Anna took in the shards. “You touched it firmly, then.”
“I was carrying the stack, trying to straighten it and one slid. I couldn’t catch it without dropping the others.”
Mrs. Pembroke appeared at the end of the hall in a morning gown and cap. She glanced at the broken plate. “Ah, a casualty.”
Elias swallowed. “Please forgive me, ma’am.”
“Better the plate than a patriot.” Mrs. Pembroke walked past him.
Anna’s gaze flew to her. The woman didn’t so much as blink at her own remark.
A fist hammered on the front door. Mrs. Pembroke stopped.
Anna’s stomach tightened as the knock came again, harder this time. Mrs. Fenwick stepped into the hall, wiping her hands on her apron. Mercy appeared right behind her, eyes wide. Elias looked to Mrs. Pembroke.
She smoothed one hand down the front of her gown. “Answer it.”
Elias hurried to obey.
The front door opened, and Captain Whitby strode in with Lieutenant Rothborne at his side. Both men looked as if they’d slept poorly, if at all. Whitby’s face was flushed with anger, and Rothborne’s eyes glared at anything that moved.
Nathaniel followed behind them.
Anna’s heart leapt in her chest at the sight of him. It was annoying, until she took the time to study him.
He looked tired as well. His coat was damp at the shoulders, his boots muddied, and whiskers darkened his jaw. His gaze swept the hall once and found Anna before moving away.
Mrs. Pembroke lifted her eyebrows in accusation. “Captain Whitby, I did not expect the honor of another invasion so early.”
Whitby removed his hat and held it behind him. “Madam, this is no time for levity. Besides, I’m staying here. I only knocked because of the early hour and, of course, because the door was locked.” He looked away with a sheepish hint a smile.
“Sir,” Mrs. Pembroke began, shaking a finger at him. “My home was overtaken last night by officers, musicians, and too much wine until half past three this morning. I assure you, Captain, levity is all that stands between me and violence.”
Lieutenant Rothborne’s mouth tightened. “There has been an incident, Mrs. Pembroke.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s expression changed a fraction. “How unfortunate. Shall I summon tea, or does the incident prefer coffee?”
Whitby stepped closer. “A shipment was interfered with last night.”
Anna tried not to pull at her apron.
Mrs. Pembroke went still. “Interfered with?”
“Delayed,” Rothborne said coldly. “Diverted. Possibly stolen.”
“Good heavens.” Mrs. Pembroke pressed a hand to her chest. “Not the wine.”
Whitby gave her a hard look. “This is a military matter.”
“Then why are you telling me? Should you not be speaking to my husband?” She glanced upward. “Not that it will do you any good. He’s still in bed. Or is he hunting… I’m not really sure.”
Rothborne stepped forward. “We believe information may have moved through this house last night.”
Everything went dead quiet.
Mrs. Pembroke turned her head toward Rothborne. “Lieutenant, if information did move through this house last night, it would have had to elbow past thirty-five guests, twelve decanters of wine, a group of musicians, one overturned vase, and Captain Whitby’s speeches. I wish it luck.”
Rothborne ignored the jab. “You know as well as I do, the servants were everywhere.”
