Despite the urge to watch Daphne wash, dress and nibble on her toast, Daniel gave her some privacy and moved into the parlour. Betsy had gathered the loose feathers into a basket and taken the cushions to her sewing room for repair. Judging by the loud banging coming from below stairs, Bostock had already set to work on the picture frames and broken drawers. A little more sweeping and the room would be presentable, almost as it was before.

Daniel yawned. He’d not slept a wink. Thoughts of the past came to haunt him. Daphne had not pressed for a more detailed explanation of his lineage since discovering he was the son of a marquess. But while he had no desire to recount the tragic tale, she deserved to know the truth.

“I’ve thought about it, and I’m not comfortable with you going to visit Lord Gibson alone.” Daphne came to stand before him. “Can you not take Mr Bostock?”

Daniel sighed. “Bostock is to accompany you,” he said, trying to ignore the heat from her palm when she placed her hand on his chest. “How many times must I tell you? Gibson is no match for me. I intend to ask a few questions that is all.”

Only a fool would accuse a peer of murder and treason based on nothing more than a bottle of cologne and a pocket watch. Doubt crept in. As a spy, no doubt Lord Gibson possessed an inner strength that made him immune to a verbal attack. They would need more evidence if they hoped to gain a confession. Still, he’d prod the peer a little, follow him for a day or two in the hope he would make a mistake.

“It’s likely Lord Gibson is responsible for what happened in the alley,” Daphne said struggling to maintain her composure. “Do not underestimate him, Daniel.”

“Daphne, I’ve been working these streets for years.” Admittedly, he had come close to losing his life on a number of occasions.

“Yes, and you almost died.”

“It’s a superficial wound and only occurred because my mind was engaged elsewhere. Had you not insisted on going to Elton Park, we’d have had no need to linger in the alley.”

She raised a brow, and her lip curled. “And do you regret your decision to attend?”

He knew exactly what she was referring to. The memory of their passionate encounter in the bedchamber flooded his mind. “You know I don’t regret a single second. I’d even partner Lavinia at dinner for the chance to spend an hour in a private room with you.”

She smiled. “I can’t help caring.”

The comment touched him more than she would ever know. “I want you to care.” He cupped her cheek. “But I need to work. Gibson must be held accountable if we’ve any hope of moving on with our lives.”

She sighed. “Promise me you’ll carry a weapon.”

He gave a weak chuckle. “When on a case, I never leave home without one.”

Daphne’s gaze travelled over his face. “Whatever happens, I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.” His heart swelled. It took all the strength he possessed not to confess his love, not to press her to explain the depth of her feelings too. But a mind filled with tender thoughts was no good to either of them. Sentiment was the enemy of logic. And the longer he lingered, the harder it would be to leave.

“We’ll meet back here this afternoon,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “Bostock will accompany you to the circulating library so you may return your book. Then you will stay with him while he makes discreet enquiries about Captain Lewis.” Fearing she’d take the matter into her own hands should she discover any new information, he added, “We cannot presume Gibson is guilty. If you uncover anything of interest regarding the captain, you’re to come straight home to discuss it with me.”

She struggled to hold his gaze. “If we locate the captain, could I not simply strike up a conversation—”

“You’ll do nothing without speaking to me,” he snapped. Fear was the basis of his anger. He softened his tone. “I can’t lose you either.”

She pressed her warm lips to his cheek. “Then hurry home. Let’s pray we confirm the identity of the traitor before this day is out.”

Daniel inclined his head and strode towards the door. He stopped, turned to face her. “I hold Bostock personally responsible for your safety. Remember that, if curiosity gets the better of you.”

* * *

Murphy dropped him at the house on Church Street and was to wait while Daniel shaved and changed his shirt. As a man who preferred to dress himself, eat in taverns and make his own damn bed, Daniel had no need for servants. Daphne was right. Servants were a liability: loose-tongued, easily bribed. Indeed, the house was merely a place to store his clothes and to sleep.

