The Blue Devil (The Regency Matchmaker Series) by Melynda Beth Andrews
Authors: Melynda Beth Andrews
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blowing out the candle and settling into the feather bed. Kathryn was never more happy to snuff a candle. Jane sighed dramatically and punched her pillow beside her. Kathryn blew a relieved puff of air up through her curly bangs and pretended to fall asleep.
Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to face Jane in the morning!
The clever girl had given up her questioning with too little resistance, and Kathryn was certain Jane’s next siege would begin at first light. Fortunately, Kathryn would not be available! Settling into her pillow, she mapped out her next move. She must have searched the wrong salon upon her arrival. The night would afford her several hours to search under cushions unobserved. And how many cushions could one school have? She’d be gone before the moon rose. She would wait in the stable until morning and send the boy for a hackney coach as soon as it was safe to travel. All she had to do was wait while everyone around her drifted into slumber. It would be simple. Easy. Straightforward.
It was impossible.
Hours later, a frustrated Kathryn still lay listening to the school sighing and settling about her. Oh, to be sure, Lady Marchman had fallen asleep with alacrity, but judging by the tossing and groaning Kathryn heard around her, few others were so fortunate.
Lady Marchman snored.
Loudly.
Kathryn herself hadn’t slept at all, of course. She’d lain in wait as the hours passed, wondering if the opportunity to arise and search for the diary would ever come. Good Lord! The racket coming from Lady Marchman’s chamber had been enough to wake the Beefeaters slumbering behind the thick walls of the Tower of London. It had gone on for half the night! How anyone ever got enough sleep at Baroness Marchman’s School for Young Ladies was beyond Kathryn.
It was half past three in the morning before the place was quiet. The place was finally as still as a dove in the rain. Slipping soundlessly from her shared bed, she mouthed a silent good-bye to Jane, picked up her valise, and crept from the room, closing the door behind her.
As Kathryn descended the back stairs in almost total darkness, a tread creaked loudly underfoot, and she was sure the sudden pounding of her heart rivaled the former clamor of Lady Marchman’s grinding snores. Forging ahead, she reached the first floor and looked for the first banked fire she saw, letting its softly glowing coals guide her through an open door and across a room. Drawing from her valise a fresh candle, she held its wick to the embers until it caught and finally set about finding the diary. With everyone abed, it would be no trouble at all. Simple. Easy. Exciting!
An hour later, she had almost lost her composure.
The house was enormous. There were classrooms and studies, a kitchen, several small parlors and receiving rooms, two dining rooms, an accounts room, several storage rooms, a drawing room, a morning room, a ballroom and music room, and a studio. Anywhere that had a couch, chaise, divan, or even an overstuffed chair had been searched. She’d swept her hand under every cushion in every blasted one of the common rooms. She’d found five shillings, a hairpin, a lady’s gazette, a broken charcoal crayon, three harp keys (Kathryn assumed the girls did not like music lessons much), and a sticky lump of peppermint, but no diary. The little book just wasn’t there.
“What now, Auntie?” she muttered.
It was already half past four, and the kitchen staff would soon be bustling about preparing breakfast. What was she going to do? Kathryn felt panic rising and stuffed it back down. She had to be logical. Where else could the diary be? Someone must have found it and taken it . . . to the library.
Of course!
She’d peeked in long enough to see that the place didn’t have any large pieces of furniture, just a desk and some tables—which is probably where the diary lay, waiting to be re-shelved. She padded that direction, but just as she placed her hand on the
Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to face Jane in the morning!
The clever girl had given up her questioning with too little resistance, and Kathryn was certain Jane’s next siege would begin at first light. Fortunately, Kathryn would not be available! Settling into her pillow, she mapped out her next move. She must have searched the wrong salon upon her arrival. The night would afford her several hours to search under cushions unobserved. And how many cushions could one school have? She’d be gone before the moon rose. She would wait in the stable until morning and send the boy for a hackney coach as soon as it was safe to travel. All she had to do was wait while everyone around her drifted into slumber. It would be simple. Easy. Straightforward.
It was impossible.
Hours later, a frustrated Kathryn still lay listening to the school sighing and settling about her. Oh, to be sure, Lady Marchman had fallen asleep with alacrity, but judging by the tossing and groaning Kathryn heard around her, few others were so fortunate.
Lady Marchman snored.
Loudly.
Kathryn herself hadn’t slept at all, of course. She’d lain in wait as the hours passed, wondering if the opportunity to arise and search for the diary would ever come. Good Lord! The racket coming from Lady Marchman’s chamber had been enough to wake the Beefeaters slumbering behind the thick walls of the Tower of London. It had gone on for half the night! How anyone ever got enough sleep at Baroness Marchman’s School for Young Ladies was beyond Kathryn.
It was half past three in the morning before the place was quiet. The place was finally as still as a dove in the rain. Slipping soundlessly from her shared bed, she mouthed a silent good-bye to Jane, picked up her valise, and crept from the room, closing the door behind her.
As Kathryn descended the back stairs in almost total darkness, a tread creaked loudly underfoot, and she was sure the sudden pounding of her heart rivaled the former clamor of Lady Marchman’s grinding snores. Forging ahead, she reached the first floor and looked for the first banked fire she saw, letting its softly glowing coals guide her through an open door and across a room. Drawing from her valise a fresh candle, she held its wick to the embers until it caught and finally set about finding the diary. With everyone abed, it would be no trouble at all. Simple. Easy. Exciting!
An hour later, she had almost lost her composure.
The house was enormous. There were classrooms and studies, a kitchen, several small parlors and receiving rooms, two dining rooms, an accounts room, several storage rooms, a drawing room, a morning room, a ballroom and music room, and a studio. Anywhere that had a couch, chaise, divan, or even an overstuffed chair had been searched. She’d swept her hand under every cushion in every blasted one of the common rooms. She’d found five shillings, a hairpin, a lady’s gazette, a broken charcoal crayon, three harp keys (Kathryn assumed the girls did not like music lessons much), and a sticky lump of peppermint, but no diary. The little book just wasn’t there.
“What now, Auntie?” she muttered.
It was already half past four, and the kitchen staff would soon be bustling about preparing breakfast. What was she going to do? Kathryn felt panic rising and stuffed it back down. She had to be logical. Where else could the diary be? Someone must have found it and taken it . . . to the library.
Of course!
She’d peeked in long enough to see that the place didn’t have any large pieces of furniture, just a desk and some tables—which is probably where the diary lay, waiting to be re-shelved. She padded that direction, but just as she placed her hand on the
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