A Clandestine Affair (Currents of Love Book 5) by Emilee Harris

Author:Emilee Harris [Harris, Emilee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-08-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Fingers trembling, Sarah rifled through a small purse she kept in a drawer of her armoire. Frustrated, she overturned the purse on a shelf, the contents clanging against the wood and a few items falling to the ground unheeded. The small, tarnished key thudded against the shelf, and she snatched it up, tossing the purse into the fray to be dealt with later. Turning her back on the armoire, she hurried to the writing desk and attempted to insert the key into its housing in a side drawer. Her nerves delayed the process, forcing her to take in a deep breath and concentrate on the task. She kept the drawer locked since Thomas shared the journal with her.

The journal he neglected to take back. Or perhaps, he no longer needed it. That’s what she told herself earlier that morning on remembering about the book. If he returned, she had no idea how to face him. Shutting her eyes against the worry constricting her lungs and threatening to send tremors through her limbs, she gritted her teeth and set her shoulders. None of that mattered. Aunt Mabel’s words had sparked an eerie suspicion in the back of her mind which needed addressing.

The instant the latch clicked open on the drawer, she tugged it open, shoving her hand into the space. Papers and writing implements began to fly as she tossed them aside in her search, knowing the small leather tome lay carefully concealed in the farthest recess of the drawer. A moment later her searching fingers closed about the spine, pulling it from its hiding place. Sitting in the chair, she let the book fall open and began flicking through pages, shoulders hunched and eyes skimming.

After agonizing seconds of an uneventful search which wore on interminably, she began to despair of her memory, wondering if it had just been a coincidence that the name Aunt Mabel mentioned seemed so familiar somehow, but then her eyes fell upon it. Not the name exactly, but a passage she remembered thinking unique in its description. It followed on from the one which had indicated the hiding place for the list of names.

“With loving care, she builds her arsenal, leaving once glinting silver to tarnish.” Sarah muttered, leaning back in her chair and catching her lower lip between her teeth. Both the words mother and arsenal had been marked with a small flag beside them resembling that which occurs when a pen is too hastily pulled from its path on parchment.

Several words throughout the passages boasted similar marks or had been otherwise highlighted, and she recalled initially thinking this Cartwright fellow must be a haphazard writer indeed.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears as she sank back against the chair, bringing one arm to drape across her middle and propping the opposite elbow on her hand to better facilitate chewing on her nails. A crease formed between her brows as she furrowed them to study the open journal in front of her. Surely the similarity between the words from the journal and those of Aunt Mable hinted at more than mere coincidence.

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