As the hour grew late, she resigned herself to failure and began making her way back towards the family wing. Yet as she passed Lord Boulton’s room, desperation overcame caution.
One final room.
Surely fate owed her something after all this.
Charlotte approached slowly and knocked first.
‘Hello?’ she called softly.
There was no answer.
After one last glance along the corridor, she turned the handle and slipped inside.
The moment the door closed behind her, she crept past the bed and towards the dressing table, every creak of the floorboards sounding deafening beneath her slippers.
Taking a steadying breath, she glanced around. The room smelled strongly of stale brandy and cigar smoke.
‘Three months ago,’ she muttered bitterly beneath her breath, ‘I was attending soirées. Now I am voluntarily disguised as a soot-smeared scullery maid. Mama would expire on the spot.’
She searched the wardrobe first, rifling carefully through coats and waistcoats, though she had little idea what precisely she hoped to find.
Nothing.
She moved to the dressing table. A few items lay scattered across its surface: perfume bottles, a hairbrush, shaving utensils.
Then something caught her eye.
A ring.
Charlotte felt a jolt of recognition.
Slowly, she picked it up and examined the enamel beneath the candlelight.
A rose entwined with a winding vine.
Exactly like the symbol upon the parchment Matthew Stanley had given her.
The realisation landed with uncomfortable force.
So Lord Boulton was indeed an Odd Fellow.
And now she had proof.
Suddenly, a calloused, beefy hand seized her wrist and yanked her backwards against a barrel-like chest.
Charlotte nearly cried out.
Lord Boulton towered over her, swaying slightly with drink, his flushed face split by a revolting grin whilst greasy yellow locks spilled across his brows, half concealing his small eyes.
‘Hullo, sweetie.’ He ogled her.
Charlotte yanked away in disgust. ‘I am merely the scullery maid, sir. Not a lady entertainer.’ At least he did not recognise her.
He tightened his grip painfully. ‘Scullery maid, eh?’ He leaned closer and sniffed at her neck. ‘You smell too gorgeous for that. Perhaps we can have ourselves a little sport anyway. I’ll give you a crown.’
Charlotte recoiled.
Oh dear... what now?
