“Steady,” Thomas whispered, leaning in toward her ear and patting her hand. “We won’t be here long.”
Welcome my lord, my lady, a man’s voice sounded as they rounded the corner into the parlor. Sarah looked up to see a foppishly dressed man approaching them with a grand smile. His suit glinted in the candlelight, hinting of silks and satins, light bounced off of his smartly polished boots, his vest boasted a broad swath of embroidery, and his shortly cropped, thinning hair sent all available locks angling toward the front of the head where they were most in need.
“I believe this is your first visit, is it not?” He asked Thomas.
“It is. Your establishment came highly recommended by friends.”
“I’m glad to hear it my Lord, glad to hear it. The man cast a glance in Sarah’s direction and again she found herself sidling up to Thomas and lowering her own eyes in response.
“A shy one,” the man noted. “Always the most intriguing, are they not?”
Thomas nodded but didn’t respond, tightening his grip on her hand.
“You’ll find your room upstairs, third door on the right, the Venetian room.” The man turned away from them to inspect a shelf of keys. After running an index finger along one row, he snapped up a set of keys and handed them over to Thomas. “Please do take your time and enjoy all the amenities provided.” He gave smile which reminded Sarah of a rat. “I must ask though, it’s your first time here, yet you requested a specific room?” He narrowed his gaze at Thomas.
Again, Thomas nodded. “A room suggested by your other patrons. My friends know my infatuation with all things Italian, in particular the artistic treasures of Venice.”
“The man pursed his lips, looking Thomas up and down. “I am sure the space will not disappoint.” He gave a small bow to indicate the end of the conversation as he turned back to his desk. Thomas turned them about, returning to the hall and leading Sarah up the stairs.
Once upstairs, a different atmosphere presented itself. Though no people lingered in the hall, the evidence of additional patrons in the home spilled out in auditory form. Almost every room they passed emitted some sort of noise, from laughter to shouting to random banging about as if the furniture were being moved.
Intermingled with these more mundane noises were additional sounds new to Sarah’s ears, but though she’d never heard them before, she knew what they referenced. Soft moans and groans, here and there and impassioned cry, and even the occasional panting accompanied by the rattle of a doorknob to indicate that the owner of the voice was just on the other side of the door.
At the far end of the hall, a man akin to the entryway gatekeeper’s twin stood, arms crossed over his chest and looking distinctly dissatisfied with his life.
Sarah’s eyes went wide, and she swallowed, cheeks flaming under the minimal cover of her mask. No recourse existed except to continue to follow Thomas and do her best to feign deafness to the activities going on around her. They came to the door Alfonse had indicated and Thomas inserted the key. Within a moment, they were thankfully ensconced in their own room, though it did little to change the scenario other than simply provide a modicum of privacy for Sarah to give in to her shock.
Chapter 8
“I’m sorry, Sarah, I never should have brought you here.” Thomas’ hasty words issued in her direction almost in time with the click of the door shutting.
Sarah shook her head, as much to try to regain her own sense of rationality amid her unsettling surroundings as to negate his words. “Don’t start that again now,” she admonished. “We’re here, and with a task to accomplish. What was it Mr. Cartwright’s notebook said?”
“It mentioned mother keeping an ear toward her children’s antics, but her gaze fixed on the invitation list.”
“That’s right, and we decided he must mean a portrait.”
“So, the next question is, which one?” Thomas grumbled, turning in place to take in the walls. Sarah followed his gaze, realizing that each wall housed at least one painting, if not several, and almost all of them sported scenes of multiple people.
“Right,” she nearly groaned. “Well, we’re looking for a woman and some indication of motherhood. You start at this wall, I’ll start at that one?” She pointed to the far wall containing no less than four framed scenes, two on either side of the dark-curtained window. Without waiting for a response, she maneuvered toward the wall, glancing at the figures in the first picture.
“He would have needed to find a spot unlikely to be disturbed by anyone else coming in here,” Thomas murmured to himself from where he inspected the pictures on and around the fireplace mantle.
“Would his cousin have known about the list?” Sarah tossed over her shoulder.
“No, I’m certain not. I think Graham saw an opportunity in this place as not many would have known he came here, he never did so during business hours.
Sarah nodded to herself. Reaching a corner, she stepped in front of a framed work on the adjacent wall, then let out a yelp and jumped back when something slammed against the opposite side of the wall and sent the frame rattling. Thomas bounded to her side an instant before the muffled sounds of moaning began to emit from the other side of the wall.
Clearing her throat, she stepped back from the wall while Thomas hastily returned to his inspection, each of them doing their best not to look at one another. She began to turn in place, taking in the general decor of the room. Her eyes widened and she brought a hand to her mouth as she turned to face the mantle, again catching Thomas’ attention and causing him to cringe when his eyes landed on the painting. It was a rendition of Zeus caught in a rather explicit embrace with one of his many lovers.
The room, for all its halfhearted attempts at tasteful decor, came across as gaudy and outdated with faded wall coverings and badly gilded sconces. Here and there the crown molding showed cracks or chips, and the mantle of the fireplace, as well as the surrounding bricks, had been painted over in a poor attempt to disguise the gouged and uneven surfaces.
