Page 29 of House of Thorns
She marched through the curtains, her mind racing. She was short two pounds. Perhaps seeing the contracts would be enough? Would he accept something as a good faith gesture? She couldn’t bear to part with her mother’s locket, but did she have something else of value the man might accept? She drew a worried breath, knowing she hadn’t.
Tears gathered at the thought of handing over her mother’s locket.
But the payment was only half the problem. Louisa. She scowled. Well, she’d show the woman the contract. She’dforceher to sing if there was no other recourse. Such an action would end their friendship—but then, it didn’t matter, not when they weren’t much of friends to begin with.
If only she could find someone else to sing, but it was too late. There wasn’t enough time, and of all the opera singers she knew, only Louisa could draw a large enough crowd.
Agitated, she closed the print room door behind her and dropped to her knees before the secret floorboard.
Again, tears burned her lashes at the thought of giving the odious man her mother’s locket, but what choice did she truly have? What could she possibly say to convince him to wait?
At a loss, she pried the floorboard loose and pulled out the box. It was unusually light. Puzzled, she lifted the lid.
Her heart stood still.
The box was empty.
Frantically, she searched the cavity in the floor. There was nothing there. Her coins, the contracts, and her mother’s locket…gone.
“No,” she gasped. “No. No.No.”
Panic seized her. Who could have taken her things? William? Mrs. Lambert? They were the only two in the house besides her father. Mrs. Lambert wouldn’t. She was practically family, and in her heart, she knew William wouldn’t, as well. He was a simple lad, incapable of such things.
Biting back the tears, she jumped to her feet and ran to the parlor.
Nicholas sat in the chair opposite Mrs. Lambert, listening to her father play the piano.
“What is it, child?” Mrs. Lambert rose to her feet, alarmed.
“The box,” Olivia choked. “The box in the print room.”
“Box?”
The genuine confusion on the old woman’s brow made Olivia feel guilty for even mentioning the matter. She drew a shaky breath. “William? Have you seen him?” She hadn’t let him go yet. Perhaps, he’d stumbled on the box by accident and thought it a lost treasure, free for the taking?
“William’s snoring in the kitchen, lass.”
She was off to the kitchen before Mrs. Lambert had finished the sentence.
“The box, William,” Olivia gasped as she shook him awake. “Where is the box?”
“Box?” William mumbled, looking even more puzzled than Mrs. Lambert had.
The tears flowed then. With a sob, Olivia sank to her knees. She was ruined. It made little difference if Louisa sang now. The man would cancel the venue. Without the concert, she would be forced to sell the printing press…and without the press, how would she and her father survive?
She remained on her knees, the tears sliding down her cheeks.
Then, slowly, she forced herself to breathe. Sniveling never solved a thing. Not once had tears provided much needed help.
An image of her grandfather snaked through her mind—not the image of a friendly source of strength, of aid, but a tall, stern man who would no doubt be delighted to see her fail.
She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t giving up. Nay, she’d not give him a single jot of satisfaction. She’d see her father’s songs sung in the Theater Royale and she’d bally well sell every blasted book of music she’d ever printed—with or without Louisa’s help. Aye, she’d hire someone to find Louisa. She’d force her to sing, with or without the contract. The woman was greedy. Surely, she couldn’t refuse a doubling of her fee?
Right now, she had to convince Mr. Pitt to wait without having to sell her soul—but then, it wasn’t her soul that he wanted.
Determined, she rose to her feet, wiped her eyes, and straightened her hair.
“Mr. Pitt,” she began as she stepped through the curtains.
