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.

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,” Thorpe 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.

“The people around here think I make a living selling my body to the sailors who come ashore. They know I’m a favourite of the crew on the Carron. My contact makes it known I’m not any man’s for the taking.”

And Daphne thought the life on an enquiry agent came with troubles. Why would a woman want to pass secret messages to the government at the risk of death, allow everyone to think her a whore?

“Has anyone ever tried to kill you?” Daphne asked. If the traitor knew that Thomas had confided in Lily then surely he would have come after her too? “As a government agent, the traitor must know why you were sent to France.”

Lily’s face turned ashen. “Thomas would never have betrayed me. He couldn't have, else I would be dead.”

Daphne shivered. The image of the horse charging towards her in Covent Garden flashed into her mind. The driver's intention was to run her down with the purpose of breaking bones, causing permanent injury. With her sudden interest in the case, it could not be a coincidence. Yet something didn't fit. Their business in Covent Garden had nothing to do with the investigation into Thomas’ death.

“But someone is watching me,” Lily continued, the slight tremble in her voice evidence of suppressed fear. “He has entered this room more than once though I have no idea how. The only access is through the shop.”

“You’re sure of this?” Deep furrows appeared between Thorpe’s brow. When Lily nodded, he said, “Did he move anything, take anything?”

“No, nothing.”

Daphne’s throat grew tight. She knew how it felt to discover someone had entered your private domain, touched your things, invaded your life. The churning sensation in her stomach, the bile burning her windpipe, the imagined film of dirt that clung to her skin, never left her.

“Have you ever seen this man?” Daphne swallowed. She’d pictured someone tall, thin, light on his feet with long nimble fingers and pointed nails. “Do you have a description?”

“I’ve seen him once.” Lily shook her head. “Well, I glimpsed him following me through the alley. But it could have been a drunken sailor, or someone looking to spend a penny for a five-minute fumble.”

Daphne sat forward. “Can you remember anything about him? Did he have dark hair? Was he plump or slender? Were his clothes that of a gentleman? Did he leave a—”

“Give her a chance to answer the first question.” Thorpe placed his hand on Daphne’s arm. The gesture brought instant comfort. This man could ease her fears with a single touch or glance.

“It must be good to have someone so strong to depend upon.” Lily stared at the large hand resting on Daphne’s arm, and Thorpe immediately broke contact. “In answer to your questions, I don’t know. It is like he’s a ghost ... there but not there.”

“When we arrived, the chandler said you were expecting us,” Thorpe said changing the subject. “It’s been three years since Thomas’ death, why would you imagine we would make the connection now?”

“In my line of work information is readily available. We learn every detail of our colleague’s background. I’m well aware you’re both enquiry agents, know of your connection to Thomas. When Bernard came up, described you both and mentioned Mrs Chambers, it was evident you’re working together. What is odd is that it took three years for you to find me.”

Thorpe looked to his lap. His shoulders sagged, and he sighed. “I’d always assumed Thomas’ death was an accident. There was no reason to suppose otherwise.”

“Then I presume you never found the evidence Thomas spoke of?”

“No,” Daphne said. “Perhaps he trusted the man he met. Perhaps he handed over the evidence to a person in authority.”

Lily tapped her lip as she contemplated the suggestion. “It is a possibility. Had it been with his belongings you would have come across it long before now. Even so, Thomas may have deliberately tried to conceal the information somewhere.”

“I can’t think of anywhere it could be.” When Thomas died, Daphne gave away his belongings — everything except his favourite book.

“Yet something has changed to force you to make enquiries now,” Lily said.

Daphne opened her mouth to speak, but Thorpe chose to answer. “Nothing has changed, other than Mrs Chambers and I have recently become reacquainted. She has always had concerns about her husband’s death, and I agreed to help her find answers.”

“I only wish there was more I could tell you.” Lily stood, which was their cue to leave. “If I remember anything else, where might I find you?”

“At the Museum Tavern on Great Russell Street.” Thorpe stood. “Tell the landlord you have ropes for sale, and we’ll know where to come.”

Lily inclined her head, escorted them to the door and held it open. “Please, I must insist that you do not come here again. Not unless I contact you. In my line of work, it is not wise to rouse suspicion. And would you purchase something from the chandler on your way out? It will account for the time spent in the shop.”

“Of course, but allow me to ask one more question before we go.” Thorpe turned to face the delicate beauty. “Did you not think to approach Mrs Chambers and tell her what you’d learned from Thomas?”

Lily paused. “Examine your question carefully, Mr Thorpe, and the answer is obvious.” She spoke with an air of confidence they’d not witnessed before. But then the lady was a spy. Somewhere within she had to have the mental strength one expected of a man. “To approach Mrs Chambers would mean discussing information about a government agent. I had no evidence. To betray those paid to protect the Crown is treason. Forgive my lack of empathy, but I was too late to save Thomas. And I value my neck more than I desire retribution.”

It was a reasonable explanation.

“I understand.” Thorpe narrowed his gaze. “So why tell us now?”

Lily opened her mouth, but it took a few seconds for her to reply. “Because I am tired of this life, Mr Thorpe. Because if I turn up dead in the Thames, I hope you’ll find the traitor and make him pay for what he has done.”

Thorpe remained silent, inclined his head and strode out into the hall.

Daphne lingered for a moment. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Had Thomas spoken about their marriage? Did he enjoy his work with Lily? But now was not the time to delve deeper into the past, despite knowing the opportunity would never present itself again.

“I am truly sorry about Thomas.” Lily grabbed Daphne’s hand, squeezed it tight and pressed a small piece of paper into her palm. “He always spoke so highly of you.”

Daphne’s throat grew tight. Guilt flared. She’d thought highly of her husband too. She’d just not loved him as she ought.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Daphne said, resisting the urge to examine the note. “We should have no need to trouble you again.”

“The contents of any missive can be misleading. One must endeavour to find the truth. One must delve deep to find the answers you seek.”