A scraping sound, and a bright pattern of tiny lights scattered across the desk and the wall. A dark lantern! The light splayed away from the burglar, and Celia’s eyes could barely make outthe pale smudge of a face. This burglar wore black and his shoes were quiet, too.
Rose squeezed Celia’s fingers again. Celia wasn’t sure if she was terrified, or preparing an Amazon war-cry while stabbing the intruder with a pen.
The thief paused by the desk, now above and behind Celia. There was a shuffling of papers, the soft thump of leather, and before either Rose or Celia could react, brisk footsteps—
“Ow!” cried Rose, as—
“Agh!” yelled the thief—
Papers toppled onto their heads, the dark lantern clattered to the hearthstones, and—
“Henrietta!” exclaimed Celia.
There was a beat of silence.
“Well, you might as well light the candles,” Henrietta said conversationally. “This is ridiculous enough when not in pitch dark. Where did you two come from?”
Rose knew the room well enough to put her hands on candles and tapers from the glow of the coals. A moment later the candle flared, illuminating Rose’s increasingly grumpy expression.
Celia pushed herself up, shaking out the stiffness in her legs. Henrietta was wearing a black shirtwaist, a dark brown petticoat, and—of all things—a purple bonnet trimmed with ribbon twists, sprays of beads, and silk hyacinths.
“Whatis thatridiculousconfection?” Rose demanded.
Henrietta touched the brim. “This? One always feels better prepared to take on the world with a good bonnet, wouldn’t you agree?”
Celia had a bare head, and agreed that she did not feel at all prepared to take on the world, or even her uncle’s office. She almost giggled, but Rose was huffing her outrage.
Henrietta shrugged. “A woman’s head is her most important asset, don’t you agree?”
Rose paused, finger lifted. Those were her own words.
Celia pressed her hand against her mouth, stifling giggles that threatened hysteria. They had been flooded with fear, and here they were having a parlor conversation about bonnets.
“Did you find anything?” Henrietta turned to Celia. “I overheard the name of a ship, theLittle Belt, and the smudge of where she might be from—”
“Charleston?” Celia asked.
“That’s it! Charleston. We need to find when she departed. That tells us how much time we have left, or possibly if there’s no time at all.” Henrietta gathered up her petticoat and bent to retrieve the papers and books.
“Wait!” Rose stomped her foot. “That’s Papa’s diary! You can’t touch that!”
Henrietta stood, her jaw a mirror of stubbornness. “He’s gambling with our futures. Our whole lives. I don’t care about his precious privacy anymore—”
“Stop. Wait.” Celia rested a hand on each of her cousins’ arms. “And above all, hush.”
Rose glanced at the door and quieted.
Henrietta looked between them, and back at the door. “You had a good idea, really,” she said, more softly. “I couldn’t see you at all behind the desk. Let’s sit down again.”
Rose tucked the candelabra into a corner, hidden from the doorway but illuminating their laps. As though it mattered; whatever excuse they might have had for being in the library after midnight was belied by the scattered papers and Henrietta’s outfit.
Henrietta opened the diary, tilting it for better light. “Oh, this is mere chicken scratch!” She sighed. “It’s just notes, and it goes back years.”
Rose leaned over the page. “I know those abbreviations. They’re the same as what he uses in research.”
“Try May 1818,” Celia said. “I’ll look for theLittle Belt.”
“I think I saw that name in letters.” Rose pushed herself to her feet, still grumpy. “Personal ones, from Cousin Gerald perhaps. I’ll get that packet.”
