Page 95 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
Her friend sported a cheeky expression. “That lock was no match for the talents of Nell Blake.”
“A woman of many talents,” Mrs. Johnstone commented, sounding genuinely impressed. “I’ve found the ability to best a lock to be a valuable skill.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Macie said.
“Honestly, this one was a bit of a bugger. Very cantankerous.” Nell tapped the front of the box with one finger. “It took me a bit of longer than usual, but it could not defeat me.”
Macie hiked a brow. Her friend had secrets, indeed. “Longer than usual?”
“You might have said I was a snoop as a girl. Let’s just say that my older sister, the oh-so-perfect Cecily, never possessed a diary I could not read.”
“You’re horrible,” Macie teased.
“Ceci thought so,” Nell said.
Mrs. Johnstone chuckled, then gently nudged the discussion back on course. “Shall we turn back to the matter at hand?”
“Of course.” Nell lifted the lid and retrieved a page that seemed to have been torn from a journal. “Is this your grandfather’s handwriting?”
Glancing down at the notes, Macie recognized her grandfather’s brash scrawl. “Most definitely.”
Nell took a few neatly folded sheets from the box. “There’s more. Pages of research.”
“I cannot say that surprises me. Grandpapa wrote prolific notes on his collection. He filled many journals.”
“There is something else, though—a rather exciting find.” Enthusiasm colored Nell’s voice. “Take a look, Macie.”
“Do be careful, Nell,” Mrs. Johnstone advised as Nell lifted a yellowed document from within the box. “You would not wish to damage the parchment.”
Holding it gingerly by the corners, Nell displayed a letter penned with dark slashes of ink. As Macie leaned forward to take a better look, Mrs. Johnstone pointed out the notation in the upper corner of the page.
“This date places it in the sixteenth century,” she said. “Over time, the script within the body of the letter has faded. But I can make out references to Michelangelo and Titian. This document may be quite valuable.”
“My grandfather collected the papers of many Renaissance scholars,” Macie said.
“Is it possible he’d hidden more away?” Nell said.
“I suppose he might have.”
“That bothersome Mr. Neville might have good reason to want to get his hands on your grandfather’s papers.” Excitement brightened Nell’s gaze. “This library might contain many more old letters—a trove of hidden treasure.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Theatre Royalehad once been a grand theater, a jewel where many an esteemed thespian had walked across the stage. Now, years after audiences had filled the upholstered seats and applauded as the performers took their final bows, the plush burgundy curtains had faded over time, the boards were dulled from age and lack of care, and the once-dazzling crystal chandelier in the aging yet still elegant lobby now bore massive cobwebs. As Macie positioned her camera to capture the barren feel of the stage, she pulled in a low breath and released it on a sigh. The quiet seemed almost oppressive. She might actually welcome the sight of a specter or two, if only to liven up the place.
A dull ache pounded against her temples. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, as if that might ease the low throb and drown out the chaos of her own thoughts.
Both Nell and Finn had wandered off to explore various parts of the theater. Since the three of them had arrived, Nell had seemed unusually quiet. That had certainly not been the case as they’d traveled in Finn’s carriage to the theater. While Finn took the reins, Nell had excitedly discussed the letter in the rosewood box, interrupted only by the lurch of the coach over a few particularly large bumps in the road. She saw the discovery as an exciting revelation, a vital clue that could explain Professor Smythson’s motives for his frantic search in the library.
A sudden jolt stirred her, and she looked down to see that one foot of the tripod had slipped into a crevice on the marble floor.Drat the luck. She crouched low to reposition the leg. As she adjusted the camera, she spotted Finn as he entered through the side door. His brisk steps closed the distance between them.
“You look weary, Macie. Ye might consider putting this off to another day.”
“I’ll be fine,” Macie replied. “Working with my camera energizes me.”
“Ye’re headstrong, lass.” He flashed a little grin. “Like me.”
The warmth in his smile was just the elixir she needed. “You like that, do you?”
