The clouds had thickened, and a few windblown raindrops were spattering the window glass.
“You’ve the more artistic eye,” he said, easing open one of the drawers. “See if you spot any signs of a hidey-hole within the statues. Then move on to the storage cabinets.”
They worked in methodical silence, with naught but the sigh of paper and the whisper of opening and closing drawers joining the patter of the rain.
Charlotte decided not to spend much of their precious time on the statues. The elaborate carving and inlaid glass made it difficult to discern any telltale seams of a secret compartment. After circling the room, she returned to the storage cabinets, which each contained multiple drawers filled with neatly filed folders.
Luck.They would have to be extraordinarily lucky to find the dratted papers.
She finished with one row of financial reports—Ye heavens, it seemed that half the wealth of the world must pass through the Company—and moved on to the next one. Halfway through it, she paused to flex a crick from her neck....
And froze.
Footsteps.Beating a hurried tattoo on the marble floor and coming closer.
“Someone’s coming,” she hissed and quickly blew out her own flame.A night watchman making his rounds?Then perhaps he would simply turn away at the first locked doors.
Wrexford wasn’t counting on that. “There’s no time to flee,” he responded, batting the air to disperse the tiny curls of smoke. “We need to hide.”
Charlotte was already moving for the massive elephant-headed deity standing in the far corner, flanking the tall bank of mullioned windows. Having made a careful inspection, she knew there was room behind it. Better still, heavy damask draperies hung within the deep shadows.
“In here,” she urged, finding an opening within the folds.
He squeezed in, and she followed, then flattened her back against his chest and twitched the fabric back in place.
The scrape of key sounded in one of the locks.
To her horror, she felt the earl move . . . but it was only to make a tiny peephole.
More scraping . . . the brush of boots over the woven carpet. . . the strike of flint against steel.
And then the tiny sputter of a candle coming to life.
Charlotte held her breath, hoping the darkness muddled the shape of the draperies enough to hide their presence.
A cabinet opened. Rustling . . . and then a metallicthunk. She leaned back, just enough to see through the slivered opening. The flickering flame revealed a lone figure in a caped coat, but she couldn’t see his face. He had just placed a brass box on the counter and was hurriedly unfastening the lid.
She felt Wrexford fist his hands in frustration as the gentleman pulled out a set of folded documents and clicked the lid shut. After a quick look at the papers, he tucked them inside his coat and quickly returned the box to the cabinet.
He turned and, with a quick puff, blew out the candle and stepped out of view.
It seemed like an eternity before the sounds of his retreat faded, leaving only the spit of rain to keep them company.
Chuffing an oath, the earl pushed through the fabric.
“Was it Copley?” she asked.
He nodded. “How is it the bloody dastards keep staying one step ahead of us?”
“Perhaps because they’re impelled by panic,” she replied. “We’re breathing down their necks.”
“Always the optimist,” growled Wrexford. After glancing around the room, he gave a shrug. “Come, there’s no point in lingering here.”
She followed him to the outer office and paused while he reset the locks. The papers had slipped through their fingers tonight, but perhaps all was not lost. An idea was beginning to form....
Her mind on their next move, Charlotte trailed the earl into the main workroom. Halfway down the center aisle, she slipped on a patch of wetness and bumped into one of the long work desks.
Wrexford turned and speared her with a silent rebuke.
