Anna sighed. “Captain Whitby is in the parlor.”
The man’s eyes flicked to her. “Then fetch him,” he snapped.
Anna didn’t like his tone. She liked it even less when he glanced down the hall as if trying to see how the house was arranged.
“I’ll tell him,” Elias said.
“No need,” a voice called from the staircase.
Lieutenant Rothborne descended the stairs with the pale-haired officer, whose name Anna still didn’t know. The man’s mouth was pinched as usual as he followed Rothborne.
Rothborne looked at the crate. “From Mr. Sloane?”
“Yes, sir,” the delivery man said.
Rothborne took the paper, scanned it, and gave a curt nod. “Leave it.”
“I still need the captain’s signature, sir,” the man said.
Rothborne gave him a cold stare. “And do you require Captain Whitby’s hand to tell you what my mouth already has?”
The delivery man stiffened. “No, sir.”
“Then go,” Rothborne barked.
The man left with more speed than politeness allowed. Elias closed the door and looked at Rothborne. “Where would you like it taken, sir?”
“The storeroom for now,” Rothborne said. “Not the kitchen.”
Anna lowered her gaze. Mrs. Fenwick saw everything that went on in her kitchen, and Mercy asked questions without meaning to.
The pale-haired officer crouched beside the crate and tapped it with one finger. “Be careful with it, won’t you? We wouldn’t want any of the wine bottles broken.”
Anna reached for one of the side handles. “Elias, I’ll help you.”
“No.” Rothborne’s voice cut through the hall. His gaze locked onto her. “Leave it.”
She straightened and folded her hands in front of her. “Yes, sir.”
Elias looked torn between relief and fear.
The pale-haired officer bent closer to Rothborne and lowered his voice. “If the case goes with the rest after the ball, it must be marked before dark.”
“Careful,” Rothborne murmured.
Anna stared at the floorboards and didn’t dare move.
The pale-haired officer’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The packet names the vessel. If it is misplaced, Major Ellis will have our hides.”
Rothborne made a growling sound. “It will not be misplaced.”
“They say the captain should have burned it after reading.”
Rothborne’s voice dropped further, but she was still standing close enough to hear bits and pieces.
Kingfisher. South Wharf. Friday. After the tide turns.
Anna fought the urge to twist the end of her apron while memorizing the words.
