She took a step closer to him and matched his hushed tone. “I know, and so does everyone else. There is no need to whisper.”
Roswell looked amused. “I see no issue with it,” he stated. “Anette has worn trousers on occasion to ride her horse.”
“You have a good wife,” Miss Delacourt remarked.
Fredrick put his hands up. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have said anything, considering we have more important matters to discuss.”
“That we do,” Miss Delacourt agreed. “I have since learned that the French spies are in room 3A.”
“Have you seen them?” Roswell inquired.
She shook her head. “No, but the owner of the boarding house informed me that two people with French accents rented the room. They claimed to be brother and sister and they haven’t left their room since this morning.”
“Did you request additional agents?” Fredrick asked.
“I didn’t think we needed them,” Miss Delacourt replied. “There are three of us, and only two of them. Furthermore, we have the element of surprise.”
Fredrick eyed her curiously. “I assume you brought a pistol to this fight.”
“I did, but I am much more proficient with my daggers,” Miss Delacourt said.
“Then let us end this,” Fredrick asserted.
They headed towards the boarding house with a purposeful stride. The mission was simple, and straightforward. If everything went well, they should have the French spies in Newgate before it was time to get ready for the ball.
Miss Delacourt arrived first at the door of the boarding house and pushed it open. A thin, older man with pasty white skin met them in the entry hall.
“Mr. Treanor,” Miss Delacourt greeted. “Has there been any movement in room 3A?”
“None at all, and I’ve been keeping a watchful eye over it, just as I promised,” Mr. Treanor assured her.
Miss Delacourt’s lips curled into a confident smile as she turned to Fredrick. “Will you pay the man? This clothing doesn’t exactly make it easy to carry coins with me.”
Fredrick produced a few coins and handed them to Mr. Treanor. “Your assistance is greatly appreciated.”
Mr. Treanor pocketed the coins. “Any man that would pretend a woman was his sister is up to no good in my opinion.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “This key will open 3A. Just try to keep down the noise. It is bad for business.”
Miss Delacourt extended her hand for the key. “We shall try our best,” she said.
With a brief nod, Mr. Treanor departed from the entry hall, leaving them alone. Miss Delacourt gave them both expectant looks. “Come along,” she urged before she led them down the dimly lit corridor.
Fredrick retrieved his pistol and followed closely behind. When they reached room 3A, Miss Delacourt held up three fingers and initiated a silent countdown. Three. Two. One.
Inserting the key into the lock, she stepped back. Roswell swung the door open, and they entered the room, only to find it empty. The window was open, and the blue drapes billowed in the evening breeze.
Miss Delacourt looked stunned as she walked further into the room. “Where are they?”
“They clearly left at some point,” Roswell replied. “The question now is, where did they go?”
Fredrick moved towards the hearth, crouching down. He noticed the burned edges of papers that had been discarded in the fire. “There is nothing recoverable here.”
Roswell headed to the writing desk and started pulling out the drawers. “There is nothing in here,” he said, slamming the last drawer closed.
“I don’t understand,” Miss Delacourt said, her voice hesitant. “I have been standing guard for hours. How could they have just slipped out right from under my nose?”
“It happens,” Fredrick remarked.
“Not to me,” Miss Delacourt insisted.