Daniel was about to put the key in the lock when he noticed the scratches on the brass plate and hole. They were fresh. The mark of a tool used to pick locks.

With caution, he entered the premises. The drawing room was a shambles. Broken ornaments, pictures, even the decanter and glasses were scattered over the floor. In the study, there wasn’t a book left on the shelves. The desk drawers were open, empty. No doubt the other rooms were the same.

He snorted to himself. The scoundrel would be lucky to find a scrap of bread in the house, let alone the evidence to convict him of treason. However, the fact someone had entered the house illegally raised a very important question. If Thomas’ murderer had stalked Daphne for three years, why had he not stalked him? Why wait until now? Whoever it was must have only recently learnt of their connection.

Daniel was still contemplating that point while he changed his shirt. With a mind engaged in reconstructing Thomas’ last movements, he nicked his chin while shaving. Thomas was a strong, healthy man. Whoever pushed him into the Thames, must have been of similar build and stature. He recalled seeing no defensive wounds on the body, so perhaps Thomas was caught unawares.

During the journey to Lord Gibson’s house on Brook Street, Daniel rehearsed what he would say. Make no accusations, he told himself, though he already deemed Gibson guilty despite the logical part of his brain battling for him to remain impartial.

“I’m here to see Lord Gibson.” Daniel spoke with confidence as he handed the butler his card.

The willowy figure kept him waiting at the door, his graceful movements conveying no sense of urgency.

“I’m afraid his lordship is otherwise engaged,” the butler replied upon his return.

Daniel took a step closer. “Tell your master I have important news from the Carron that might interest him.” When the butler opened his mouth to protest, Daniel added, “If you do not tell him, I shall barge my way in. I would prefer to deal with this like gentlemen. Tell Gibson I have news from the Carron.”

“Show the gentleman in, Cuthers,” a masculine voice boomed through the hall.

“Certainly, my lord.” Cuthers stepped back for Daniel to enter. The butler took Daniel’s hat and gloves and escorted him to the study. Gibson stood in front of his desk. The man was of medium height, average build with equally nondescript features. His dull brown hair lacked lustre. When questioned, it would be difficult to give an accurate description of the man, which no doubt proved useful in his line of work.

“Mr Thorpe.” Gibson gave a curt nod. “While we have never met, I have heard good things about you.”

Daniel inclined his head. “I only wish I could say the same about you, my lord.”

Gibson did not appear fazed by the comment. He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. “Won’t you sit down?”

They both took their respective seats, the large rosewood desk acting as a barrier.

“You say you’re here to bring news from the Carron,” Gibson reminded him. “May I ask how you know I have an interest in that particular vessel?”

“A man in my position stumbles upon all sorts of information.” Daniel observed the lord’s blank expression. He gave nothing away. “You keep a log, I hear. Of the times and dates the Carron has docked over the last three years.”

“What of it?” Gibson tried to sound nonchalant, but his slight hesitation spoke of a hidden anxiety. Confusion flashed in his eyes if only for a second.

“You must know my friend, Thomas Chambers, made regular trips on the Carron. That his work for the Crown meant securing sensitive information and passing it to the appropriate authority.”

“I am aware that Mr Chambers made regular business trips to France before he died,” Gibson said in his monotone voice.

“And I am aware that you also share an interest in his business.” It was a covert way of telling Gibson he knew he was a spy.

“Then you are an extremely informed man, Mr Thorpe.” Gibson sat forward. “Let me advise you to keep that information close to your chest.”

“Protecting the Crown is the responsibility of us all.”

Gibson’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m pleased you feel that way. Now, why are you here?”

The easiest way to catch a rat was to use bait.

“Thomas discovered there was a traitor among his colleagues. I believe he was murdered while confronting the suspect.” Daniel spoke slowly, read the silent language of Gibson’s every muscle twitch and eye movement. “The person responsible for his murder has spent the last three years secretly stalking his widow. All in a bid to find where Thomas hid the evidence of the blackguard’s crimes.”

