Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,59

but there was a message there I read loud and clear.

Thomas. Who was sipping his cordial and chatting lightly with Cora—but I could see his jaw clench.

Buzz. Buzz.

I disengaged my leg from the comfort of Sam’s palm. “Be right back,” I murmured to him, hand on his shoulder. Slipped away from the table and asked the server in the corner where the bathroom was.

The minute I was out of that ornate dining room, I walked quickly, fingers already fumbling for my phone. The bathroom was on the second floor, up a wide staircase. I slipped out of my heels and ran those stairs, thankful the carpeting hid the sound. The second floor opened up into smaller sitting rooms filled with books and manuscripts in glass cases. One door I passed read Do Not Enter. The final door was the restroom. I sat on the toilet, propped my shoes on the edge of the sink, and scrolled through the ten alerts I’d received.

Two from Abe. Send any updates. Also, are you and Sam safe?

I sent a rapid chain of messages to my boss. George Sand love letters might be available tomorrow. Nothing confirmed, and not sure yet what “tomorrow” is. An auction maybe? The letters are definitely being talked about. Lots of interest.

I moved quickly, pulling up Birdie’s messages, trying to put out as many fires as possible.

She had five of them.

Palms sweating, I opened the first message. Another text from Abe popped up, blocking my view of the screen. Are you and Sam safe though?

The bathroom door creaked open, and I jumped out of my skin.

“Sam—” I started to say, hand on my chest, wheezing. “I was just—”

But it wasn’t Sam.

It was Thomas. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do,” he said. “Now.”

And then he locked us in.

26

Freya

“Th-Thomas,” I stumbled. “What are you doing here?” And did he hear me use the name ‘Sam’?

I hid my phone and stood, placing as much space between us as I could. But it was a minuscule bathroom with 18th-century dimensions. His presence triggered another burst of claustrophobia.

“I’m sorry to follow you like this. I’m not at my most dignified,” he said urgently. “But this whole thing is falling apart. The man knows, Birdie. He knows I took that Cervantes, and he knows I’m being punished for it.”

Holy shit. Had Birdie and Julian helped Thomas steal an incredibly valuable book from the man downstairs with the gun?

“Calm down,” I said, more for myself than him. “You know Ward. He loves a good show. Ignore him and focus on your plan.”

His nostrils flared. “Birdie, darling, you’re supposed to have the plan. That’s what we discussed.”

My stomach bottomed out. All those deleted messages, the gaps in the conversations. Birdie was a smart woman.

“Right,” I said, shifting on my bare feet. Without my heels, I was much smaller than Thomas. “Right, I know that. Things are tense down there. I’m a little…discombobulated.”

“Did you know he wasn’t going to show this weekend?” he asked. “We’re only in this mess because of him.”

“Who?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, who?”

Realization dawned on me.

“Bernard, you mean?”

“Yes, Bernard,” he hissed. “He wanted that Cervantes and he wanted those goddamn letters, and both put Cora and me in an extremely perilous situation. We could very easily take the fall for a lot of our leader’s misdeeds. This is why Roy’s blackmail threat cannot possibly be ignored.”

Blackmail. Cora and Thomas had been whispering frantically about it through the wall. What had Thomas said in the dining room?

It’s not about the money. It’s about the pride. Roy was blackmailing Thomas with the knowledge that he’d stolen Ward’s book. Loyalties in The Empty House shifted like sand on a windy beach. Who the hell could keep up?

“You’re absolutely right. Roy is a problem,” I said. “Maybe we should pay him off.”

“So you’re changing your mind then?” He took a step closer, a reckless gleam in his eye. There was no room to slide past him.

“We, uh, shouldn’t talk about this here. The guests will be wondering where we are.” I nodded at the door. “Let’s go.”

“Not until we figure this out. If we pay off that miscreant, he’ll never stop. He’ll drain us dry.”

He wasn’t wrong. Roy didn’t seem like a reasonable blackmailer.

“Bernard will know what to do once we inform him of the issue,” I said. “But he’s not here, therefore we can’t keep talking, Thomas.”

I tried to move around him, but he blocked my exit.

I stepped back again. Attempted a