disturbing spiders and a great deal of dust. She was caught in the midst of a tremendous coughing fit when a scuttling noise drew her attention to the window, where Marjory was climbing in.
Dismay filled her.
“No, Marjory,” Amelia choked out, eyes streaming. “I told you to wait outside!”
“Well, you were coughing rather badly,” Marjory responded. “I thought you might be choking.”
“It is just from all the dust. I am going to wring your neck like a chicken when we get out of here.”
“No, you are not,” Marjory responded blithely. “You can’t wring the necks of actual chickens, so I believe that I am safe. Do you have my notebook?”
“I cannot find it. Perhaps we should just go. Even if somebodydidfind it and happened to read it, perhaps all will be well.”
Marjory shook her head grimly. “No, Amelia. I have other notes in there. Bits of gossip I have picked up, scandals, and so on. Ihavenamesin there, and some of it has already been published under what should have been an anonymous name.”
Amelia groaned aloud. “Why did you have to be a writer, Marjory? Why could you not have a talent for something a little less dangerous?”
“Such as finding and marrying rich men?” Marjory countered, peering at her sister over her spectacles. “As the eldest sister, I believe that isyourjob.”
Amelia reddened. “I think not. Men are hardly trustworthy creatures, and the rich ones are even worse.”
“Perhaps you are prejudiced.”
“Prejudiced, yes. Incorrect, no. Come, let’s hurry. I want to find that notebook and get out of here.”
Marjory wandered over to the chest of drawers, pulling open each drawer in turn.
“There are boxing gloves in here,” she remarked, mildly interested.
“Your notebook will not beinsidethe drawers, Marjory,” Amelia admonished.
In true little-sisterly fashion, however, Marjory took no notice.
