went to the door and gingerly turned its handle. Grateful, it didn’t squeal, Sam looked up and down the dark hallway. The moon shining in the window at the end of the corridor cast long, distorted shadows. Telling herself not to be such a ninny, Sam stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind her.
And felt the familiar tingle of childhood, sneaking about in the dark, tiptoeing past her grandmother's door barely able to suppress the giggles as she and her best friend went on a midnight raid. Knowing that her grandmother likely knew exactly what was going on, never lessened the adventure.
As she glided down the half-lit corridor, Sam felt such a frisson of excitement that when her stomach gurgled, she froze and then laughed at her own folly.
Thirty-one-years-old and as giddy as a schoolgirl.
She skipped down the main staircase. The flagstone floor was as cold as ice. She sprinted to the thick carpet a few steps away and followed its path.
Had Mrs. Weekes said the second door on the right?
Or the left.
Left. A strip of light showed ahead; the door was ajar. Sam pushed it open with the tips of her fingers and peered around the corner. Definitely the dining room.
And, on the sideboard, a platter full of sandwiches under a glass dome. And... Sam's nose twitched...there was coffee. And a carafe of tea, of course.
She started with a cup of coffee and then quickly scoffed two ham and cheese sandwiches. The bread was fresh and well-buttered, the ham thickly sliced and the cheddar was old and sharp and left a trail of crumbs.
She studied the plate while she ate. The display of sandwiches was uneven; someone had been here before her. Chas most likely. She topped up her coffee. He was probably brooding somewhere about the castle or maybe walking the parapets, whatever they were. Not that she had any interest in seeing him.
She set her cup down and reached for an egg and cress, nibbling carefully as she strolled about the room. Three enormous windows, or maybe they were French doors, dominated the far wall, draped from floor-to-ceiling in a pale yellow silk with repeating peacock designs. All fourteen dining chairs were covered in the same material and placed at precisely the same distance from the perfectly polished mahogany table. The centre of the table was dominated by a huge silver epergne showing a scene with elephants carrying rajas while servants waved fans. It had probably been acquired during the India trade. Smiling wryly, Sam wondered if it had been acquired as a symbol of the family’s growing social status. During her years in the fine art business, Sam had seen many beautiful pieces and visited all the museums and estate houses she could, but never had she been in a private home like this.
She was slightly awed. Make that incredibly awed.
The carriage clock on the mantelpiece struck midnight as Sam swallowed the last of her coffee, belatedly wondering if it was decaf.
Regardless, it was time for bed.
But not before she had one last look around.
A rosewood cabinet with brass fittings drew her eye. It was not unlike a piece which had come up for auction in London last spring stood in the far corner of the dining room, its delicate lines almost lost in the shadows.
Furniture wasn't Sam's forte but she recognized the cabinet as either Regency or Georgian. Up close, it was even more exquisite.
The key was in the lock.
It was solid brass. As was the escutcheon plate behind it. Which, on closer inspection, proved to be badly scratched. If a servant had been responsible for such carelessness, they would have been dismissed on the spot.
Curious, Sam reached for the key. It felt warm in her hand. She turned it to the right and heard the snick of the lock a split second before she heard the voice behind her.
"Looking for something?" drawled Chas.
Sam's head fell forward and she dropped her hand.
A perfect end to a perfect day.
She drew in a breath and turned round to see Chas leaning against the
And felt the familiar tingle of childhood, sneaking about in the dark, tiptoeing past her grandmother's door barely able to suppress the giggles as she and her best friend went on a midnight raid. Knowing that her grandmother likely knew exactly what was going on, never lessened the adventure.
As she glided down the half-lit corridor, Sam felt such a frisson of excitement that when her stomach gurgled, she froze and then laughed at her own folly.
Thirty-one-years-old and as giddy as a schoolgirl.
She skipped down the main staircase. The flagstone floor was as cold as ice. She sprinted to the thick carpet a few steps away and followed its path.
Had Mrs. Weekes said the second door on the right?
Or the left.
Left. A strip of light showed ahead; the door was ajar. Sam pushed it open with the tips of her fingers and peered around the corner. Definitely the dining room.
And, on the sideboard, a platter full of sandwiches under a glass dome. And... Sam's nose twitched...there was coffee. And a carafe of tea, of course.
She started with a cup of coffee and then quickly scoffed two ham and cheese sandwiches. The bread was fresh and well-buttered, the ham thickly sliced and the cheddar was old and sharp and left a trail of crumbs.
She studied the plate while she ate. The display of sandwiches was uneven; someone had been here before her. Chas most likely. She topped up her coffee. He was probably brooding somewhere about the castle or maybe walking the parapets, whatever they were. Not that she had any interest in seeing him.
She set her cup down and reached for an egg and cress, nibbling carefully as she strolled about the room. Three enormous windows, or maybe they were French doors, dominated the far wall, draped from floor-to-ceiling in a pale yellow silk with repeating peacock designs. All fourteen dining chairs were covered in the same material and placed at precisely the same distance from the perfectly polished mahogany table. The centre of the table was dominated by a huge silver epergne showing a scene with elephants carrying rajas while servants waved fans. It had probably been acquired during the India trade. Smiling wryly, Sam wondered if it had been acquired as a symbol of the family’s growing social status. During her years in the fine art business, Sam had seen many beautiful pieces and visited all the museums and estate houses she could, but never had she been in a private home like this.
She was slightly awed. Make that incredibly awed.
The carriage clock on the mantelpiece struck midnight as Sam swallowed the last of her coffee, belatedly wondering if it was decaf.
Regardless, it was time for bed.
But not before she had one last look around.
A rosewood cabinet with brass fittings drew her eye. It was not unlike a piece which had come up for auction in London last spring stood in the far corner of the dining room, its delicate lines almost lost in the shadows.
Furniture wasn't Sam's forte but she recognized the cabinet as either Regency or Georgian. Up close, it was even more exquisite.
The key was in the lock.
It was solid brass. As was the escutcheon plate behind it. Which, on closer inspection, proved to be badly scratched. If a servant had been responsible for such carelessness, they would have been dismissed on the spot.
Curious, Sam reached for the key. It felt warm in her hand. She turned it to the right and heard the snick of the lock a split second before she heard the voice behind her.
"Looking for something?" drawled Chas.
Sam's head fell forward and she dropped her hand.
A perfect end to a perfect day.
She drew in a breath and turned round to see Chas leaning against the
Similar Books
