Alarmed at her calm voice, Flynn studied her face, blanched of color. “Pour your mistress a brandy, please, Butterworth. We shall be along presently.”
“I must speak to the servants,” Althea said after Butterworth hurried from the room. “They may not want to stay.”
“I shouldn’t think your staff is in danger, but you cannot remain here.” Flynn watched her as she moved about the room, picking up her scattered possessions in a purposeful manner. He suspected her actions hid a deep despair, for it was an impossible task. It would take several weeks for the servants to return the house to some semblance of order.
Althea examined a mother-of-pearl-backed hand mirror with the glass cracked. “I hope the robbers get seven years’ bad luck. Or will the bad luck be mine?” She shrugged. “Should we bury the shards beneath a tree at full moon?”
“Don’t cut yourself.” He took the mirror from her limp fingers and put it on the dresser.
“I’ll stay at Owltree Cottage until the house is repaired.”
“That would not be wise. They may choose to rob that house next.”
She stared at him. “I don’t understand this at all. Why would they?”
“You have something they want. Or they think you do.”
She frowned. “You keep saying that, but if you want me to believe you, you will have to be more specific.”
He wished he could. “Until I learn the cause, I can only advise you to be careful. Perhaps we can discover the reason together?”
“With you withholding information from me? I don’t see how.” She shook her head decisively. “I must go to Owltree.” She crouched to pick up the matching brush and placed it beside the broken mirror.
“Leave it to the servants.”
When she began gathering up books, he took her arm and helped her to her feet. Her distress tightened his gut. The bed had been stripped of its linens, the mattress slashed, and its innards spread over the floor. “Is it possible that someone in your employ has been bribed?”
“Certainly not. I trust every one of my staff.” Tears trembled on Althea’s lashes, her eyes violet pools of misery. “Cook and the maids wouldn’t hear a thing in the attic rooms. I left my housekeeper at Owltree Cottage. My footman isn’t here either. He is attending a funeral in Hertfordshire.”
“I’ll question Butterworth further,” Flynn said. “He needs an ear trumpet.”
She glared at him. “I admit my butler is a little hard of hearing, Montsimon, but it’s something we never mention, so please don’t insult him.”
“I wouldn’t dream of insulting the poor fellow. He’s probably longing to take his pension. But we can’t talk here, Althea. You need a good stiff drink.” The fact that someone had tossed her possessions around so violently had an unsettling effect on him.
Althea wordlessly inclined her head. She allowed him to lead her from the room.
They stood in the drawing room, sipping brandy among the disorder. The velvet wing chairs and damask sofa had suffered a similar fate as her bed.
“Do you have any idea if anything has been taken?” Flynn asked after a moment.
Althea picked up an unbroken blue and white Delft vase, lying on its side on the hearth tiles. She placed it on the mantel. “A few jewels, perhaps. I may discover something later, but I don’t think any of the china, silver, or paintings are missing.”
“This is no ordinary burglary. They were looking for something specific.”
“I can’t imagine what. The Brookwood heir inherited the families’ jewels.” She touched the pearl necklace at her throat. “I am wearing my best. The rest would hardly attract this amount of interest.”
He stepped closer, cupped her chin, and stared into her distressed eyes. “Listen to me, Althea. It’s clear they failed to find whatever it is they came for. Your life remains in danger. You must reconsider your decision to fight Crowthorne.”
She stared at him, her blue eyes sparkling with anger. “You think he’s behind this? Surely, you aren’t suggesting I sell Owltree Cottage to him?”
“It would be sensible to agree to it. To give us more time to find out what Crowthorne and the others are up to.”
“No!” She turned away to put down her glass. “Once I agree, that will be it. I’ll lose the property.”
He could see she was at the end of her tether. He moved in an instinctive gesture of comfort to fold her in his arms. Althea stiffened and then laid her cheek against his chest. Flynn recklessly stroked his fingers over the soft nape of her neck. She neither demurred nor moved away. “Have you ever been robbed before?”
“Brookwood’s London house was ransacked after he died,” she murmured into his waistcoat. “After his cousin had taken possession.”
