Metal rattled as Jamie sorted through a ring of long, thin rods.
“Lockpicks?” Evie’s whisper was nearly silent.
“Borrowed from m’ cousin.” Jamie’s answer was equally soundless.
He chose one and inserted it into the lock, then inserted a second lockpick above it.
“Turn off the torch now,” he whispered.
Evie had no idea how, but then her questing fingers found a switch that plunged them into darkness.
The scrape of the lockpicks sounded loud to Evie, who glanced nervously over her shoulder at the corridor behind them. Happily, no footsteps broke the quiet, no lights bobbed. The guards must be busy patrolling the upper floors, or perhaps having tea and a good natter.
Jamie continued to scrape, letting out a grunt in frustration.
Evie leaned to him. “Perhaps you ought to have brought your cousin.”
“And have Uncle Cam thrash me until I can’t walk for three years? No, thank you.”
Evie knew Jamie exaggerated—at least she hoped so. “Is he that protective of his son?”
“Of his daughter. Yes, he is.”
As the picks went on scratching Evie realized he must mean the beautiful Gavina. Gracious.
“Ah.” The lock clicked and Jamie turned the handle, the door creaking open. He thrust the picks into his pocket, took the torch from Evie, and switched it on. “My lady.” He gestured her inside.
Evie peered into the dank blackness that the torch barely illuminated. “No, no. You first.”
Jamie chuckled and slipped inside. Evie followed closely, then Jamie shut the door firmly behind them.
Evie could not stop her gasp when Jamie flashed the torch around. The light revealed row upon row of shelves upon shelves, all of which were piled with boxes, bits of pottery, ledgers, and loose paper.
“Good heavens,” she breathed.
Jamie walked slowly forward, Evie at his heels. She did not want to move beyond the circle of light.
“How the devil are we to find one jar in all of this?” Evie asked in shock.
“Because I now know exactly what we’re looking for. An alabastron, not a jar.”
“Yes, I know what it is, Mr. Scholar. It’s for carrying oils or perfumes. This one is about eight inches high and four around, Iris says.”
“With red-figure paintings. And …” Jamie passed Evie the torch again. She, not expecting it, almost dropped it, but managed to hang on to it. Jamie reached into a pocket inside his coat and pulled out some papers. Two were what Iris had given him, and a third held spidery writing. “Lady holding a necklace,” he read. “A box of them at her feet. On the opposite side, a gent peddling more necklaces. Made in Attica somewhere around 500 BC.”
Evie shone the light on the paper, which contained a very detailed line drawing, much clearer than the vague sketch Iris had found. “Where did you get that?”
“From someone who knows much more about this alabastron than I do. Wizened old gent my Uncle Mac directed me to. I mentioned to him the piece that has the journalists in Greece all excited, and he knew all about it. He was happy for my interest, and didn’t question why. Gave me all the details.”
“I hope he won’t peach about your many questions,” Evie said darkly. “Especially when we’re standing in the dock at the Old Bailey.”
“Peach? Where did you learn words like that, young lady?” Jamie’s voice held laughter. “Blackstone has no interest in governments or ministers or faux pas by diplomats. Mac says the man hasn’t left his own house in ten years or more. He’s interested in the things for their own sakes, and could care less where they are, who wants them, or why giving them away could wreck a person’s life.”
Evie gazed at the many shelves again. “Well, we can’t be arrested for stealing if we can’t locate it.” She blew out a breath. “This could take all night.”
Jamie turned the paper over. “Blackmore also knows a bloke who catalogs pieces for the museum. Logs them on a sheet, stashes the piece on a shelf. Many never to be seen again, even by the cataloger.” He waved his hand toward their left. “Alabastrons from Attica, somewhere in this direction.”
“That does not narrow it down much.”
Jamie shrugged and tucked away the paper. “Better than nothing. Are you sure Atherton could not be here? Three searchers would make things quicker.”
“Very sure. His father is a martinet. No excuses, least of all running about with his frivolous fiancée.”
Jamie abruptly played the torch over her. “You? Frivolous?” He sounded incredulous.
Evie shielded her eyes. “I am not sure your tone is complimentary, Mackenzie. You make me sound dull as ditchwater.”
Jamie lowered the light. “The man will have the sweetest, kindest, funniest young lady for a daughter-in-law, and he is complaining? That is, as long as she’d not wielding an oar. Sir Hector needs his head thumped.”
He swung away, leaving Evie open-mouthed, her heart speeding. The words, delivered in Jamie’s offhand manner, sank into her, a welcome fire in this chill dankness.
Chapter 12
She was right, Jamie reflected as they began to search the shelves. This would take all bloody night.
Not that Jamie minded groping about in the dark with Evie. They had to stick together, because he’d only brought one torch—he’d assumed Atherton would bring something of the sort along to help.
Sod Atherton. He should have told his father to go to the devil rather than let Evie venture to the museum to meet Jamie alone. Atherton would have known Iris wouldn’t be here.
Jamie himself should have abandoned the plan as soon as Evie had told her Atherton wasn’t coming, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to send her away.
Atherton’s absence meant Jamie brushed against Evie time and again as they searched, breathed the scent of her, basked in her warmth. Upstairs in the tight storage closet, it had taken all his fortitude to stay as far from her as possible.
Evie’s arm skimmed the length of his torso as she reached for a box. If her hand had gone any lower, she’d have found the beginning of a fine cockstand under his tartan.
“Not here,” Evie said in disappointment as she peered inside the box. “This is impossible.”
Jamie rubbed her shoulder. “Not impossible. Just tedious. There’s a difference.”
Her eyes flashed in the torch’s light. “Is there, Mackenzie?”
She was annoyed, scared, and wanting to be elsewhere. He couldn’t blame her.
Jamie softened his tone. “I’ve built flying machines—my life depends on whether I get everything right, down to the last tiny bolt. I’ve learned to go slowly and methodically. No action is trivial, and even an error can teach a very important lesson.”
Evie regarded him in stillness. Bored with his bothersome lecture? “You build aeroplanes?
Not boredom. Excitement. Jamie felt something in him waken.
“Aye. And crash them. I have bones I feel on rainy nights. Building them has taught me to focus on one thing at a time.”
Her scrutiny was flattering. Enticing. Hotly, hungrily so.
“Once we find Iris’s alabastron, I’ll take you up sometime,” Jamie offered as though he didn’t care one way or the other. Like a friend casually saying, Let’s have dinner one night.