The Devil's Thief, page 18
Roger groaned. “Why am I not surprised by that?”
* * *
They found Hil’s friend, John Vickery, at Wild’s pub after searching half of London for him. Naturally they’d started at his office on Bow Street, but as was usually the case, the investigator was out and about looking for trouble and a reward.
“Here now,” Vickery said as he stood to greet Hil, “if it isn’t Sir Hilary.” He shook his hand vigorously. “I’m never sure whether to be happy when you come around, or to worry about what the reward is going to cost me.”
“Now, now, Vickery,” Hil said mildly, “no need to worry. It’s a simple job today.” He took a seat at the man’s table and indicated that the others should do the same. “We just need some information.”
“Well, that’s often the most expensive thing hereabouts,” Vickery told him.
Alasdair silently agreed with him. The pub was filled with the same sort of miscreants and criminals that he’d seen on Tottenham Court Road the other day. He surreptitiously patted his pockets and took inventory of the valuables he’d still like to have when they left. Roger looked as uneasy as he was.
“Mr. Sharp here”—Hil pointed to Alasdair—“is looking for two men. Both are probably criminals of some sort. But we don’t want you to find them. There is no reward. Although certainly I’ll compensate you for your time in this matter.”
Vickery looked puzzled. “Don’t want me to find them? Why not? What did they do?” His look turned suspicious. “I can’t be a party to another crime. If he wants revenge or some such, that’s not the business I’m in.”
“I just need to talk to them,” Alasdair said. “They have something that belongs to me and I want it back.”
“Burglary?” Vickery asked hopefully. “Finders’ fee?”
“No,” Alasdair said quickly. “Neither of them stole from me, not exactly.”
Vickery sighed and sipped his ale. “Sounds like one of those complicated situations you gentlemen specialize in. Well, how can I help you?”
“One of them is a young man, rather short, bullish, with reddish hair and a swaggering walk. I saw him on Tottenham Court outside an establishment called the Black Horse just a few days ago. I understand he has two children in a foundling home.”
“The Black Horse?” Vickery said, suddenly very interested. “That would be Wiley, is my guess. Runs a gang from there. Pinchers, cons, prostitutes. He kill someone?”
“Wiley.” Alasdair tried the name and found he disliked it immensely. That must be him. “No, no he didn’t kill anyone. At least not that I know of.”
“Too bad,” Vickery said. “Wouldn’t mind getting that one. He’s been on the street since before he could walk. You won’t catch that one unless he lets you.”
“Again,” Hil said, “we do not wish to catch him. We merely wish to speak with Mr. Wiley.” He spoke loud enough for half the pub the hear him.
“He introduced an acquaintance of mine to a man who bought something from her, something that I wish to buy back. I fear the man is a rather unscrupulous fellow,” Alasdair said.
Vickery laughed as if at a great joke. “ ‘Unscrupulous’? If it’s who I think it is, that is an understatement, sir. Seeing as how it was Wiley who introduced your friend to this man, then I’d conjecture it’s none other than Blackman himself. A receiver of the worst sort, but clever, clever, clever. Owns the Black Horse. Wiley is one of his suppliers.”
Alasdair felt his cheeks pale. What on earth was Julianna doing consorting with men like that? She was lucky to be alive. He stood immediately. “Then I am off to the Black Horse. Thank you, Mr. Vickery.” He stuck out his hand to the Bow Street investigator. “I appreciate your time and the information. Send a bill to my secretary at Bedford Square.”
Vickery just sipped his ale. “I’m sorry to say, Mr. Sharp, that you won’t get in to see Blackman as easily as that.”
Alasdair slowly sank back down into his chair. “What do you mean?”
“Blackman doesn’t just see anybody who knocks,” Vickery explained, wiping some foam from his lip. “That’s what Wiley and his ilk are for. Men like you wouldn’t get past the front door.”
“I see,” Alasdair said. “So I need this Wiley to introduce me to Blackman?”
