“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,” Tho
rpe 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.