by Adele Clee
She squeezed his arm affectionately. He contemplated scooping her up and taking her far away from the fog-drenched streets of the city. To a place surrounded by lush green fields, to a house he owned but never wanted to live in.
“I’ve heard professional thieves prey on drunken sailors in this area,” she whispered. “Do you think Thomas fell foul to such men? Do you think that is how he ended up in the Thames?”
“His pocket watch was missing when they found him, but it could have fallen into the water, been stolen by the men who pulled him from the river.” Guesswork often led to wasted time and false trails when emotions governed one's thoughts. “In this case, speculation only serves to detract from all potential leads. We must wait until the facts are presented. We must remain impartial.”
“You’re right.”
As they continued along the alley, they came across a man wearing a brightly coloured turban standing amid an assortment of wooden cages. Each one contained an exotic bird: a red parrot with green-tipped feathers, a yellow canary, another with a purple body and white head.
Daphne pulled him closer to study the rare birds. “Oh, Daniel, look. Isn’t this one the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen?”
She was the only thing to steal his breath.
“Don’t touch the cage. Like most things around here, they’re far more dangerous than they look.” The bird squawked and nipped at the bars simply to prove that Daniel’s cynical opinion was rarely wrong.
As they moved past the rope and sail-makers, the smell of tar dissipated only to be replaced by the bittersweet scent of ale. From the raucous sounds spilling out into the dank alley, it was evident they were approaching The Mariners. The tavern was a place where one needed a strong constitution to enter let alone consume a beverage. With not a single brass-buttoned jacket in sight, it was home to those who wished to express their opinion freely after months spent cooped up at sea. Where the downtrodden used drink to forget about their miserable lives. After a few mugs of ale or gin, a man could be anyone he wanted to be. Come the morning, the stark reality only served to send him back to begin the process all over again.
Daniel held Daphne’s hand tight to his arm and sauntered past the drunkards who’d taken their merriment out onto the street.
“But I thought we were going to The Mariners?” Daphne glanced back over her shoulder. “I thought we were looking for the woman Thomas met? Although despite what the Turners told you, I doubt she’ll still be hanging around the place after all this time.”
“Don’t stare,” Daniel snapped. “Look straight ahead.” In this part of town, it took nothing more than a glance in the wrong direction to bring trouble to one’s door. “After downing copious amounts of alcohol, these people are easily offended.”
“Where are we going?” She quickened her pace to keep up with his long strides.
“To the ship chandler.”
“Why, are you in need of twine, rope and a box of tallow candles?” A chuckle escaped from her lips.
“It was something the Turners said — a covert nod in the right direction.” Why point him to the chandler if it wasn’t relevant to the case. “Nothing about Lily makes sense. If she waits for the Carron to reunite with a lover or husband why was she interested in Thomas? If she’s involved in smuggling, there are safer places than the London docks to conduct business. Perhaps she supplies goods to those aboard.”
“Or information,” Daphne added. “Thomas made regular trips to France though said he’d taken work as a translator for a cloth merchant wishing to expand his business.”
Thomas had mentioned nothing about his work.
“I was aware his father left the estate with mounting debts.” Daniel had dragged the details from his friend after a few glasses of brandy. “That he had to sell the family home and buy a smaller house in London. But I had no idea he needed to work to cover expenses.”
“Buy a house?” Daphne gave a chuckle of contempt. “We were left practically penniless once the debts were paid. We didn’t buy the townhouse. We rented it. Thomas obsessed over rebuilding his fortune and took paid work to supplement our small income.”
Daniel didn’t know what to say. Pride had forced his friend to manipulate the truth. “I would have offered assistance had I known you were in financial difficulty.”
“The life of an enquiry agent is hard, I should know. I barely earn enough to cover my expenses. Heaven only knows how you afford to keep a carriage in town. Perhaps you charge an extortionate fee for your services.”
The lady had no idea as to the extent of his wealth. No idea that he could have given her the life she’d dreamed of if only she’d given him a chance. She had no idea who he was. “And perhaps you’re undercharging for yours. You should consider increasing your fee.”
“Betsy’s said that numerous times. But few people are willing to hire a woman to do a man’s work. My price reflects what people deem a disadvantage.” She halted and nodded to the small shop with ropes and lanterns hanging from nails on a wooden sign. “Despite the late hour, it seems the shop is still open.”
“Places like this rarely close.”
“And you think we’ll find Lily here?”
Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know. The only way to find out is to ask.”
Chapter 12
The chandler’s shop had a maritime feel that had little to do with the assortment of tools, cooking utensils, and other strange metal objects scattered about and more to do with the fact that every wall and surface was wooden. Daphne imagined it was like being below deck on a frigate and at any moment the whole room would shake from the sound of cannon fire.
The smell of tar, tallow and varnish in the air created a not too unpleasant aroma. It was better than the stench of rotting vegetables one found in Covent Garden.
“Can I help you fine folk?” A man with bushy white hair and side-whiskers approached them, wiping his hands on the brown leather apron tied around his waist. The compartment to store tools for ease of access were empty but for a smoking pipe and pouch of tobacco.
