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The security team? Joan saw then that some of the people on the mezzanine weren’t normal guests. They had plainer suits and were maskless. They formed a knot around Edmund and Aaron, and Joan felt a flash of despair. She hadn’t realised how inaccessible Aaron would be.
Aaron doesn’t have thoughts, Edmund had said. It was clear that his father had him on a short leash. Even if George Griffith had been here, it would have been near impossible to force Court secrets from Aaron without Edmund or those minders clocking it. And without George …
Ruth said it first, whispering, ‘I don’t like this. I don’t like being on Oliver grounds. I don’t like being this close to Edmund Oliver.’
‘Our plan with George already fell through,’ Tom said. ‘We should cut our losses and go back to the boat.’
But Aaron was still their best chance of getting to Nick. ‘We need that information,’ Joan whispered. She turned to Jamie. ‘Are there any Liu records of Aaron going out on his own?’
‘He’s remarkably good at avoiding cameras,’ Jamie said. ‘He doesn’t appear in the Liu records casually. And when he’s at events like this, he always has minders.’
Joan bit her lip at that. Aaron hadn’t had minders when she’d known him—but then, they’d mostly been on the run. And every time she’d seen him recently, he’d been with Court Guards.
‘Should we go back?’ Ruth asked.
‘Wait,’ Joan said. ‘Wait.’ She needed to think. ‘Could he have told someone else where he took Nick?’
‘His father, maybe,’ Ruth said.
‘Someone easier to question?’
‘He was doing a job for the Court, so he would have to log it in the Oliver records,’ Jamie said. ‘My guess is that he added the information to the Oliver records and didn’t tell anyone else.’
Joan glanced around. They’d been talking in whispers, and their voices had been drowned out by the general chatter of the party around them. But to be even safer, she beckoned the others to the rounded glass wall of the conservatory, where a rushing fountain sounded. ‘You’ve done research on the house, right?’ she whispered to Ruth. ‘Do the Olivers keep their records here?’
Ruth seemed puzzled by the question. ‘Yes, of course. This is their main house.’
‘Can we get to them?’
Tom’s mouth opened as if she’d suggested breaking into a church. ‘You want to break into the Oliver records room?’
‘You want to look at their family records?’ Ruth was as scandalised as Tom. Joan had seen her break into houses without any compunction, but she looked truly shocked by the thought. ‘Read other people’s records?’
‘Is it possible?’ Joan said.
‘I mean, yeah,’ Ruth said. ‘But …’ She looked between them all. ‘Family records are sacred.’
‘Once they’re logged, no one can touch them but the family archivist,’ Tom said. He glanced again at Aaron, who was still in the knot of people with Edmund. ‘They wouldn’t be expecting a breach, though …’
‘The archivist is at the party,’ Jamie murmured. ‘Edelie Oliver.’ He nodded at a woman on the side of the room. She wore a black silky gown and a Gothic crow-like mask. Her long red hair spilled down her back, a bright contrast to the black. ‘She looks occupied to me.’
Ruth mistook Joan’s expression. ‘Did you meet her last time too?’
‘No,’ Joan said. She’d seen her lying dead in the South Garden at Holland House, her beautiful red hair splayed in leaves and dirt. Joan took a breath, and suddenly all she could smell was crushed hydrangeas. She tried to concentrate on the rich tropical scent of the conservatory.
‘I’d only need a minute in the room,’ Jamie said. He didn’t seem as scandalised as the others. ‘Less, depending on the format of their records.’
Joan could still smell hydrangeas. She forced herself to speak. ‘What do you think?’ she asked Ruth.
‘It’s in the old servants’ wing,’ Ruth said. ‘Near the kitchens.’ They all paused at that, turning to the stream of service workers with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
‘The kitchen will be full of people,’ Joan said.
‘So will the main route from it,’ Ruth agreed. ‘But we could bypass that.’ She paused, and Joan knew she was picturing the house plan. ‘From the backstairs, we can get to the storage corridor and the records room.’
‘Me and Tom as lookouts, then,’ Joan said. ‘You’d pick the lock. Jamie would do his thing …’
Ruth blew out a breath. ‘Are we really doing this?’
