“You intend to face these men alone?” he asked, not unkindly, but with that vexing directness that made her want to argue even when he was right. “The girls were at least a façade of protection…”
A sudden sound cut him off. It came from upstairs. A muffled thud; then another. Then came the unmistakable scrape of a drawer being pulled too hard.
Elise’s blood turned to ice.
Mr. Leigh was already on his feet, as silent as a shadow.
Elise snatched the lamp as if to go. “They are in the house? So soon?”
Mr. Leigh’s gaze returned to Blake. “Stay with him,” he said to Elise, as if giving orders was the most natural thing in the world.
Elise’s eyes flashed. “I will not?—”
Another crash sounded, louder now—wood striking wood. They had not merely entered. They were searching.
“They are destroying the house,” Elise whispered, her voice shaking despite her effort to control it.
He glanced at the concealed door, at the narrow corridor beyond. “If they find this room?—”
“They will not,” Elise said fiercely, because she could not bear the thought.
Mr. Leigh moved toward the door, then paused, turning back.
“Mrs. Larkin,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “if you hear the latch above this room—if you hear them near—extinguish the lamp. Do not speak. Do not move. Whatever happens, do not open the door.”
Elise stared at him. “Where will you be?”
“I will draw them away,” he said simply.
The words struck something in her chest—an alarm, not of suspicion but of fear.
“You cannot,” she whispered. “You cannot?—”
He held her gaze. Then he was gone.
Elise stood frozen for a heartbeat, the lamp trembling in her hand. Blake breathed shallowly behind her. The sound ofrummaging above grew more frantic—she imagined drawers being pulled out, papers scattered, furniture upended and destroyed.
They were in her rooms; in her study; in the private corners where she kept what remained of her husband’s life—letters, accounts, the small relics of a marriage ended by the sea and treachery.
Yelling and running resounded like a ship being overtaken by pirates. Then, suddenly, all was quiet.
The violation of it struck hard enough that tears burned in her eyes. She blinked them back violently, because tears were most unhelpful. What had Mr. Leigh done?
She forced herself up the narrow stair, moving silently. Each step felt too loud, though she placed her feet with care. She reached the upper landing and stopped.
Her chamber door stood ajar.
Inside, the room was in disarray—drawer contents flung onto the floor, her writing desk upended and papers scattered like fallen leaves. Someone had pulled the coverlet off the bed, as if expecting a hidden compartment in the mattress. Her jewellery box lay open, its contents disturbed.
Elise’s throat constricted so fiercely she could scarcely breathe. The thought of strange hands touching her belongings—rifling through her linens, her letters, the private fragments of a life no one had the right to handle—filled her with a rage so fierce it steadied her more than fear ever could.
Elise’s hands trembled, but she did not move. “They have been in my room,” she whispered. “They knew precisely where to go,” Elise repeated, the horror and indignation rising together. “They went straight to my desk, straight to my drawers, as if—” Her voice broke, anger giving way to something dangerously close to tears.
Mr. Leigh appeared, and his expression darkened as he placed himself directly in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “Hush now. I will protect you with my life. They are gone for now.”
Elise pressed her hand to her mouth, forcing herself not to weep. She swallowed hard. “The thought of them touching my things?—”
Mr. Leigh’s jaw clenched, and for a moment she saw something very fierce in him before it was carefully leashed.
