Page 15 of The Bachelor Spy
“Mr. Brandon said not to disturb you till morning, but I knew you’d wish to know as soon as possible.” Ellie nodded. “In case someone left a clue.”
At this, Grace’s entire body bolted to a standing position.
A clue? Her mouth dropped into a smile.
Oh, Ellie knows me so well.Even if she wasn’t at all fond of mysteries.
“What do you mean?”
Her dear maid drew in a shivering breath. “Someone’s broken into Lord Astley’s study. John heard noises and went to investigate, but whoever it was has fled.”
Grace was already grabbing her robe and heading toward the door. “Lord Astley’s study?”
“There’s broken glass from one of his bookcases.”
The glass bookcase? Where he kept special items.
Grace’s mind spun as she tied her dressing gown and raced down the corridor, Ellie on her heels. Who would break into Frederick’s study? And why?
First the missing painting, and now this?
Perhaps she’d been right to tell John to study up on his Sherlock Holmes.
Because now … a mystery was afoot.
Several servants had gathered outside Frederick’s study door—John, Mrs. Powell, and, surprisingly, Miss Gale, who stood slightly apart from the others. Her auburn hair was hastily pinned, and her expression remarkably alert. She certainly hadn’t been to her bedroom yet, judging by the pristine look of her clothes.
Brandon waited inside.
“I do apologize for disturbing your sleep, my lady.” Brandon sent a look toward Ellie before continuing.
“I’m glad I was disturbed, Brandon.” Grace swept past him deeper into the room. “It would have been terribly disappointing to miss out on a mystery just for sleep.”
To which Brandon released a rather impressive sigh.
“I heard noises, my lady,” John offered from behind her. “And followed the sounds, but no one was here when I arrived.”
The room looked as though a small tempest had passed through it. Papers lay scattered across Frederick’s usually immaculate desk. Drawers remained drawn open, their contents rifled through. Books pulled from shelves had been stacked haphazardly.
But worst of all, one of Frederick’s beautiful, glass-fronted bookcases stood with its door hanging open, the glass shattered and glistening shards littering the floor.
Grace’s hand flew to her throat.Oh, poor Frederick.He’d been so proud of those bookcases. His grandfather had commissioned them specially.
She turned to Brandon. “What is missing?”
Brandon’s brows shot high. “Nothing, my lady.”
“Nothing?” She turned back to the case. “Thieves that stolenothing?”
“Quite certain, my lady.” John shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with disappointing her. “Everything’s accounted for. The medals, the compass, even the ready cash his lordship kept in his desk is still there.”
“How peculiar.” Carefully, Grace moved nearer to the case, mindful of the broken glass. “Why break into a case you can already see into and take nothing?”
“Perhaps they were interrupted, my lady?”
“Perhaps.” But something about it niggled at Grace’s mind like a persistent itch. In all her detective novels, thieves who broke into locked cases always tooksomething.That was rather the point of thievery, wasn’t it?
She knelt carefully beside the broken bookcase, studying the scattered contents. Military histories, mostly. Some old documents carefully placed in a wooden box, which looked undisturbed. A silver case and diamond-tipped pen, which surely would have tickled a typical thief’s fancy. A few volumes of poetry Frederick pretended not to enjoy but she knew he read.