“I’m told Lily Lawson lives here,” Thorpe said in the stern tone that left most people quaking in their boots. “Would you ask her if she can spare a moment of her time?”
“We have a mutual acquaintance,” Daphne added in a friendlier tone.
The man narrowed his gaze. “And who would that be?”
Daphne contemplated saying her dead husband, but that was unlikely to gain them any ground.
“Let’s just say our mutual interest spends time aboard the Carron.” Thorpe looked the man straight in the eye. “I think you understand my meaning.”
Oh, Thorpe was by far the better enquiry agent; his mind was quick, sharp. Daphne would have floundered at the direct question.
The trader’s gaze flitted between them. “The Carron you say. Most people around here are acquainted with sailors. I’ll need the name of this acquaintance.”
“Names are not to be bandied about lightly. This particular person prefers to spend most of their time in France.”
“And he told you to come here?”
Thorpe huffed to show his impatience. He had been deliberately vague about the gender of their supposed acquaintance. Was the chandler’s use of he a ploy to discredit their claim?
“Tell Miss Lawson we’re here,” Thorpe insisted, “and let her decide if she wishes to speak to us. Tell her we’re here about Thomas Chambers.”
Daphne suppressed a gasp. She’d not expected Thorpe to mention Thomas directly.
The chandler frowned. “I know no one of that name.”
“It is not for you to know.” Thorpe’s chest swelled as he sucked in a breath. “But the Turners can vouch for me should you wish to question my intentions.”
“The Turners?” The man’s face grew as pale as his hair.
Thorpe inclined his head. “Like most people who live and work here, I’m sure you’re acquainted with them.”
Silence ensued.
&n
bsp; Every muscle in Daphne’s body clenched tight while she waited for the man’s reply.
“I shall take your lack of response as a refusal to co-operate,” Thorpe continued. He turned to Daphne. “Come, let’s venture back to The Compass Inn and ask the Turners if—”
“Wait!” The man held up both hands. “Lily lives above stairs. I can see if she’ll agree to speak to you but … but that’s all.”
“I’m sure if you tell her it’s about Thomas Chambers she’ll not object,” Daphne said politely. “I am Mrs Chambers, the gentleman’s widow.” If Lily was her husband’s lover, she must have had feelings for him. Perhaps Lily had spent the last three years wondering what had happened to Thomas, too.
The chandler nodded and scuttled off through a door behind the counter.
A heavy tension hung in the air while they waited for the fellow to return with a reply.
The empty feeling in Daphne’s stomach had nothing to do with meeting her husband’s mistress, nothing to do with understanding the motive behind Thomas’ death. Every step that brought them closer to finding the truth meant less time working with Daniel Thorpe. The thought of going their separate ways, of not seeing him again for years, made her legs weak, her chest tight.
She hoped there was nothing simple about this case, that every lead proved false. She hoped every snippet of information sent them searching in random locations, forced them to travel for long hours in Thorpe’s carriage, rent rooms at a coaching inn, dine together in a private parlour.
Daphne cast Thorpe a sidelong glance.
One did not need to be an enquiry agent to know that his broad shoulders carried a heavy burden, something secretive, something from the past. What would it take to break through the hard shell? The only time he’d ever shown any sign of emotion was when she’d kissed him.
What would happen if she took him as her lover? Would the real Mr Thorpe reveal himself? Would she get to see what he hid beneath his confident facade?
The chandler appeared at the counter to drag Daphne from her musings. “Lily said I’m to show you upstairs. She said she’s been expecting you.”
The last comment proved worrying. A host of questions flooded Daphne’s mind. Had the woman been waiting to speak to them for three years? If she knew something why hadn’t she made contact before?
The white-haired fellow led them up a narrow stairway. Thorpe gestured for Daphne to proceed first, yet the feel of his heated gaze on her back made climbing a difficult task.
The chandler left them outside one of two doors on the upstairs landing. “You’ll find Lily in there.” He rapped on the door on their behalf as though the specific sound conveyed a hidden meaning, and then left them to their business.
With bated breath, Daphne waited to meet the woman her husband had entertained regularly. Would they be similar in looks? Did the lady have the one essential ingredient necessary to please a man like Thomas?
The golden-haired beauty who opened the door was Daphne’s opposite in every way: petite in stature, slight of figure with delicate elfin features. The woman cast an admiring glance over Thorpe’s masculine frame, and a pang of jealousy hit Daphne hard in the chest. Childish thoughts filled her head. The urge to claim him for herself being the most prominent. Lily had taken Thomas, but she'd not take Thorpe — the only man ever to ignite a fiery passion in her breast.
Lily’s attention moved to Daphne. “Mrs Chambers, please come in.” Her warm tone sounded sweet and gentle, but wasn’t that the way of every temptress? She stepped aside and gestured to the room beyond.
Daphne turned to the object of Lily’s fascination. “This is Mr Thorpe, my friend and colleague.” The description seemed inadequate. It failed to describe the complicated nature of their relationship. It failed to warn Lily to keep her beady eyes to herself.
Lily moistened her lips. “Good evening, Mr Thorpe.”
“Good evening, Miss Lawson.” The sudden feel of Thorpe’s hand on Daphne’s back as he ushered her into the room roused a blush.
