The Devil's Thief, page 23
“Well, I don’t,” Wiley said. “I ain’t got no kind of life to be bringing them into it. Got enough people living off of me, ain’t I?” He marched to the gate and yanked it open. “I’ll be bidding you and the little ones good-bye, miss. No reason for me to come back around, now is there?” His shoulders slumped. “Some things we can’t make right,” he muttered.
Before Julianna could answer, he’d closed the gate behind him. “Oh, Wiley,” she whispered, though he couldn’t hear her. “I do hope you’re wrong.”
* * *
Hil came awake slowly, surprised to note that it was still dark. He usually slept straight through the night and into the afternoon. But there was something bothering him, something out of place. He sighed and stretched languorously, shrugging off his unease, determined to go back to sleep.
“Oh no, you don’t,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
Hil sat up, his wide eyes rapidly adjusting to the dark. To his complete shock he realized that a boy was sitting on the top of his armoire, watching him with a disgusted look on his face.
“I’ve been sitting here for the better part of half an hour,” he complained, “watching you sleep. Could of slit your throat, I could, and not a bloody soul in this mausoleum would be the wiser.”
Hil coughed delicately at the reminder of his vulnerability and then got comfortable on the bed, not at all alarmed. After all, the boy hadn’t slit his throat yet, had he? If that was his errand he would have done it and moved on to the next piece of business.
“Well, I thank you for your consideration,” Hil said congenially. “I find I am rather fond of my throat. To what do I owe the pleasure of this nocturnal visit, Mr. Wiley? You are Mr. Wiley, are you not?”
“Bloody buggers,” the boy muttered, “always turning a simple question into Greek.” He blithely jumped down from his perch, lithe and athletic. His language and clothing indicated he was of the lower orders, but clearly no servant. There was no deference in his tone. “And it’s Wiley, just Wiley. I’ve got a problem, you see,” he explained. “I made a promise to a … friend. But I think the promise might not be what’s good for her, you understand? So I’m trying to find a way to save her bloody little troublesome hide without breaking it.”
Hil lost any lingering traces of sleep. “A girl? Miss Harte, I take it. You’ve promised her not to interfere. And is there some way that I can be of assistance?” He was at a loss as to why this brash young man had come to him for help now when he’d been avoiding them for the last few days.
“ ‘I can be of assistance,’ ” the young man mimicked. “For Christ’s sake, just ask, ‘Can I help?’ That’s what normal people do, you know. Speak the bloody King’s English, for God’s sake.”
Hil smiled in spite of the man’s tone. “Can I help?”
Wiley had wandered closer, but he still kept his distance. Hil couldn’t reach him without getting out of bed. He was more intrigued every moment. He wanted to know more about this young man. He had not heard of Wiley before, though he had assisted Bow Street in investigations, and had recently taken on some private inquiries himself if he found them interesting enough. The science of investigation fascinated him, as did the world inhabited by petty criminals such as Wiley. But he still had a lot to learn about the London criminal class.
Wiley sighed. “Lord knows I wish I didn’t have to come to the likes of you, but you know the bloody sod, and so it makes sense.”
“And which bloody sod would that be?” At the young man’s frown, Hil shrugged. “I know so many.”
“Too right,” the young man agreed. “But it’s Alasdair bloody Sharp I’m talking about. Stupid sod. Why she’d want to kill herself over that, I don’t know. Women,” he scoffed.
Hil threw back the covers and bounded out of bed. The young man took an alarmed step back and made a disgruntled sound at the sight of Hil’s nakedness.
“Give a man some bloody warning!” he complained. “Cover that up, for God’s sake.”
Hil was no longer in the mood to bandy words. “What has she done? Where is Miss Harte? Is she all right?” he fired off the questions as he threw open the drawers of his armoire and started dressing. “Roger!” he called out at the top of his voice.
“Oh, Christ,” muttered the young man. “How many Nancy boys do we have to bring? Can’t you bloody lot walk or take a piss without a crew tagging along?”
“Answer me,” Hil barked, glaring at the young man as he yanked on a shirt.
