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Chapter One
London, 1819
Slide it in. Apply pressure. Move it back and forth.
Why was this so hard?
Cassandra eased out a shaky breath, eyed the cast iron safe with its unnecessary flourishes and curlicues, and pressed her lips together. She had picked locks hundreds of times. Nay, thousands.
Admittedly it had been at her father’s house. With little chance of being caught.
Or, if she had been caught, it was easily explained away.Oh, I lost the key to the attic room. How silly of me.
How she would explain sneaking upstairs during the ball to slip into Mr. Harding’s private quarters and pick the lock of his safe, she did not know. Of course, if she could do it quicker, there would be no need for explanation.
She should have known this would not go right. First she had woken up with a blemish on her chin then a bow had fallen off her favorite slippers. If she had not vowed she would get into this safe today, she would have curled up in bed, thrown the blankets over her head and not arisen until tomorrow.
After one long inhale, she tried again.Slide it in, apply pressure.
Her hands trembled while she slid the pick back and forth. Perhaps she was applying too much pressure. Cassie dropped the picks, swiped clammy hands down her gown and grimaced. Mr. Harding needed better maids.
Maybe no one would notice the dark streaks of grease in the crush of guests in the ballroom. Unlikely, though. Everyone noticed her. Shewasthe Duke of Daventry’s daughter after all.
But she had no choice but to proceed. She had to succeed at this. She must. Her sisters would never let her help again if she did not.
Her heart gave a judder against her ribcage. She froze and listened. A thud. She was certain of it. Someone approaching perhaps? Someone about to discover her upon her hands and knees, covered in grime with lock picks in hand?
She listened intently, her neck prickling. Strains of music drifted from downstairs, battling the thud of her heart in her ears.
Adieu Mon Amis. Her favorite dance. But there were more important things at stake right now. Like getting her hands on a copy of the will that made Mr. Harding heir to this great house and more.
A will that the late master’s sister had never seen. The will that had given away the house Jane held most dear—a house that had been promised to her.
Cassie shook her head to herself. It seemed unfathomable that Jane’s brother was even gone but she would not let that mar her judgement. If she had learned anything from her sister Eleanor, it was to look merely at the facts, and the facts were all there. Things were amiss and she had to agree with Jane—there was something odd about her brother’s death.
No more thuds and footsteps or creaking floorboards could be heard so she retrieved her lock picks and started again. At least she had not been wrong to practice lock-picking all these years, but why oh why was it never this difficult before?
She narrowed her gaze at the lock. If she stared it out long enough, surely it would give up its secrets? When it did not click and simply fall open, she sighed and tried again, pressing the pick into the hole and feeling for the little clunks that would indicate each tumbler had given way.
One went. She forced her lips straight. There was still a way to go. Finally, another slid up. She was close. Of course there was nothing to say the will would be here; but where else would an important man keep his most important documents? She wiggled the picks. Just a little—
Cassie stilled. Her throat tightened. Had that been...?
Footsteps.
Oh pooh.
Withdrawing her picks, she rose and shoved them into the concealed pocket in her skirts. Surely whoever it was would not be coming in here? Why would they? Goodness knew, she had no reason to be in Mr. Harding’s private quarters.
The footsteps neared and she remained frozen in the middle of the room. How would she explain her presence here? What if it was Mr. Harding himself? She could not arouse his suspicions.
Or worse. Mess up her very first investigative case.
The doorknob gave a slight squeak, and she darted behind the chaise then crouched low. As the door eased open and the tap of shoes on wooden floorboards sounded, she pressed herself down and under the gap between the chaise and the floor.
She wrinkled her nose at the dust lingering in the narrow space, feeling a tickle at the back of her throat. What terrible housekeeping. She held her breath and tried not to imagine the spiders that could be keeping her company or how dreadful she would look once she got the chance to escape. Slipping away from the ball would be of utmost importance. No one could know of her actions.
First, however, she needed to see inside that safe. She had promised Jane she would not fail.
