Page 20 of Hearts of Briarwall

“You’re forgiven,” she all but blurted.

His brow rose.

“Truly,” she continued. “I’m quite obsessed myself.”

Before Mr. Hayes could respond, Florrie appeared at Lydia’s side, hands on her hips. “What are you two expecting to find?” she asked. “The winding key pressed flat as a flower between the pages?”

Lydia, about to share her newfound information about her guest, held her tongue. Telling Florrie of Mr. Hayes’s penchant for motorcars might open a Pandora’s box to more of Florrie’s pointed questions, and she was only just feeling secure about the evening. No. Lydia would keep this news to herself. At least for a little while. Her heart thrummed with the secret.

Mr. Hayes returned his books to the shelf, then took the thick volume from Lydia. “I’m not sure what I expected. Just a fanciful guess.” He pushed the book back into position on the shelf. “Would’ve been something, though, to find it here.”

Lydia nodded and glanced back toward the griffin. “It is a distance from the clock. If I were charged with winding all the clocks in the house, I would—” She paused.A secret compartment.

“You would what?” Florrie asked.

Lydia’s excitement grew. “That’s it. Mrs. Parks once told me that, years ago, in the grand houses like yours, Florrie, a particular servant would be assigned to wind every clock in the home.”

“Actually, I think westillhave a person for that—”

Lydia nodded absently. “It would take him days. And he kept all the keys together in a box or on a ring. But often, keys would have a particular compartment—”

“Inside the clock.” Mr. Hayes finished her thought.

She looked to him, their eyes locking. “Exactly,” she said.

After a blink of realization, all three of them rushed to the griffin.

“I say, what are we all up to?” Andrew joined them at the mythology shelf.

“Lydia and Mr. Hayes suspect the key is inside the clock.”

Andrew looked at the griffin as if it had sprung to life. “That seems overly obvious, doesn’t it?”

“Obvious enough foryouto think of it?” Florrie asked.

“Well, I ...”

“I’m afraid to lift it,” Lydia whispered with a laugh. “It’s a ridiculous idea.”

“Let’s bring it to the desk,” Mr. Hayes said. “Better light over there. Allow me.”

“Oh, do let me.” Anticipation coursed through her. She gripped both sides of the griffin and lifted the heavy piece, carrying it with careful steps to the desk. “Here we go, Frederick,” she murmured. “Just taking a little walk.” She set it down on the cherry wood with a sigh.

They all bent lower, searching for a visible door or latch.

As she leaned left, Mr. Hayes leaned right. Too late to change course, they nearly collided. The scent of cedar and sandalwood on a man—onthisman—wafted her way, and before she knew what was what, she’d silently breathed him in before they both withdrew.

“Pardon me, Miss Wooding.”

“Think nothing of it.” Why had she said that? Why had she not said, “Call me Lydia. After all, we’re about to perform surgery on a very old clock, and you smell of my dreams”? Right.

Blast Florrie and her notions of olfactory witchcraft.

She took a steadying breath. “I don’t see an opening. Do any of you?”

Across from her, Florrie and Andrew shook their heads.

“Perhaps underneath?” Mr. Hayes offered.

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