He sighed. “Fine. Miss Harte was alive and chirping the last time I saw her. But she’s got some asinine plan to steal back the pearl—you know about the pearl?” Hil nodded. “Well, she’s been planning to break into Blackman’s, see. She told me today that she’d changed her mind, but I know better than to believe it. Stupid female, she’s got some bloody fool notions about love and honor and some other such shite. And she don’t trust Sharp to help her without getting himself hurt.”
By now Hil was dressed. He grabbed the young man’s arm and dragged him protesting into the hall. “Is she at Blackman’s now?” he demanded.
“Here now, I’ve done my duty. Let go,” he demanded right back, trying to break free.
He was young and strong, but Hil was taller and heavier and he easily kept a hold of him. “Answer me.”
“You’re bloody bossy,” the young man muttered. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yes,” Hil replied. He threw open the door to Roger’s room. “Roger, get up. We’ve got to go get Sharp and rescue Miss Harte.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Roger moaned from his bed. “Can’t those two just fuck and leave the rest of us alone? Why must they turn all of London on its ear and disrupt my sleep?”
“Too right,” the young man agreed. “Listen to the Nancy boy.”
Hil frowned at him. “Roger, do get up and get dressed. We owe it to Miss Harte to help her. Apparently she has taken it into her head that she must steal the pearl back.”
Roger sat up, his hair on end. “Sharp has really got to break her of that habit before they marry. If she were mine, I’d be tying her to the bed.”
The young man beside Hil bristled. “And I’d be blacking your eye for it,” he growled.
Roger looked taken aback. “Who the hell are you?”
“Wiley, that’s who,” the young man snarled. “And it’s a name well-known on the streets. I do what I say I’ll do and make no mistake.”
Roger blinked several times. “Well, that answers that question. But have no fear, Wiley, Miss Harte belongs to Sharp. She already gave me a rather harsh set down and, believe it or not, shows no interest in my considerable charms.”
“Well, she’s not that stupid,” Wiley said in disgust. “She’d not be taken in by the likes of you.”
Roger grinned and climbed from his bed. “I’m just gaining all sorts of admirers these days.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Wiley complained. “Ain’t you gents ever heard of nightclothes? I thought you were all afraid to show as much as a finger.”
Roger looked down. “Well, I’ve got more than a finger here.” He looked back up with a grin. “And I’m not afraid to show it.”
Wiley gave a derogatory, “Ha,” in response.
“Enough,” Hil told them sharply. “Roger, I mean it. Get dressed and meet us downstairs. We will leave in five minutes whether or not you are with us.” He turned and dragged Wiley from the room. “How did you get here?” Hil asked him as they descended the stairs.
“How do you think?” Wiley asked in exasperation. They had reached the bottom of the stairs and Wiley raised a leg to shake his booted foot. “I used these. They’re called feet.”
Hil laughed as he tugged on the bell cord to summon his butler. “Very amusing. We shall take my carriage to Sharp’s.”
Pulling off his hat, Wiley jerked out of Hil’s grasp. He crossed his arms and stood there staring belligerently at Hil. “I do what I want, see? I told you she’s going to Blackman’s. My duty’s done. You and that bloody sod she’s going to marry can go and get her.”
Hil sighed and lit the lamp on the table in the foyer. When he glanced back up at Wiley, he was shocked into silence by the young man’s appearance. Without his hat he was breathtakingly handsome. He was short, but Hil could see the telltale signs of a boy still growing. Wiley’s face was a masterpiece of sharp angles. His looks rivaled Roger’s for classical perfection. His eyes were a pale blue-gray that shone luminously in the lamplight, quite ethereal against his golden complexion and dark cinnamon hair. And he was muscular, particularly for a boy of perhaps sixteen or seventeen, Hil would guess. No wonder Vickery had warned Sharp about Wiley’s ability to attract the opposite sex.
Just then his sleepy butler appeared from the back. He looked at Wiley in shock. “James, please send for my carriage immediately. We must be off in minutes. It’s a matter of life or death, man.” Used to his employer’s cryptic ways, James simply left the room and hurried off to relay the request.
Hil turned back to Wiley and gestured for him to follow as he went to the gun cabinet in his study. “How did you become acquainted with Miss Harte?” he asked as he unlocked the cabinet and took out a set of pistols, offering one to Wiley.