Vickery nodded. “Or someone like him. I’m afraid I can’t be much help there. They know me and all the other investigators at Bow Street. I can ask around for a contact if you’d like, and about Wiley. Will there be remuneration?”
“Of course,” Hil replied smoothly with a friendly smile. “We realize that time is valuable and we are prepared to compensate those who assist us in this matter.”
“All right,” Vickery said with a decisive nod. “That ought to do it, then.”
This time Vickery shook Alasdair’s hand when he rose to leave. “If your friend is a woman, Mr. Sharp, then I’d be careful with her around Wiley,” he advised. “That one attracts women like bees to honey.”
Alasdair’s eye twitched. “Yes, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said through clenched teeth.
* * *
Julianna paced across the waiting room at the solicitor’s office. After Alasdair had left last night she’d prioritized her emergencies. First, she had to deal with the rent money for the foundling home. She could not, would not, spend another dime of Alasdair’s money, which was how she was now thinking of the money she’d received from Blackman. If she couldn’t get the pearl back, she would have to give Alasdair the money. This was a less-than-desirable outcome, but since their relationship seemed to be progressing toward something, the pearl situation, as he called it, needed to be resolved in one way or another. Plus, she hadn’t given up hope that she still might manage to buy back the pearl.
The secretary opened the inner door and motioned Julianna forward. She came in and took a seat across the desk from Mr. Wainwright, the solicitor.
“I am sorry, Mr. Wainwright,” Julianna said quietly after he greeted her pleasantly. “I simply do not have the money to pay the debt in full. I can make a small payment toward it, and perhaps we can come to an agreement about further payments until the debt is fully paid.”
He was frowning at her, though he was clearly upset by her plight and not her failure to produce the rent. “It is I who am sorry, Miss Harte. But we simply cannot allow you to keep the house if you cannot pay the rent. The new owner was very adamant about it. He purchased the house as an investment, and was quite distressed to learn that the current tenant was a charitable foundling home that had paid rent sporadically.”
Julianna nodded unhappily. “That is certainly understandable, sir.” She sat gingerly on the edge of the chair. She was a little tender, though Alasdair had been gentle with her the night before. It was a constant reminder of the intimacy they had shared and what she needed to do. She leaned over to slide an envelope toward Mr. Wainwright. “I have written a letter to the new owner, pleading for more time to gather the money. Is it possible that you could deliver the note for me, Mr. Wainwright?”
Mr. Wainwright considered the envelope for a moment before picking it up and putting it in his desk drawer. “We were told not to contact him until the matter was settled to his satisfaction, Miss Harte. But I shall see what I can do.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately the bank is another factor here. If the current owner does not produce payment on the house within thirty days, the bank has a lien on the property and it will take possession. That means if he cannot get the money from the tenant, that would be you, Miss Harte, then he has to produce it himself. In essence, he would have to pay for the property twice.”
Julianna was trying to follow what he was saying, but she had little to no experience with these matters. “I do not understand,” she said. “Why was the money that was owed to the bank not paid out of the fee the current owner paid for the property?”
Mr. Wainwright’s lips thinned. “Yes, that is what should have occurred. However, the current owner signed papers without legal advice. He purchased the debt with the property.”
Oh, dear. Mr. Wainwright was not happy about that. And she was quite sure the new owner wasn’t either, even though it was his own fault. “Was there no legal recourse?”
He shook his head. “It’s hard to take action against a ghost with no assets.” At Julianna’s inquiring look, he added, “The last owner has mysteriously disappeared. It turns out he owed a great deal of money to quite a few people. My client has had to fight to retain ownership of the property against the claims of the previous owner’s creditors.” He sighed. “He is determined to see a profit from this investment.”
Julianna’s heart sank. It did not sound as if her pleas would be met with a receptive ear. For one brief moment she thought about the money from the pearl, safely locked away in her room at her father’s house. She shook her head. She couldn’t, she’d already established that the money was Alasdair’s, not hers. She would have to raise the funds another way. If she had to close the home for a while she would do so. She’d find temporary lodging for the children and then set about finding a patron so that she could reopen it at another location.
