The Devil's Thief, page 24
“You little bastard,” Alasdair growled, coming to his feet. “How dare you.” He ran back at the young man, who jumped up to meet him.
“How dare I what?” he demanded as he and Alasdair circled each other, their fists raised.
“Sharp!” Hil barked at him. “Have you gone mad?”
Alasdair could hear shouts behind him, voices raised in alarm. He ignored them all. He couldn’t see anything except the memory of this boy tenderly touching Julianna before she threw her arms around him. “How dare you put her in danger,” he ground out. “How dare you.” He swung but the boy sidestepped his punch and landed a blow to Alasdair’s midsection.
“How dare I what? Touch her? As if I’m not good enough?” the boy asked venomously. “I ought to gut you right now and save her a life of misery, because you’re not good enough to lick her boots.”
“You little prick!” Alasdair bellowed. He feinted to the left and when the boy compensated, he landed a punch on his jaw. He fell to the floor and scrambled backward as Alasdair rushed him.
He didn’t see Roger’s outstretched foot until it was too late. Alasdair fell hard on his elbows and knees, the wind knocked out of him. The street youth laughed uproariously.
“Both of you be quiet,” Hil ordered in a murderous tone. “Miss Harte could even now be in grave jeopardy and you two are fighting over her as if she were the prize in a contest. What the hell is going on here, Sharp? Surely you can’t still be jealous.”
Alasdair glared at Roger, who shrugged. “I’m of a mind with Hil, I’m afraid. This seems ridiculously unnecessary.”
Alasdair rolled over and sat on the floor, not sure whether to hold a hand to his aching stomach or his stinging head. “This has nothing to do with jealousy. Don’t you see he’s the reason she’s in danger in the first place? I saw them together on Tottenham Court.”
Wiley scoffed derisively. “ ’Course you’re jealous. You saw us and immediately assumed we was shagging, didn’t you? Stupid, bleeding sod.” He pointed a shaking finger at Alasdair, visibly angry. “For some stupid fucking reason she’s in love with you. She cried over you. She’s trying to make you love her, you stupid fuck. And you don’t even care enough about her to ask where she is or why we’re here. It’s all about you and your fucking pride.” Wiley spit in Alasdair’s direction in disgust. “That’s for you and your opinion of me, Sharp. I know I’m a better man to my women than you’ll ever be.”
The fog of fury lifted and terror took its place. Alasdair didn’t even bother to acknowledge Wiley’s accusations. “Where is she?” He scrambled to his feet, spun around to face Hil, and took two rapid steps toward him. “What’s happened? What’s he talking about?”
“Obviously Miss Harte is not here, as Wiley suspected. So she must be at the receivers,” Hil replied.
“Receivers?” Ernest asked from the stairs. “What receivers?”
“Ah, Throckton. Blackman’s, the Black Horse on Tottenham Court,” Hil explained. “According to Wiley, she has a scheme to steal the pearl back from the receiver. He feared for her safety, but she made him promise not to tell Sharp. So he came to me.”
Some of the mysteries of the last week were solved with Hil’s explanation, but more remained. “Why is she still determined to kill herself over that damn pearl?” Alasdair said, panic making his heart race. “I’ve already asked her to marry me. I didn’t think she’d do anything this quickly. I thought I had more time to get it myself.” His head was spinning.
Wiley shook his head and sighed as Alasdair came to his feet. “You know why, don’t you?”
Ernest made a frustrated sound at the bottom of the stairs. “All this for the back rent on the foundling home?”
Hil looked surprised for a moment. “You know about that?”
“I own the house,” Ernest replied stiffly.
Alasdair laughed in weary resignation. “Now why am I not surprised you already knew about it, Hil?”
Hil had the grace to look chagrined. “I found out about it the day we were following her in the markets. Her footman took the food to the home.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Alasdair asked accusingly. “It would have cleared up a great deal.”
“I certainly never believed it would come to this,” Hil answered reasonably. “And the reason I didn’t tell you is that you needed to realize you loved her no matter what. If you had only revealed your feelings after you learned why she stole the pearl, there would always have been a question of your sincerity.” He smiled grimly. “And because I thought you needed to suffer a bit before winning the hand of your fair maid.”
“Gentlemen,” Wiley sneered in contempt. “You play your stupid little games and it’s Miss Harte who pays the forfeit. While you’re gambling with her life, she’s risking it so his ‘sincerity’ won’t be in question. How does that make you feel? Better about yourself and your little schemes?”
Hil was frowning fiercely at Wiley. “You’re right, of course.” His response shocked Alasdair into speechlessness. No one talked to Hil that way and received an admission of guilt in response. “I should have considered her sensibilities more rather than trying to teach Sharp a lesson at her expense, much to my regret.”
“Well, let’s go then,” Wiley said in exasperation. “While you all are discussing her life like it’s the bleeding weather, she’s breaking into Blackman’s and practically asking to get killed.” He threw his hands up in the air before clutching his head in frustration. “If I had known there was going to be a bloody parliamentary debate between you bleeding Nancy boys, I’d have just gone myself.”