Wiley shook his head. “No thanks. Don’t trust those things. Blow up in your hand, they will. I do all right with these”—he raised his fists in a fighting stance—“and this.” He tapped his temple.
Hil nodded, and repeated his question as he relocked the cabinet and tucked the pistols into his waistband. “How did you meet Miss Harte?”
“My gang says you already know I met her when she came to sell the pearl to Blackman. You leave them alone, now, you hear me?” He sighed and shrugged, his anger apparently on the wane. “And she’s got two of my boys in that home of hers, so I already knew who she was. Had to take her in hand, didn’t I? Couldn’t very well let her march in there alone.”
They had started back toward the front hall, and Hil had a moment to consider which he found more intriguing, that this young man had two children whom he obviously cared for, or that he was kind enough to be concerned about a young lady who was clearly in trouble.
“No, you could not,” Hil agreed when they reached the door. He held out his hand, and after a moment Wiley hesitatingly shook it. “Thank you, Wiley, for taking care of her. Now I don’t suppose you’d like to see this through and save her one more time?”
Wiley grinned, but it was clearly against his better judgment. “Well, when you put it that way I don’t suppose I can refuse, now can I? Stupid female, risking herself for a man. Don’t she know how many are out there that would take her without that damn pearl?”
Hil shook his head, and looked up to see Roger hurrying down the stairs while pulling on his coat. He hadn’t even taken the time to comb his hair—a first, to be sure. “No, Wiley, she doesn’t. She doesn’t even realize she’s already got a man who doesn’t give a damn about that pearl.”
Wiley’s eyes grew wide. “Sharp don’t want his pearl back?”
“Sharp has come to his senses and realizes that Miss Harte is the true treasure. He wants the pearl but only to protect her, because he suspected she’d do something like this. I don’t think he’d care if he never saw it again as long as she was safe.”
Wiley whistled. “Well, I guess the bloody sod isn’t as stupid as I thought, then, is he?”
“Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions,” Roger drawled. “He’s still pretty damn stupid. He didn’t manage to keep her from doing this, did he?”
“Neither did you,” Wiley reminded him sarcastically.
Roger looked up from pulling on his glove. “Yes, well, we’ve already established that she’s not mine, haven’t we?”
A few minutes later they were careening down the street in Hil’s carriage. Wiley looked decidedly uncomfortable sitting across from Hil and Roger, clinging to a leather hand strap as Hil’s coachman took the turns at breakneck speed.
“Tell me where Miss Harte is, Wiley,” Hil asked. “You did not give me much detail.”
Wiley frowned at him. “This may all be nonsense. She’s probably asleep in Sharp’s bed right this minute. But if that’s not where she is, then she’s breaking into the Black Horse in Tottenham Court. That’s where Blackman does his business.”
“Why do you believe she’s not at home?” Roger asked curiously.
Wiley sighed. “Checked there first, didn’t I, before going to his house?”
“Ah.” Roger paused a moment. “What do you know of Blackman?” he asked.
“He’ll take just about anything you’ve got. Best at disposing of hot goods, if you get my meaning,” Wiley answered, and Roger nodded.
“You said you met Miss Harte when she showed up to sell the pearl to Blackman. What were you doing there?” Hil asked.
“Does my own business there,” Wiley replied belligerently. “Best Blackman’s got. My gang brings in the biggest haul each day.”
“Blackman is your employer?” Hil frowned. That wouldn’t do for this young man at all.
“I work for myself,” Wiley said emphatically. “But Blackman delivers, you see? He gives me the best price and I give him first look. Used to work for him,” Wiley added with a sniff, “but I paid my dues and became my own man. I got my own crew now, responsibilities.” He frowned out the window as they took a particularly sharp turn. “Can’t be flying around all night rescuing silly females. I’ve got mouths to feed.”
“Where are your parents? The rest of your family?” Hil wondered aloud.
Wiley laughed. “I’m the parent now, ain’t I?” He shrugged. “My da’s long dead, my mam just a year ago. Gin got her. My two boys are at the home. Their mam, she’s in Newgate and not likely to get out, thank God, and me other two babes is with their own mams. I’ve got to pay rent on two places, but worth the price.”