“Evidence?” Gibson made no effort to hide his surprise. “Chambers had evidence naming the traitor?” The lord appeared thrilled rather than frightened. The reaction raised doubt over Lord Gibson’s guilt.

“So I am led to believe.”

“Then we must find this evidence as a matter of urgency.” Again, his wide eyes conveyed excitement. “I must speak with Chambers’ wife.”

“Mrs Chambers is not in possession of the evidence. That I know for a fact. With all due respect, Thomas has been dead for three years. What good is the information now?” It was only worthwhile if the traitor was still operating.

“Acting on false information makes the Crown look foolish. Wars are often fought based on nothing more than lies and manipulated facts. The person cannot go unpunished.”

While the feeling in Daniel’s gut said that Gibson was innocent, there were a couple of questions that needed answering.

“I was there the night Thomas was pulled from the Thames.” Daniel had been tracking the movements of a gang of river pirates. “His pocket watch was missing. The item has never been recovered, but I’ve been told his murderer stole it and hid it somewhere.”

Gibson narrowed his gaze but said nothing.

“I believe the same person has entered Mrs Chambers home numerous times in a bid to search for the evidence. While the intruder leaves no trace of his movements, he leaves a distinctive smell that is attributed to French cologne. Can you shed any light on the theory?”

Gibson narrowed his gaze.

A prolonged silence ensued.

“Then you should know that I am in possession of both items mentioned,” Gibson eventually said as he brushed his hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t know why, but my instincts tell me I can trust you, Thorpe. But to repeat what I tell you now will be considered an act against the Crown.”

Daniel nodded. “I understand. You have my word.”

“The items you mentioned were sent to me in a box. Anonymously. It came with a note that said they belonged to Thomas Chambers. When we prised the back off the watch case, we found a tiny strip of paper containing various images though we have been unable to decipher them.”

“Can you describe the images to me?” Daniel’s throat grew tight. At school, Thomas had developed a secret language, a way of communicating messages without the master’s knowledge. Years later, whenever responding to Daniel’s letters, Thomas used the symbols purely as a means of amusement.

“I don’t have the paper here. If you give me a day or two, I can ask permission to study it.”

Judging by the devastation left in Daphne’s apartment and at the house in Church Street, the traitor was growing more desperate by the minute.

“Very well,” Daniel sighed.

Gibson rubbed his chin. “Do you think you might be able to decipher these images?”

“If they’re what I think they are, then yes.” His eagerness to translate the cryptic message burned in his chest. “Can you remember any of the symbols?” Even the first one would help.

“Let me think for a moment.” Gibson pulled a leaf of paper from the desk drawer, dipped the nib of his pen into the ink well and scratched away. He crossed something out and tried again. “I recall this symbol was used twice in the first word.”

Gibson turned the paper and pushed it across the desk.

Daniel leant forward, observed the small triangle with a tail curling from the bottom left point. His heart raced. The thumping in his temple proved distracting.

“And if memory serves,” Gibson continued, “the second symbol looked like the pattern made by a bird hopping through snow.”

Daniel struggled to maintain his composure, but pretended the heavy frown weighing down upon his brow was that of a man deep in thought. “Hmmm. Without seeing the symbols written together it’s difficult to be certain,” he lied. To reveal his suspicions now would be a mistake. “It would be lapse of me to make a judgement when one wrong flick of the pen might convey a different meaning entirely.”

“I understand.”

Daniel stood. “Send word to the address on my card when you receive the document.” The urge to leave was too great to sit and partake in unnecessary conversation.

Lord Gibson cleared his throat. “As it is a question of national security, I must ask how you came to know of my involvement in such matters.”

“All will become clear when I return.” Daniel inclined his head. He would discover the truth about Thomas’ killer before the government could intervene. Once he’d spoken to Daphne, he’d visit the ship chandler. Based on the information given by Gibson, he suspected the first word spelt Lily.