Thomas shut his eyes and sighed. “Perhaps, Sarah, you’d like to have a seat while I search?” He asked, his voice strained.
She nodded numbly and turned toward the largest source of seating in the room, the bed, immediately pausing in place as she took in the shabby state of the cover. A noise above them became prevalent, and she raised her eyes to the ceiling where a loud squeaking had taken up from the room above, only to be shocked again at the presence of a large mirror attached to the ceiling.
Feeling the blood drain from her features, she searched the room for some other means of temporary escape and almost sighed in relief when her eyes fell to a small desk and chair. Hastening over as though that desk would somehow save her from the storm, she pulled out the chair and took a seat, fixing her eyes on the carpeting in front of her and clasping her hands at her knees.
Clearing his throat, Thomas took up his task again with renewed vigor. Searching the furnishings and walls, he inspected everything with an efficient swiftness. Sarah marveled at his ability to maintain a detached demeanor. She made her best attempt but wanted the world-wisdom not to be shocked at the subjects of the pictures.
Setting her attention on Thomas as he moved provided a far better use of her time, calming her nerves and rousing her curiosity as she watched his limbs carry him gracefully through the room. It came as a bit of a shock to her when his movements ceased, and he focused on a small portrait tacked up to the wall beside the door.
Stepping in closer, he narrowed his gaze at the portrait, rousing Sarah’s curiosity enough to entice her to stand beside him and see for herself. The woman depicted, the scantily clad woman, had her hands arranged in such a way as to indicate pointing.
“Is that—”
“Juno.” He responded, already following the curve of the portrait’s arm down to her hand and beginning to scan the surrounding area. The portrait seemed to point at a dresser stationed along the wall. Jumping into action, he systematically opened and clos
ed each drawer, running his hands along the inside of each compartment in search of any false panels. He cursed under his breath when he completed his search of the final drawer, having come up empty-handed. Taking a step back he rested his hands on his hips and observed the dresser again.
“You said you found his journal in a false floorboard,” Sarah offered from behind him. He twisted in place to see her, eyes widening slightly as he realized she no longer sat at the desk.
“That’s right,” he nodded. “Good idea.” Moving back to the dresser, he shoved the item aside to expose the floorboards beneath. Taking a knee, he produced a pen knife from a pocket and prodded around each floorboard. He applied pressure to each, ran his fingertips along the edges, tested for looseness, but none moved.
He let out a soft growl as he finished with the last floorboard and settled back on his heel. Sarah chewed on her lip, trying to come up with some other idea or encouragement to offer. Starting fresh with the portrait, she squinted at it, examining the lines of the arms as Thomas had, following them to the spot on the floor where Thomas now knelt looking up at her with a weak display of hope. She blinked back to the portrait.
“Such an unimposing little piece,” she whispered more to herself than to him. “But in a very odd place. Who would think to put a portrait so close to the door?”
Thomas stood, moving in closer to her and joining her in her observation. A small tremor rolled through her at his nearness, but she forced herself to concentrate. “It’s true, she does point in that direction,” Sarah nodded again toward the floorboards. “But look at her other hand, she might just as well be pointing at herself.” With that, she reached out to the small portrait, attempting to lift it from its place. “It won’t move,” she noted in surprise.
“What?” Thomas shifted to take her place as she stepped back, his hands reaching out to test the frame. True to Sarah’s words, the portrait stayed in place. He leaned in closer, inspecting the gilded frame surrounding the portrait and running his fingers around the edges of it. “There appears to be a seam running around the edges,” he noted. “Hidden by the framing.”
He stepped back again, taking in all angles of the portrait one more time. “But there’s no latch that I can feel. Perhaps…” He reached out and pushed on the edges. A small click sounded, and the frame swung forward on a hinge.
“A hidden safe of some sort!” Sarah pressed in beside him, her eyes round with awe.
“A very small one,” Thomas noted. “The space would be useless for anything larger than a note or some small trinket.” Reaching in, he searched only a moment in the dark hollow before his features lit. Bringing his hand out again, he now held a small packet of envelopes, both sealed and unsealed, all tied together with twine.
“Is that it?” Sarah turned to him, tempted to begin hopping up and down in her excitement.
“It must be. Ha!” For the first time since seeing Thomas again the day he arrived at her family’s home, Sarah saw his features relax and take on more of the boyish exuberance she remembered from bygone days. Unable to contain his curiosity, he snatched up one of the unbound missives from the pile and opened it, his eyes scanning over the lines before shuffling the page to the bottom of the pile and opening another.
Sarah chewed on her lip beside him, attempting to lean in to read the writing on the pages, but to no avail. She had just resolved to plead for a concession to look at the notes when he saved her the trouble.
“Here!” he leaned toward her, smile widening, and presented a page in triumph.
Sarah took it, noting a simple and relatively unobtrusive list of names. Squinting, she pointed at the markings beside some of the names. “These marks—” she looked up to find him already nodding, eyes glinting with energy.
“The same as those in the journal.”
“So, the information in those coded passages relates to the person with the corresponding mark!” She brought a hand to her mouth.
