With no sign of light coming from the parlour, they crept through the house and up the stairs. The faint hum of silence convinced him the modiste was in bed though he expected Bostock was hiding somewhere in the shadows waiting to pounce. The boards on the landing creaked every time they took a step no matter where they placed their feet.
“These boards are as noisy as the bed at Elton Park,” he whispered.
“My bed’s not noisy, but it’s not nearly as comfortable,” she replied as she opened the door to the small parlour and stepped inside. “And as it only half the size — ouch!”
“Hush.”
“What the devil!” She knelt down and felt about in the darkness. “The chair is upturned and blocking my path.”
“We need to light a candle.” Daniel squinted and scoured the room. It took a few seconds for his eyes to grow accustomed to the scene of devastation before him. The odd grey shapes on the floor amounted to broken furniture, strewn garments, the contents of drawers.
“Good Lord!” Daphne cried as she gazed upon what looked like a mound of rubbish and not one’s prized possessions.
“Hold your bloody hands up high where I can see them.” Bostock’s gruff voice boomed through the room as he cocked a pistol.
Daniel froze as Bostock dug the end of the barrel into his back. “I’d think twice before you shoot lest you’ll be out of a job.”
“Thorpe? Is that you?”
“We’ve come home early, Mr Bostock,” Daphne said, turning slowly to face his associate. The tremor in her voice spoke of her anxiety at discovering the shambles in the parlour. “What on earth happened here?”
“There’s been a robbery.”
“I can see that,” Daphne countered.
“For-forgive my disgraceful appearance, Mrs Chambers,” Bostock stuttered. “Had I known it was you I would have worn a shirt.”
With his hands held high Daniel turned too. One did not need the luxury of a candle to see that his man was barely dressed. “Do you normally keep watch wearing nothing but your breeches?” Daniel said lowering his hands. “Does it not get a little chilly?”
Bostock mumbled to himself and eventually said, “A man has to sleep.”
“Indeed.” Daniel inhaled the sweet smell of jasmine lingering in the air. It was not Daphne’s scent. He would know her potent fragrance anywhere. “And is it necessary to wear a woman’s perfume while carrying out the task?”
Bostock bent his head and sniffed at his bare shoulder. “I’ve been helping Miss Betsy sort out the dressing room. Smells like a ladies boudoir in there.”
Daphne gave a disgruntled sigh. “Will one of you gentlemen please light a candle. In case it has escaped your attention, my home has been ransacked.”
“Of course,” Daniel said apologetically. He looked at Bostock. “Does the modiste have a lit candle in her room?”
Bostock nodded. “Miss Betsy’s kept one burning by her bedside tonight. Since finding the mess in here, she’s frightened to sleep.”
Daniel suppressed a grin. How did Bostock know what Miss Betsy did in her bedchamber? He was about to suggest Bostock fetch the candle when the floorboard creaked and a golden glow appeared in the doorway.
“Daphne? Are you home?” Wearing a dressing gown and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Betsy padded barefoot into the room. She handed Bostock the brass candle holder and grabbed Daphne’s hands. “Oh, forgive me. I wanted to tidy up the mess, but George—” She stopped abruptly and cleared her throat. “Mr Bostock said I was not to touch a thing.”
“Mr Bostock is right, Betsy. Thorpe and I will want to observe things exactly as the thief left them.”
“Would you hold the candle aloft, George,” Daniel said with some amusement as he stressed the use of his friend’s given name, “so we might gaze upon the devastation.”
Bostock nodded and raised the light.
Daphne sucked in a sharp breath and put her hand to her chest.
Daniel came to stand at her side as he surveyed the room. The oak dresser was upturned, the drawers scattered across the floor. Stuffing from the slashed seats on the sofa lay dotted about the place. Broken gilt frames from the paintings, feathers from ripped cushions, and numerous items of clothing created a scene of chaos and disorder.
This was not a robbery.
The culprit was looking for something — proof as to the identity of the traitor.