That’s what she should have done to begin with. She’d gone in full of zeal and good intentions, as her father had told her, taking in children before she had the money to properly care for them. It was a hard lesson but one she’d learned well over the last week. Now that her eyes had been opened, she realized that the home had been more about her—her needs, her past, her independence—than about the children, and that was not the way it should be. Parents like Mr. Wiley had entrusted their children to her, and she owed it to them to have a plan, a patron, and a safe place for the children.
Julianna cleared her throat. “Mr. Wainwright, you wouldn’t happen to have another client who might perhaps be looking for a charitable organization to sponsor, would you?” She tried not to sound too desperate.
Mr. Wainwright smiled at her kindly. “I might, Miss Harte. I shall certainly suggest it to several of my clients.”
Julianna nearly slumped in relief. It was a start. Mr. Wainwright’s warm response was more than she thought she’d find here today. She stood and reached out to shake his hand gratefully. “Thank you so much for your assistance, Mr. Wainwright,” she said sincerely.
He continued to smile at her. “I think, Miss Harte, that you would be surprised by how many people are simply waiting for you to ask for assistance before they offer it.”
His perception took Julianna by surprise. “I hope you are correct, Mr. Wainwright,” she said fervently, “because I am about to ask them.”
Chapter Sixteen
Julianna came downstairs for dinner that night with trepidation. It was barrister night. She’d completely forgotten about the dinner party until her stepmother had reminded her when she came home from the solicitor’s office. She hadn’t had time to speak with her father and the baroness about her new plans for the foundling home. It would have to wait until tomorrow. As for tonight, she had no qualms about forgoing her promise to meet this newest barrister with an open mind. Her heart was firmly fixed on Alasdair. To encourage anyone else at this point would be cruel and deceitful. Alasdair might not be hers, but she was his in every way possible. If she couldn’t be honest with others about it, she could finally, at least, be honest with herself.
“Oh, Julianna,” her stepmother said approvingly as she waited by the drawing room doors, “you look ravishing, my dear. I’m so glad you’ve tried a new style for your hair. You have such beautiful hair, it’s a shame to hide it.”
Julianna had decided to be honest in her appearance, as well. Alasdair knew the real Julianna now; there was no need to hide behind her silly, dull facade anymore. To disguise herself now that way felt like another betrayal of Alasdair. She self-consciously patted the side of her head, checking to see if her hair was in place. She’d been surprised by Alasdair’s admiration of her hair. It was vain, of course, and wicked, but even though he wouldn’t be here tonight, she wanted to wear her hair in a fashion that he would like. It was gathered loosely on top of her head, with curling tendrils hanging down along her neck and cheeks. She felt untidy. But she did have to admit it looked rather good on her. It softened her sharp cheekbones and square, pugnacious jaw nicely. She’d also donned a pretty peach-colored dress her stepmother had bought her that she’d never worn before.
There was a knock below and the baroness waved her into the drawing room. “Come, come,” she ordered, and Julianna hurried down the last few steps. “I want you to be posed prettily when they come in.” She arranged Julianna in a chair facing the door.
This was new. Before, the baroness had simply taken care of introductions, allowing Julianna to proceed as she saw fit. This posing and display made Julianna uncomfortable and very nervous. What was her stepmother up to?
“My dear, how beautiful you are,” her father murmured as he bent over the back of her chair and kissed her cheek. “You remind me of your mother at your age.”
Julianna blinked back unexpected tears at his compliment. Just then the drawing room door opened and Handley entered. “Mr. and Mrs. John Lyttle, Mr. Edward Lyttle, and Miss Lyttle, my Lady.”
Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle were nondescript in their dress and manner. Both gray haired and plump cheeked, Mr. Lyttle was a good head taller than his wife. They smiled kindly and immediately went over to greet her father and the baroness. Miss Lyttle was pretty in a fresh-faced way and she seemed quite young. Julianna hadn’t seen her at any public functions, so she deduced that they must be allowing her to attend small private engagements such as this prior to her coming-out. She clung to the arm of her brother. Mr. Edward Lyttle, whom Julianna presumed was her potential barrister, was anything but little. He was quite tall with thick, dark, wavy unkempt hair and bushy side-whiskers. His cravat was askew. He followed behind his parents, frowning at the room. “How do you do,” he said brusquely to the baroness when they were introduced, shaking her hand firmly.