“Sarah, I might just stand a chance,” he grinned at her, hastening to tuck the envelopes into his coat pocket.
That smile she loved so dearly became infectious. “Oh, Thomas, how wonderful! Now you’ll be able to resolve this.”
“And all thanks to you!”
He must have forgotten himself in his giddiness, folding Sarah into a hug, releasing her almost instantly when he realized what he’d done.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to—”
“No need to apologize,” she assured him, running her hands down her dress to smooth its folds. “I’m happy for you.”
“Come,” he offered a hand after returning the dresser to its original position and resetting the portrait. “Let’s go.” He reached for the doorknob so quickly she had to tug at his arm to stall him. He looked at her in confusion.
Sarah’s cheeks flushed yet again, and she let her eyes fall to the carpet, shuffling from one foot to the other. “Um… I don’t know much about the topic, and you’ll have to forgive my concern, but—”
“What’s wrong, Sarah?” He furrowed his brows at her.
Mustering her courage, she nodded toward the blissfully forgotten interior of the room in the direction of the bed. “How long are these things supposed to take? Will anyone think it odd we’re leaving so soon?”
Swallowing as he belatedly understood Sarah’s concern, Thomas shifted a glance between her, the bed, and the door before releasing her hand to adjust his cravat. Wrestling down his embarrassment, as well as irritation at not thinking of this issue himself, he gave a small nod and half smile. “While there is something to be said for quick encounters,” he began, “you are correct that leaving now would call into question the purpose of my spending money on this room.”
Shoulders relaxing, Sarah ducked her head.
“Always the pragmatic,” he gave her chin a light touch. “My thanks for preserving my reputation.”
That earned him a small laugh and helped to set them both somewhat at ease. He nodded toward the seat by the desk. She wandered over, perching on the edge of it as she had before while Thomas took up a stance beside the fireplace. Neither of them acknowledged the massive fourposter bed taking up most of the space in the room. Seconds ticked by endlessly as they waited in silence, sounds and noises from the surrounding rooms accosting them unceasingly and with even greater insistence now that they had no other objective to occupy and distract them.
The incessant squeaking from the ceiling had ceased, but a banging against the wall in one of the side rooms had taken its place. On the opposite side, a woman had taken up ecstatic wailing. The depth of red in Sarah’s face verged on purple hues and stretched to encompass her ears and neck, while Thomas found himself reaching for his pocket watch every five seconds.
“How fares my aunt?” He blurted the ridiculous question in hopes of providing a distraction, glad when Sarah’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“Quite well,” she responded. “She misses you and worries greatly about you. I fear if this drags on too long, my presence will cease to provide much comfort for her.”
Thomas nodded. “We’ll hope, then, that our efforts this evening incur a positive impact.” A sharp shout from the room next door accentuated his statement, causing him to cringe and refocus his attention on the small fire in the grate.
Sarah cleared her throat. “She’s terribly proud of you.”
Thomas gave a small huff without thinking, prompting a tilt of Sarah’s head. “Yes, it’s been the challenge of my lifetime to maintain that pride.”
“How so?” Sarah’s color drained back to almost normal hues as she leaned forward in her chair.
“She no doubt mentioned to you what a grand surprise I provided in this career of mine?” he raised a brow at her, but she shook her head. “Has she never mentioned what a disappointment I was to her and my father early on in life?” Thomas had heard the statements often enough from his loving but tactless aunt and knew she rarely abstained from them around guests, so imagined Sarah at least som
ewhat aware of them.
As expected, Sarah flushed and averted her gaze. “She mentioned that you were not as adept at your studies as they would have liked,” she shrugged. “But not every student is meant to be the top of his class.”
A deep rumble of true laughter bubbled its way up from wherever it had taken to hiding over recent months, snapping Sarah’s attention back to him. “A true diplomat in every scenario,” he acknowledged. “Tell me, Sarah, how is it you can have so much faith in me when it costs me so much effort to gain that of others?” He fixed her with a smile meant to show amusement but some unnamed, deep-rooted portion of him clamored in anticipation to know her answer.
“I try my best,” she began, shifting in her seat, “to pronounce judgment based on my own perception of people and events. It’s been my experience that a great deal gets miscommunicated or misinterpreted if we place too much stock in outside sources.”
She avoided his eyes and he wondered at it. He couldn’t imagine she had any reason not to speak truthfully to him but had the distinct sensation she withheld some portion of information.
“Spoken like a true scholar.” He opened his mouth to continue the conversation but a renewed banging against the wall interrupted him, this time emitting from the opposite wall, the first room having gone somewhat silent.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sarah rolled her eyes, throwing her hands into the air. “Is all that noise really necessary?” She shot a glare at the wall.
From the fireplace, Thomas erupted in laughter again, putting a hand over his mouth when Sarah turned her glare on him. “Sarah, I am astounded by your unique ability to maintain a rational head in light of any circumstance.” Attempting, and failing, to compose his features into a more serious set, he wondered at her. “How much of this business,” he tilted his head toward the noise on the other side of the wall, “do you have knowledge of?”
A Clandestine Affair (Currents of Love Book 5) Page 7
