Delaney turned around to face her room.
She froze. Her breath caught in her throat, not in fear, but in a sudden, sharp wave of cold anger.
Her room had been completely ransacked. It was a scene of total, violent chaos.
The heavy wooden trunk sitting at the foot of her large bed had been thrown wide open. The metal hinges were strained. Her simple, dark dresses were pulled out and scattered carelessly across the floorboards like discarded rags. The thick, warm quilts on her bed were completely pulled off and thrown into a corner. The soft mattress was shifted sideways, hanging halfway off the wooden bed frame.
She walked slowly further into the room. The small drawers of her dressing table were pulled completely out. Their contents—her hairpins, a simple wooden comb, and a few plain ribbons—were dumped onto the fine rug.
Even the small, simple paintings on the walls had been pushed aside, as if someone had been searching for a hidden safe behind them.
