“Asked for it to be repaired by next week.”
Ogden paused a moment before setting down his pencil and studying the statue. “Easily done.” He eyed her. “Are you quite all right?”
Elsie felt herself blush. “Just fine. The walk exhilarated me, is all.”
Ogden set the statue on a shelf below the counter. “Do you remember that little supply store in Westerham?”
Elsie rubbed her eyes, forcing her brain to switch from one channel to another. “Yes, the one with the cherry trees?”
Ogden grinned. “That’s the one. I’m in need of that metallic paint they have. I was hoping you’d venture down there to fetch some. It’s quicker than requesting delivery.” He shook his head, and for the first time Elsie noticed how tired he looked. “The squire is a persistent man, but I need that paint for another client. Now, Elsie, hold your tongue.”
He knew her so well. She swallowed the words The squire is a ratbag and nodded. Then straightened.
Westerham was south of Brookley, and Kent was southeast . . . Couldn’t she swing by the duke’s estate on her way back?
“I can go tonight, if you’d like.” She stretched her mouth into a cheerful smile. “I have a friend in”—think—“Knockholt. Since it’s a bit of a trip, perhaps I could dine with her tonight and come back in the morning?”
“You’re welcome to hire a cab,” he said. “But yes, that should be fine, so long as you’re back in the morning to assist customers. I won’t be here most of the day. Let Emmeline know. Did you get those chops?”
“I will and I did.”
Ogden gave her a paternal smile. “You’re a treasure, Elsie.” He turned back to his sketchbook.
And you have impeccable timing, she thought, assembling her darkest outfit in her head for tonight’s venture. She tagged it with a little prayer—she’d need all the extra help she could get.
She’d stashed the paint behind the woodpile of a bakery.
A few stars gleamed overhead as Elsie approached the duke’s estate. It seemed so much larger and more ominous in the dark. It had a heavy stone wall that faced the road, but the back of it opened up onto woodland. Land only the duke and his guests could hunt on, though that was a gripe for another evening.
Elsie did not much like ambling through the woods in the dark, yet her choices were limited. She could only pray no one mistook her for a poacher.
She stepped quietly, holding her skirts in her hands. Modern fashion did not take into account a woman’s need to be stealthy amidst brambles. There was decent moonlight, but the trees and clouds played peekaboo with it, forcing Elsie to move very slowly or risk falling. Wouldn’t that be something, stranded in the Duke of Kent’s wood with a twisted ankle?
Would her tale of secret love wriggle her out of that predicament?
Fortunately, the excursion through the wood proved uneventful. The trees thinned, the ground evened, and a manicured lawn sprawled ahead. She stepped onto the hunting path leading from the back of the estate with a sigh of relief.
She made it only a few steps before her foot was sucked into the path. Not mud—it hadn’t rained the last few days. No roots or holes, either. The glimmer of a rune revealed the truth, its feeble gleam highlighting the earth that popped up around her shoe, grabbing it in an iron-like grasp. It was not unlike the one she’d disenchanted on the doorknob, but it was more complex, with several tight, interlocking loops.
More spells to keep your servants in their place? she wondered, making a half-hearted attempt to tug her leg free. Crouching, watching her surroundings, Elsie touched the spell. She didn’t recognize this one—a physical spell, but not one she’d disenchanted previously. She tugged at the knot one way, then another, before finding a loose end and unraveling the rune bit by bit. The spell flashed—she almost thought it pouted—before vanishing, and the earth holding her in place crumbled back to dust.
Elsie shook off her shoe and proceeded carefully. Runes weren’t bold things; she couldn’t merely glance down the path ahead of her to see where any copycats lay. They would reveal themselves only as she got closer. Sometimes close enough to touch, for more masterful spells. Stepping just off the path, Elsie tiptoed carefully, catching sight of another foot trap several yards ahead. She searched the shadows, waiting for movement. Listening for sound. She smelled the stables but didn’t hear horses. Seemed all was well