Roger was staring at him wide eyed. “Absolutely,” he agreed in awestruck tones.
Wiley nodded grimly and gestured at Roger. “Knew you’d see it my way,” he said with a wink. “Gentlemen understand these things.”
“How old are you?” Roger asked incredulously.
Wiley jerked back. “Old enough, ain’t I? Turned seventeen last year, I think. My mam couldn’t quite remember. Born either in May or October, she said. She didn’t have much left”—he tapped his finger to his temple—“before the gin got her.”
“I see,” Roger said. “Shame that.”
Wiley nodded. “She was a good mum. Paid the rent and didn’t smack me around too much. Not near as much as I needed, that’s for sure.”
“Have you an education?” Hil asked, and was immediately sorry for his supercilious tone.
Wiley bristled with indignation. “The only education I needed was on the streets, wasn’t it? I’m my own man, and mine don’t go wanting.”
“Of course,” Roger told him sharply, surprising Hil. “We can plainly see that. He was just asking if you’ve had a formal education. Not many get as far as you without it, do they?”
Wiley eyed him suspiciously. “No, I suppose not.” He shrugged. “I haven’t had a formal education. Can’t read, if that’s what you mean.”
Hil jumped on that. “Well, you won’t get much further without that skill, Wiley. If you plan to take care of your children properly, you must learn.”
Wiley looked uncomfortable. “I know that. I just haven’t found someone willing to teach me. No respectable teacher wants to associate with me, and the less than respectable don’t want me to better myself.”
“Wiley—” Hil was cut off when the carriage jerked to a halt. He looked out the window and said, “We have arrived at Sharp’s.”
Wiley looked disgruntled. “He better come up to scratch, or I won’t be responsible for my actions, see?”
Hil smiled. Yes, he saw a great deal in Wiley—more, perhaps, than Wiley saw in himself. Hil made a promise to himself to continue their discussion after they were assured of Miss Harte’s safety. Hil would be damned if he let a lad with as much promise as this one slip through his fingers.
Alasdair and Ernest were interrupted by a loud commotion below stairs as they sat in his study having a drink. They’d spent the better part of the day catching up, and Ernest had come over to review some paperwork concerning Alasdair’s investments. No sooner had Alasdair recognized Hil’s voice than his footman, Smithfield, came rushing into the room.
“Sir Hilary is here, Mr. Sharp, and he says that it is urgent you meet him downstairs immediately. He said to tell you it is a matter of life and death.” Smithfield looked properly impressed by Hil’s message.
“Whose life and whose death?” Ernest inquired as he put down his drink.
“I do not know, my lord,” Smithfield replied. “I only know that he seemed quite agitated, and he had Mr. Templeton and a young street ruffian with him.”
“Sharp, hurry up!” Hil called from below.
“A street ruffian? Are you sure?” Alasdair had been thinking this was one of Hil’s larks, but a distinct unease gripped him and he grabbed his discarded coat and rammed his arms into it quickly.
“Quite sure, sir,” Smithfield assured him. “I believe he referred to you as ‘the bleeding sod upstairs,’ sir.”
Alasdair was taken aback. “He did, did he? Do you know who he is?”
“Not his name, no. He’s a mere youth, red hair. Other than that I can’t say, sir.”
Alasdair hurried from the room, tying his cravat in a very simple knot.
“Hil,” he was saying as he ran down the stairs, “what is going on?”
And then he saw the street ruffian Smithfield had mentioned, Julianna’s street ruffian. The one who had held her and kissed her hand and introduced her to people who would as soon kill her as look at her. He didn’t think about what he was doing. His mind was a haze of fury as he launched himself off the last step and tackled the boy to the ground.
“What the bloody hell?” the boy cried out. Alasdair got one good punch in before the youth’s surprise wore off and he regained his composure. The time he’d spent on the streets became obvious as he effortlessly elbowed Alasdair in the temple and shoved him away with a booted foot to his stomach. Alasdair went flying across the hall, sliding along the marble floor into a wall. “You stupid sod!” the boy yelled, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
