Think of England by Kj Charles

black trousers and a dark pullover under his navy dressing gown, dark lantern in hand and wires in his pocket, he slipped down the stairs as silently as he could.
    He examined the storeroom door to satisfy himself his planned rig-up would work, then waited in the library for a couple of minutes, tense and impatient, not sure if he should start without da Silva, or if he should be here at all. What if this was some sort of scheme? What if da Silva couldn’t be trusted? What if his host came down and saw him, here— He shuddered at the thought.
    In the hall and over the house, clocks let out a single chime, and the door slid open with a whisper of air. Try as he might, Curtis could barely hear da Silva’s footfall as he slipped in.
    Da Silva shut the library door before switching on the flashlight. “Hello,” he murmured. “Ready? Very well. Shall I pick the lock first or will you need to do your electrical wizardry?”
    “Can you pick the lock without opening the door? Good, then do that. Don’t open it, even a little.”
    “Understood. You watch for the hall. Listen out.”
    Curtis nodded, and held out the dark lantern to his partner in crime. He stood sentry, in the dark, listening for noise in the hall, watching the deft, precise movements of da Silva’s hands in the pool of light surrounding the lock, since he could see nothing else. In just a couple of moments, he heard a quiet click.
    “All yours,” da Silva said softly. “I’ll watch out.”
    Curtis made his way over, feeling like some great galumphing beast next to his light-footed companion. It was the work of moments to attach the wire he’d taken from a workroom to the contacts with the putty he had also picked up, ensuring that the circuit would remain connected.
    “What’s that?” Da Silva spoke close to Curtis’s ear, breath tickling his cheek, making him jump.
    “God’s sake,” he hissed. “Make some damned noise, can’t you?”
    “Certainly not. What is it?”
    “I’ve rigged a wire. It’ll keep the circuit complete, I hope. It’s long enough to maintain the connection as we open the door. Just don’t dislodge it.”
    “I see. You, ah, ‘hope’?”
    “I can’t guarantee there’s nothing on the other side.”
    “Ah. Oh well, nothing ventured. May I?”
    “Carefully.”
    Curtis took the flashlight and kept its beam on the putty and wire jury-rig as da Silva pulled the storeroom door open, as far as the wire would allow. No alarms sounded that he could hear. He let out a breath.
    “Good work,” murmured da Silva. “Right. Coming in?”
    He slipped through the gap. Curtis, much bulkier, edged through, shut the door behind him, and opened the dark lantern slide as far as it would go to illuminate the scene. It was a small room with no windows and no exits. There were a few stacked chairs, a table, and a large wooden cabinet. He pulled at the top drawer, which was locked.
    “Excuse me.” Da Silva pierced the lock with a slender piece of metal, and wiggled it. There was, almost at once, a click. He pulled open the top drawer. “You take this, I’ll do the bottom one, and we’ll meet in the middle?”
    Curtis nodded. Da Silva produced a second flashlight and closed the lantern slide again, so that the only illumination came from each man’s torch. He dropped casually to a crouch and pulled open the lowest drawer.
    Uncomfortably aware of da Silva at his feet, Curtis began to flick through the hanging files. Within a few seconds, he came across photographic prints. He pulled one out, and his mouth went dry.
    “Look.”
    Da Silva straightened up so he stood next to Curtis and looked at the image in the torchlight.
    “Well. If one wanted to blackmail the lady, that would suffice. Put it back where you got it.”
    Curtis slid the picture back into place. Da Silva was already flicking through the next folder, and Curtis realised that he hadn’t been first-time lucky. Every folder held something. He winced at the procession of