Page 23 of Tales of a Society Nothing

Chapter Six

Margaret slid the windowopen and gave a silent shout of joy. They’d chosen a window on the side of the house as it was mostly hidden from the street. The rear of Vanderville’s house would have been preferable, but the kitchen and servants’ area was located there, and one never knew if a scullery maid or boot boy slept downstairs instead of tucked up in the attics with the rest of the staff.

The window had been a bit too high for either of them to see inside, so Ambrose had lifted her by the waist so she could peer in. “Clear,” she said.

“Good work,” he whispered in her ear as she slid down his body. She tried not to shiver, tried to focus on the mission. But she liked having him here with her, liked being close to him. Too bad he was such an idiot and couldn’t see that she could take care of herself. All she’d ever wanted was to be seen as his equal. Tonight, he’d as much as told her, he’d never see her that way. She’d always be his wife, not his partner.

They both took a moment to look about. They’d watched the house from across the street for a half hour before attempting to break in. In that time, they hadn’t observed any men patrolling the perimeter. Margaret was certain there would be men stationed at the doors, though. It was after three in the morning, so one would hope the guards had fallen asleep.

“Still clear,” Ambrose said. “Come here, and I’ll give you a boost up.”

Margaret wore a belt and had tucked her skirts into it to give her legs more freedom. Now she stepped onto Ambrose’s hands and used the momentum he gave her to grasp onto Vanderville’s windowsill and pull herself through. She toppled unceremoniously to the floor then popped back up and peered about the chamber. The furnishings looked like dark lumps, but from the arrangement, she thought this might be a small parlor. She moved carefully between the shapes until she reached the door. Closed.

Margaret let out a breath and returned to the window. “All clear.” She held a hand down to Ambrose, but he waved it away and climbed up. She heard him hiss out a breath in pain. Such movements couldn’t be good for his wound, but then he was inside and panting beside her.

“Just like old times,” she whispered, thinking of when they’d been children and climbed trees or over fences on his estate. He’d always made his hands into a stirrup and boosted her up. Just as he’d done tonight.

“This was a lot easier when I was younger.”

She smiled. “Come on, old man. Try to keep up.” She led him across the room to the door she’d found earlier. Silently, she lifted the latch and eased it open. A sconce burned in the foyer, the light dancing across the marble floor. A boy sat in a chair near the door, his head resting against the wall.

She made a motion, indicating the servant. Ambrose nodded and gestured for her to close the door. He leaned close so she caught a hint of his scent. Margaret forced herself not to inhale.

“I’ll see if there’s another door. It might join this room to a library.”

Margaret nodded and eased the parlor door closed again. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light in the chamber, so when Ambrose gestured for her to join him, she did so quickly. He pointed to the door he’d found and mimedlocked.

She had picked her fair share of locks, mostly in training. She wasn’t without skill, but she knew Ambrose was better. Now he withdrew a length of cloth, laid it on the floor near the door and unrolled it. She couldn’t see what it contained but could picture the assortment of odd metal tools. Some were long and thin, some short and blunt. He clearly knew them by feel, selected one in the dark, and went to work, his ear pressed to the door to listen for the faint clicks of the locking mechanism.

Margaret waited quietly, listening for any sound from the foyer or the other side of the door. They hadn’t seen any lights on this floor, so she assumed Vanderville had gone to bed. That didn’t mean everyone had gone to bed. There might be others guarding the house who hadn’t fallen asleep like the boy at the door.

Ambrose swore, and Margaret watched as he changed one tool for another, all by touch. She couldn’t help but worry at the passing time. How long had they been inside the house? Ten minutes? A quarter hour?

Finally, she heard a quietsnickand the door to the adjoining room swung open. Ambrose rolled up his tools, stood, and slid through the door. She waited a moment then followed, closing the door behind her.

“This is it,” he whispered, when she turned back. “This is Vanderville’s study. We’ll need light if we’re to go through his papers.”

She moved to the windows and drew the drapes closed, then went to the door leading to the foyer and tried it. “It’s already locked and requires a key,” she said.

“Good. That means we shouldn’t be disturbed.” He was at the desk, and a moment later, light flickered in the lamp on one end. Margaret looked about the room, taking in the high ceilings with their bookshelves reaching almost to the top. A thick rug had cushioned their feet and muffled the sounds of their movement. She’d felt the heavy damask draperies when she’d closed them. They were behind an equally heavy oak desk.

Ambrose took a seat behind it. “I’ll search the drawers, and you take the shelves, yes?”

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