Rapid footsteps sounded around the corner.
“Yes, I did see them,” came a male voice. “They were talking about ghosts—”
“No time,” Tommy whispered. She reached for the handle, flung open the door, and pulled Philippa inside after her. She shut the door with a whoosh.
The room was a servant workroom, not a library. Three startled maids ceased ironing napkins and tablecloths at once.
“Shite,” Tommy said.
“Oh, how dastardly!” Philippa swept ahead, shaking out the map with one hand. “Our map containsfalse clues. Or are everyone’s maps suspect?” She turned to the maids and gave them her most earnest expression. “Are we the first to get this far?”
“To get…to the ironing room?” stammered one of the maids.
“Why are you here?” asked another.
“For the treasure hunt, of course!” Philippa beamed at them. “The National Bluestocking Society is on the hunt for an antique astrolabe the hostess has hidden somewhere on the ground floor. I deduced we would find it amongst the books, but this does not appear to be a library.”
“Brilliant deduction,” muttered the other maid.
Her companion snorted softly. “‘Bluestockings.’”
“Have a look.” Philippa held up the wrinkled paper, map facing the maids. “It says the library should be the third door on the right.”
“Second door,” said the first maid. “Library is the next room.”
“But it’s locked,” said one of her companions. “We just finished cleaning it.”
“Oh!” Philippa flung the map at Tommy and clapped her hands together with excitement. “Then you have a key! This is splendid luck. We’ll be the first to the astrolabe and I shall become Bluestocking of the Year. There’s to be a special geological formation named after the winner!”
The maids glanced at each other with obvious amusement but showed no indication of being eager to unlock the door.
“Oh, my stars.” Philippa gave a trilling laugh. “Aunt, how much does the treasure map indicate fair passage costs?”
Tommy peered at the paper for a long moment, turning it from side to side before glancing up in triumph. “One guinea.”
“A guinea! I have a guinea here in my reticule.” Philippa made a show of opening her reticule, in such a way that the coins inside clinked against each other loudly. “My goodness, I havethreeguineas. One for each of you! That is, if one of you will do us the great honor of assisting the future Bluestocking of the Year in her noble quest?”
“I’ll do it,” two of the maids said at once.
“Let Rufina,” said the third maid. “She has the key. Bring our guineas back, girl.”
Rufina all but scampered out of the workroom to lead Tommy and Philippa to the library. She had the door open in a trice.
“There’s an extra guinea here for you,” Philippa whispered as she dropped four coins in into the girl’s palm. “If any of the other teams make it this far, pretend you haven’t seen us.”
The girl nodded effusively, then dashed back to the workroom. Muffled giggles could be heard through the wall.
“That was lucky,” Philippa said under her breath. “I didn’t think they’d believe the ruse.”
“Pah,” Tommy said. “It was human nature. Servants don’t think much of the brain capacity of older womenorthe beau monde.”
“Well, I’m not leaving this library without the illuminated manuscript.”
Philippa glanced around the room. The book was in a heavy strongbox, which made it unlikely to be stored overhead, or on a shelf at all. It was most likely low to the floor, or on a sturdy surface.
Tommy consulted her pocket watch. “Twenty minutes.”
For a library, there were dashed few books. Most of the shelves were filled with bottles of wine and sherry, and varying styles of glasses to drink from.
