Thomas gave a nod of approval, his voice measured. “You’ll be doing Lady Marjory and his lordship a great service, guiding the conversation. It won’t go unnoticed.”
Simmons’s lips twitched with something akin to satisfaction. “A well-placed word at the right moment can often achieve more than outright declaration. If the goal is to keep curiosity alive, subtly, of course, then I shall see to it.”
Bridget met his gaze, understanding the delicate balance of suggestion and silence. “Then perhaps an offhand remark about how misplaced things have a way of turning up in unexpected places?”
Simmons’s expression brightened, as if pleased by the challenge. “Ah, yes. A lingering question left unanswered is far more tantalizing than a blatant search. A discovery just out of reach.”
Thomas smirked, arms still crossed. “As long as it keeps the right people searching and the wrong ones second-guessing.”
Simmons tipped his head. “Consider it done.”
Bridget offered a grateful smile. “Then we are in your debt.”
Simmons gave a small bow. “Think nothing of it, my lady. Some stories beg to be buried. Others, well… sometimes it is far more interesting to leave them just beneath the surface.”
With that, they took their leave, knowing they had left things in Mr. Simmons’s capable hands.
*
By midday, thefirst hints of unease rippled through the house. Not everyone seemed concerned about rumors of a missing journal, but those who were had grown increasingly restless. Bridget and Thomas watched as subtle shifts took place, whispers exchanged in the halls, lingering glances toward the study, and the unmistakable tension among those who thought no one was looking.
Yet, it was not only the journal that stirred commotion. Lady Worthington’s bodkin was still missing.
Bridget and Thomas had just left Mr. Simmons’s study when they passed a pair of footmen searching beneath the sideboard in the hall. A maid stood nearby, carefully lifting the cushions from a settee while another straightened the drapes as if expecting the bodkin to appear tangled in the folds of fabric.
Bridget arched a brow. “The entire house is searching now?”
One of the footmen, a young man with an earnest face, straightened. “Lady Worthington insists it was misplaced here in the drawing room, but we’ve yet to find it there.”
“Or anywhere else,” the maid added with a slight huff. “It’s as if it vanished into thin air.”
Before Bridget could reply, Lady Worthington herself swept into the hall, her usual poise slipping beneath the clear agitation in her expression. “You’ve checked the writing desk?”
“Yes, my lady,” the footman replied promptly. “And beneath the rugs.”
Lady Worthington turned, her fingers pressed to her temple. “It cannot simply be lost.” Her tone sharpened, frustration clear. “It is a family heirloom, irreplaceable. The sapphire on the cap alone—” She broke off, shaking her head. “It must be here somewhere.”
Bridget softened her voice. “Perhaps you set it aside somewhere unexpected. Have you checked your reticule?”
“I did. Twice.” She exhaled sharply. “I’ve looked everywhere I can think of.”
A housemaid hesitated before speaking. “Might you have left it in the library, my lady? You were there yesterday morning with Miss Gray.”
Lady Worthington’s lips parted as if to dismiss the idea, but then she stilled. “Perhaps.” Her expression remained troubled.
Bridget caught Thomas’s slight smirk, and she nudged him lightly.
“Shall I continue searching here, my lady?” the maid asked.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” She said, waving a hand. “And send someone to check the library thoroughly. If it is not found soon, I will have to assume one of the maids put it away.”
She turned on her heel, her gown rustling as she strode off.
Thomas leaned in slightly. “That woman is determined.”
Bridget let out a small laugh under her breath. “You would be too if it were something important to you.”
Thomas hummed. “If she keeps this up, she may have the entire household in an uproar by supper.”
