Thomas turned to Bridget. “We don’t have time to second-guess this. We start now.”
Bridget looked away from Thomas, but his words lingered, curling through her thoughts. He would be standing beside her. And for the first time in days, that truth didn’t just steady her. It made her feel strong.
Chapter Twenty
The sun roseas it always did, casting a golden glow over the estate and illuminating the gardens with its gentle light. Birds sang their morning serenades, blissfully unaware of the grim events that had transpired within the grand manor. Servants bustled about, attending to their morning duties with practiced efficiency, as if nothing had changed. But for those who knew the truth, the day held a darkness that not even the brightest sunlight could dispel.
Barrington, Grenville, Tresham, and Bridget gathered once more in Alastair’s library. The gravity of their task was clear. Townsend was ready to leave for Whitehall on a moment’s notice, armed with a copy of the translation. Everyone else worked to plan the groundwork for their deception.
The decoy manuscript was Tresham’s responsibility, but the success of their plan depended on how well they could convince the Order that they had what they wanted.
Barrington stood with hands clasped behind his back. “If we want them to take the bait, we need to make them believe the book is still within reach, somewhere hidden, waiting to be retrieved. We cannot simply hand them a target. We have to make them work for it.”
Thomas leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his gaze thoughtful. “There are a few ways we could accomplish that.” He drummed his fingers once against the wood, considering.
“We could leave an anonymous message, something cryptic, just vague enough to stir their curiosity. But that could backfire if we misjudge their reaction.”
He shook his head slightly and pushed off the desk. “Another option is to plant a false lead in the correspondence of someone they already watch. A letter intercepted at the right time might give them the impression that the book was hidden somewhere before Alastair’s death.”
Thomas paused, then added. “But the simplest, and perhaps the most effective, is to let the rumor grow organically. We don’t feed them the direct information. We let them overhear whispers, half-truths, and fragments of conversations until the idea takes root. If they think the book has merely been misplaced rather than taken outright, they’ll keep searching.”
Bridget nodded, considering. “We need to be subtle, though. If it’s too obvious, they’ll know we’re leading them. We should let the rumors arise naturally.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Barrington asked, arching an eyebrow.
A slow smile formed on Bridget’s lips. “The house staff. They hear everything, and their gossip reaches further than any of us could. A misplaced word, a half-heard conversation between guests, if the idea takes root in the right way, the Order will act.”
Tresham adjusted his spectacles. “A clever approach, but we must be mindful. If we fabricate the wrong rumor, they may search in the wrong places and figure out the ruse. It must be just believable enough to entice them.”
Barrington nodded. “Then we start with a simple premise, that Mark Alastair kept a record of his findings, separate from the book itself, and that it may still be within the house.”
“Not just a record,” Thomas added. “A journal. Something personal, something only he would have hidden away. That will make them desperate to find it.”
Bridget crossed her arms, intrigued. “And how do we convince them without being obvious?”
Thomas’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “We let them overhear. Gossip and theories are already forming about Lord Alastair’s death. All we need to do is add the idea of his journal to the mix.”
Bridget tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. “We need someone who can speak naturally about the idea, someone the Order wouldn’t suspect of working with us.”
A thought struck her, and she looked to Thomas. “Catriona and Killian.”
He gave her a puzzled expression.
“They’re trusted,” Bridget said. “They move about the estate without raising questions, and they owe Alastair their safety. If they speak of a missing journal, it won’t look like a planted rumor. It’ll look like a discovery.”
Barrington nodded slowly. “A clever approach. But they must be cautious.”
“I’ll speak with them,” Bridget said. “They’ll understand what’s at stake.”
*
Later that morning,with the plan still settling in her thoughts, Bridget stepped into the corridor in search of Catriona. She found her just as she was setting a bundle of linens on a hall table.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said softly. “Are you looking for something?”
“Actually, I am looking for you.” Bridget paused and took a breath. “I need your help. You see—”
“Tell me what needs doing.” Catriona’s voice was steady and confident.