With Thorpe at her side, it was becoming more difficult to focus on the case. While she should have been thinking about the link between Lily, the ghostly intruder and Thomas’ murderer, her need to learn everything there was to know about Daniel Thorpe had become a priority.
The small room above the chandler’s shop was on a par with Daphne’s parlour, although this space acted as bedchamber and kitchen, too. It was neat, clean but one glance around the cold, impersonal space confirmed this was a place to rest one’s head, nothing more.
Lily moved a wooden chair from around the circular table and placed it near the bed. Thorpe stepped forward to assist in moving the other one.
“Please take a seat,” Lily said gesturing to the chairs. “I shall sit on the bed.” The eloquent tone of her voice confirmed that this lady was no backstreet whore. “Can I make tea? I’m sorry to say I have nothing stronger.”
“No,” Thorpe replied as he waited for them to sit before dropping into the chair. “We will not take up too much of your time.”
His blunt response warmed Daphne’s heart. She liked that he was cold to everyone but her.
“We would like to ask you about your relationship with Thomas.” Daphne felt not the slightest hint of jealousy when she imagined Thomas and Lily together. But if the beauty batted her lashes at Thorpe one more time, she’d have to pull out the pepper pot. “We are aware he met you at the Mariner’s tavern on numerous occasions.”
“We are aware he travelled with you to France,” Thorpe added. “Of the close connection you shared.”
It took all the strength of will Daphne possessed not to gasp at Thorpe’s speculative comment. Was he not the one who insisted they focus on the facts?
Lily had the decency to avert her gaze. After taking a deep breath, she looked up. “Then you should know that ours was a working relationship. We were not lovers, despite how it might seem.”
Daphne did not know whether to be pleased or disappointed. Thomas was a loyal, honest man and she should have known he would never make a mockery of their vows. Yet it would ease the guilt she felt for her inability to love him had he sought solace elsewhere.
“When you say working relationship, I assume your shared venture was legal.” Thorpe never took his eyes off the delicate creature.
“Of course.” Lily offered a weak smile. “We were not smuggling tea and brandy if that’s what you think.”
Thorpe leant forward. “Then what were you smuggling?”
“Information,” Lily replied confidently. “For the Crown.”
Daphne slapped her thigh — it was better than shooting out of the chair and punching the air in satisfaction. “I suspected Thomas worked for the government.”
She’d suspected he was a spy to be more precise. She’d never believed his story about the cloth merchant. Spying was the only logical explanation to account for his regular trips to France, to account for the extra income that made life more bearable.
“And you still work for the Crown?” Thorpe clarified.
“Yes, I collect information from a contact who sails on the Carron. I pass it on to … well, I’m sure you know I cannot divulge names.”
“But Thomas was your partner at one time?” Daphne said needing confirmation. This was surely the reason Thomas ended up floating in the Thames.
Lily nodded. “We worked together for eight months before he died.”
About the same time Thomas supposedly worked for the cloth merchant.
Thorpe sat back, his expression indifferent yet his eyes held a hint of suspicion. “May I ask why you’re still working the same route when your colleague died under mysterious circumstances?”
Lily stared at a point beyond them, her sapphire-blue eyes growing sad, reflective. “Do you think I have a choice? I follow instructions, Mr Thorpe. But you have come here to learn about Thomas, not to hear my sorry tale. And so perhaps it’s best I start at the beginning.”
“It usually helps,” Tho
rpe muttered.
Daphne nudged him. “Please, tell us all you know.”
She looked at them, pursed her lips and nodded. “Thomas believed a colleague of ours was a traitor. He said he had proof. I urged him not to confront the gentleman, to take his information to someone in authority. The night Thomas died we were to meet at the docks, but he never came.” Lily bowed her head, the sight of her shaking shoulders evidence of her distress. “Why did he not heed my advice?” she blurted. “Did he not understand that desperate men think nothing of taking a life?”
“Did you love him?”
Daphne turned to Thorpe and frowned, shocked at the nature of his question. Why was he concerned about the woman’s emotions instead of demanding to know more about the traitor?
“Well?” Thorpe said when Lily failed to answer. “It is not a difficult question.”
Lily looked at Thorpe and then at Daphne. “I loved him as a friend and colleague. The sense of trust and respect we shared was similar to that which evidently exists between both of you.”
“But your relationship never progressed beyond friendship?”
“No, Mr Thorpe, it did not.”
Daphne caught Thorpe’s gaze. He searched her face, but she had no idea what he was thinking.
“Do you think the traitor killed my husband?” Daphne said. It would explain why someone followed her about town, entered her house, yet took nothing. The perpetrator was looking for evidence, for the one thing that would incriminate him, prove he was a turncoat.
Lily shook her head. “That I cannot say. After Thomas’ death I was sent to France. I stayed there for a year, forged friendships, secured contacts. When summoned to come back, I begged the powers that be to let me work alone, to use the contacts I’d grown to trust.”
“And you use this room merely as a place to conduct business?” Thorpe scanned the bare walls, the empty coal scuttle and grate. A layer of dust covered every surface. Cobwebs clung to the curtains.