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Mrs. Meadows frowned. “Lady Heloise’s chaperone?”

“Yes, she is my cousin, you see,” Clara lied. It was so simple, really. No one expected someone like her to tolerate the immorality of lying.

Ha.

“I promised my aunt I would look in on her.”

“I’m afraid she is not here.”

“Oh? That is disappointing. I do hope she is working hard. We have a family reputation, after all.”

“The marquis sent her to the seaside with Lady Heloise. You know how these parties can get. Lady Heloise is very sheltered.”

“I see. A commendable precaution, I am sure.” Mrs. Meadows seemed to believe what she was saying, which made sense. While the staff always knew more than assumed, surely a household staff numbering in the dozens would not all be able or wiling to hide girls away. But someone knew something. Clara was sure of that, too.

“But if you’re her cousin, Lady Clara, she left something for you.”

Clara and Bram exchanged a glance. His expression did not change.

“Did she?” Clara asked. It might be her first time using the cousin excuse, but it was one the Spinsters often employed. Sybil had run, or been taken, but not before she had put some precautions in place.

Mrs. Meadows fiddled with the ring of keys on her chatelaine, pulling one loose. “Here you are.”

Clara accepted the key, trying not to look puzzled. “Thank you.”

“She said you would know what it was for.”

“Of course.” She had no idea. “Thank you again, Mrs. Meadows.”

“I’ll leave you to get settled. Will you require a lady’s maid?”

“Yes, please,” Clara said. “That would very helpful indeed.”

Once Mrs. Meadows had left, Clara raised her eyebrows at Bram, who leaned silently against the wall papered with pink and green carnations. “Sybil and Heloise are at the seaside, are they?”

“No one will question that for some time, if at all.”

Clara examined the key. It was not overly large, but old-fashioned and heavy.

“Any idea what that unlocks, Cousin Clara?”

“Not a single one,” she replied.

Still, she was further ahead than she had been, and they had just arrived. She had a secret message. A key.

Perhaps she was a better detective than she had thought.

*

She was not, it turned out, a better detective than she had thought.

She was, however, exactly as unlucky as expected.

She had managed to ascertain—with some degree of subtlety, she hoped—that Heloise and Sybil had had adjoining bedrooms in the family wing. It made sense, seeing as Sybil was pretending to be an eagle-eyed chaperone.

Clara crept down the hall when everyone was occupied with dinner. Even the household staff would be focused on bringing dishes to and from the kitchen, preparing the final touches for each course, and on hand should any guest need anything. And truthfully, the longer Clara could avoid the fighting pits of High Society, especially gathered around a dining table like trapped ferrets turning on each other, the better.

She almost felt bad about abandoning Bram in the field. But she’d seen her chance and taken it. Sybil’s key was safely on a ribbon around her neck, and she was wearing a perfectly acceptable gown for dinner. It would be the work of a minute to see the bedrooms.