Oh, dear. Julianna liked him already. He was interestingly odd, and surprisingly handsome despite his untidiness. It was really too bad she’d have to disappoint him.
Her father walked back to her and held out his hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle, may I present my daughter, Miss Harte.” She shook their hands and murmured a polite hello. “And, Julianna, this is Mr. Edward Lyttle.” When Julianna shook his hand, Mr. Lyttle’s grip was so strong it nearly brought her to her knees.
Before they could sit down, Handley appeared at the door again. “Sir Hilary St. John, Mrs. Gertrude Honeychurch, and Mr. Alasdair Sharp.”
Julianna sucked in a gasp of surprise. What on earth were they doing here?
Alasdair walked in and immediately glared at Mr. Lyttle who was still holding her hand. “Lyttle,” he said in a flat tone, pointedly staring at their clasped hands.
She released Mr. Lyttle’s hand as if it were on fire. “Sharp,” Mr. Lyttle responded in the same flat tone.
“Oh, do you know one another? How delightful,” the baroness trilled nervously.
“As you said at my little entertainment the other evening, my Lady, one is always running into a previous acquaintance in London. How do you do, Lyttle?” Sir Hilary said with genuine pleasure.
While introductions were made and acquaintances renewed, Julianna discreetly snuck over to the libations cabinet in the corner and poured herself a small glass of sherry, hoping to regain her composure. She turned in time to hear Sir Hilary tell her stepmother, “We attended school together, ma’am. We’ve been great friends for years.”
“Hmm, yes, friends,” mumbled Mr. Lyttle vaguely.
“Haven’t seen you in weeks,” Sir Hilary continued as if Mr. Lyttle hadn’t spoken. “Isn’t that right, Sharp?”
“I’ve tried not to see him since he broke my leg,” Alasdair said drily.
Mr. Lyttle blushed, great splotchy patches of mortification. “You were equally at fault,” he ground out. Oh, dear, anger then and not embarrassment.
She stared wide eyed at Mr. Lyttle, the implications of his previous acquaintance with Sir Hilary and Alasdair making her head spin. “You were a Devil?” she blurted just a tad too loudly.
The silence that greeted her outburst was immediate and deafening in its censure. “Juli-anna,” her father said.
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Lyttle sharply. “What do you know of the Devils?” He eyed her, Sir Hilary, and Alasdair suspiciously.
Julianna couldn’t think of an answer that would be suitable for this company. “I don’t know what I mean,” she said inanely. “My apologies.” Her stepmother ought to know better than to throw unexpected visitors at her. She knew Julianna was not very good at social pleasantries, which required that one think before speaking, one of her major failings.
“It was devilish bad luck, to be sure,” Sir Hilary said with amusement. “But no more than schoolboy antics. Poor Alasdair fell off a roof.” Alasdair looked like he wanted to argue with that description, but the baroness jumped in to make a comment about Miss Lyttle’s dress.
Julianna started to walk over to the group with the intention of joining the conversation, but Alasdair intercepted her. “How do you do, Miss Harte?” he asked politely, taking her free hand and raising it to his lips. He perfunctorily kissed the air above her wrist, and then he let her hand fall, as if they were no more than strangers. She didn’t like that at all. “We need to talk,” he whispered as he straightened to stand tall in front of her once again.
She smiled politely for their audience. “Fine, thank you. And you?” After ascertaining that everyone else was engaged in conversation, she pretended to take another sip of sherry and whispered behind the glass, “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited. I assume that Lady Linville wished to reciprocate for the invitation to my reception. You know the one? It was the night you decided to steal my pearl.” He grinned and it took the sting out of his words. “So I came. I concede it was a brilliant plan on my part.”
