Page 6 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Chapter Two
In Grace’s experience, getting her hands on what lay behind a supposedly secure barrier was a simple matter. A bit of ingenuity in fashioning a makeshift key combined with a smattering of patience was all she required to coax open a lock. Over the years, she’d gained access to any number of chambers, sturdy chests, and armoires.
Finessing a safe, as her aunt dubbed the task, was a far more daunting prospect. She had mastered that skill by the age of sixteen, practicing the technique Aunt Thelma had taught her again and again before they’d attended that highbrow winter ball in a mansion on the Hudson River. Desperate to reclaim jewels taken by her lover after an affair had ended quite badly, a wealthy—and very much married—oil baron’s wife had paid Grace and her aunt to retrieve the piece. It hadn’t really been theft. Had it?
In any case, the commission they’d received for that job had paid for a year of Claire’s education. As always, twinges of guilt had plagued Grace for weeks afterward, but the little pangs had been a small price to pay.
Pulling in a long, low breath, she uttered another silent prayer. Her nerves should not betray her. After all, this job was no different from that very first venture. It wasn’t as if she intended to keep the piece for herself. While Aunt Thelma often insisted on helping herself to a bauble or two, Grace shied away from pocketing any jewels or valuables. It wasn’t as if she was a true thief. She offered a service for a fee.
Such a shame the law did not agree.
Slipping away from the ballroom, she detoured into a small closet where she’d concealed her disguise behind a stack of neatly folded linens. The serviceable black wool skirt, starched white blouse, and pristine white cap that served as the uniform of the household staff at the mansion allowed her to blend into the scenery. She’d be rendered invisible to any of the guests she might encounter. An heiress or a noble had no interest in the actions of an austerely dressed housemaid.
She scooped up a wool blanket. No one would question a maidservant bringing an extra layer of warm bedding to a guest. Moving quickly, her footfalls muffled by the plush carpeting in the corridors, she made her way to the room she’d come to search. The chamber should be empty, but there was no way to be sure the guest who occupied the room had not returned. She didn’t even know who that was. How odd that she’d been provided so few facts about a job of such importance. Her pulse sped. Steadying her nerves, she lightly rapped on the door, the blanket in her arms providing a plausible reason for her presence.
When silence met her taps, Grace fished a skeleton key from her pocket, opened the white-painted door, then closed it behind her. A small squeak of the floorboard beneath her feet set her senses on full alert. Pushing aside a fresh wave of unease, she prowled through the darkened chamber.
Navigating the near darkness, she placed the blanket on the bed, tiptoed to the bedside table, and lit a small oil lamp. After closing the door, she carried the lamp to the wardrobe and peered inside. Soft rays illuminated the cabinet. Judging from the garments in the spacious cabinet, a neatly pressed suit in the latest style, the person she’d come to steal from was a man. What had the mystery guest left behind in this room? She’d been given no information on what she’d been sent to retrieve, other than a vague description of the satchel that housed it. For all she knew, the traveling bag contained a fortune in stolen gems. Or a secret document purloined from a spy.
Good heavens, what had she gotten herself into?
She shook her head, as if doing so might clear out the alarming thoughts. The very idea that she might come upon something capable of inspiring a penny dreadful was ludicrous. She could not allow her imagination to get the better of her.
Crouching low, she spotted a small leather case. That had to be it. Placing the lamp back on the table, she brought the case under the light. A doctor’s satchel in alligator skin with brass hardware. Ordinary enough, really. She examined the locks securing the bag. Two leather straps were buckled in place, each secured with a small padlock. Opening those would pose no challenge.
The gleaming metal lock at the top of the bag was another story. The mechanism seemed designed to taunt a would-be thief. In nearly a decade of lock picking, she’d never seen anything quite like it. Her aunt might have relished the challenge, but time was of the essence. A key was required to release the lock—a key shaped like none she’d ever seen. Rather than the typical slender keyhole, the opening was broad, in the shape of a hexagon. Custom made, no doubt. Frowning, she puzzled over the barrier. Her tools would be of little help. She’d need to improvise. The task would slow her progress, but the challenge was not unsurmountable.
On another night, working out a strategy would have proven intriguing. But now, the chill of apprehension intensified.
Blast it! This was no time to be a goose. She had to get on with it. Plucking the cap off her head, she removed the silver comb that held her upswept tresses in place. Her hair tumbled loose, brushing the back of her neck. A few twists of the ornate accessory, and she freed a slender rod concealed within the longest of the three prongs. Tool in hand, she made short work of freeing the strap locks. Reaching up, she snagged two hairpins, contorted them around the pick, and inserted the metal into the top lock.
Manipulating the makeshift key, she twisted it to open the lock. Stubbornly, the small bolt held tight.Drat the luck.Removing a pair of spectacles from her pocket, she leaned closer. The key she’d fashioned did an adequate job of holding the lock open. But she needed another tool. She retrieved another rod from her hair comb. A few sharp twists of the pick, and the lock surrendered.
Lifting the lamp, she stared town at the satchel’s contents. Dim light gleamed against polished metal. Reaching into the case, she removed a rectangular box. The container was surprisingly heavy in her hands.
Studying the box, she considered the best means to access its contents. The lock was ordinary enough. A basic tumbler mechanism. Any number of thieves might’ve been able to open it. Why would anyone go to such lengths to coerce her into breaking into this, a plain container with a latch a novice could break?
Careful not to drop any of the small wooden segments, she fished the components of her listening tool from her skirt pocket. She’d designed the implement herself, an amplifier inspired by a physician’s stethoscope. After assembling the small, polished wood sections into a tube, she attached a rubber half sphere to one end. Cupping her ear with the soft rubber, she fastened a small stiff-leather hook over her ear to hold the device in place without the use of her hands.
In a series of actions she’d performed many times over, she set about manipulating the dial. Aclicksounded the first success. Then another. Finally, the last tumbler slid into place, and the lock released.
She peered down at the miniature vault. Her thumb rested on the latch. Letting out a breath, she lifted the lid.
A small book lay within the box. A journal, bearing a simple keylock. Unadorned and utterly nondescript, it was not much larger than the palm of her hand. She removed it from the container. Surprise flickered through her at the weight of the volume.
Something was very odd about that plain leather-bound book.
Had someone concealed gold within its pages? Or some other heavy object?
What in heaven had she been sent to retrieve?
Hiking up her skirt, she grazed her fingertips along the rear seam of her petticoat, locating the hidden pocket she’d added for concealing valuables. No one would dare to search her there.The book slid easily into the canvas pouch, concealed beneath layers of fabric.
A sudden creak and a flash of light pulled her attention to the doorway.
Oh, dear.She was not alone.
She closed the box without a sound.