Alasdair turned on him in anger. “Then why didn’t you? Why did you let her go alone? If anything happens to her, by God—” He lunged for the boy again, but was restrained by Roger. Across the hall, Hil was holding Wiley by the arm.
“I’ve got my own women and children to think of,” Wiley defended himself belligerently. “Much as I like Miss Harte, it isn’t my job to take of care of her, is it? It’s yours and you’re doing a piss-poor job of it!”
Alasdair broke away from Roger and leaned against the wall. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration and groaned. “Christ, is there a man in London who couldn’t do a better job of it?” He let his hands fall to his sides and stared bleakly at Wiley. That streetwise boy knew more about loyalty and responsibility than Alasdair, though he was half his age. “I am doing a piss-poor job, Wiley. I am.”
Hil marched over to the door and Alasdair’s wide-eyed butler pulled it open for him. “Let us be off, then,” Hil said decisively. “Wiley has once again put the situation in perspective.” He turned with a raised eyebrow. “Are you all coming?”
Chapter Twenty
Julianna nearly fell off the stoop in shock when the side door of the Black Horse swung open. She’d been standing there, her heart in her throat, for the last five minutes trying to pick the lock. Five minutes of wondering what she was doing here, why she’d thought this was a good idea, and why she’d been able to slip out of the house unnoticed, tonight of all nights. Really, she thought, she only ever managed to do that when she was planning to get into the most trouble possible. And what on earth was a hackney driver thinking, picking up a young woman traveling alone, dressed head to toe in black, in the middle of the night, and dropping her off in such a horrid area of London? She was going to have to speak with someone about that tomorrow. It was sheer luck no one walked by and noticed her. And then, just when she’d about given up and gone home, just like that, the lock had clicked and she’d turned the latch, and voilà! The door had opened.
A shot of excitement and anticipation burst through her. Then sheer terror set in. Had anyone heard it? Was Cam on the other side of the door? According to Wiley, he made the rounds of Blackman’s other establishments at this time every other night, leaving one other guard who was neither too bright nor too conscientious. Please, please, please, she silently prayed, let Wiley have been right about the night schedule. Because Wiley had told her that Cam often slept somewhere else on the nights he made his rounds. Julianna hadn’t dared ask any other questions about that.
With a great deal more caution than good sense, she slowly pushed the door open until it was wide enough for her to slip through. The last two times she’d been here the door had creaked loudly at the halfway point. Luckily she was small enough to fit through before it made any noise. She’d had to enter the building here; there was no other way to reach Blackman’s lair.
She held her breath as she closed the door. Other than a small click when the lock engaged, the building was silent. There was no one on the other side. Julianna couldn’t believe her luck. The hall was black as pitch, and she sagged against the door at her back as she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. All her senses were on high alert, and she strained to hear any noises that indicated that people were still up and about. Complete silence surrounded her. At this time of night, even the street outside was quiet. Hours after sunset and hours before dawn, even the heartiest revelers and nefarious cutthroats were snatching a bit of rest. Julianna had crouched in an alley down the street for over an hour watching for any signs of life from within the building. There had been a light in Blackman’s office, but it had gone out about half an hour ago. Only when she was sure that no one was about had she attempted to pick the lock. From the look and sound of it she’d been right. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears.
With a silent sigh of relief she crept over to the stairs. She blended in with the night. Everything except her face was covered in black. She’d wrapped her hair in a black kerchief again and black kidskin gloves encased her hands. She carried her father’s pilfered lock picks in a small satchel attached to her waist. The four hundred pounds in banknotes that Blackman had paid her for the pearl were in the satchel as well. She’d needed to compensate for the money she’d spent for food for the foundling home with an advance on her pin money. Julianna planned to leave the money in the pearl’s place. Blackman would certainly figure out who had taken the pearl, but she was counting on the fact that it was a fait accompli to make him accept the money and move on. He seemed to be an astute businessman, and surely he would understand the value of cash in hand.
She took a deep breath as she looked up the stairs. This is where it got tricky. Blackman slept in a room adjacent to his office and at least one guard would also be in the building. Though she knew where Blackman likely was, the guard could be anywhere. It was the one loose end in her plan. But for the moment all was quiet and still. She’d picked the darkest hour of night, hoping the lax guard would be asleep.
The sheer number of potential disasters awaiting her in this mad scheme was daunting, to say the least. But she kept reminding herself that beyond this night lay a future with Alasdair—a perfect, shining, happy future—once she regained the pearl for him. Of course, she needed to stay alive first. That was another loose end she was trying very hard not to think about.
The stairs were the most difficult aspect of this scheme. They creaked something awful. The two times she’d been here, four trips up and down the stairs in all, she’d tried to take notice of which steps creaked. There were fifteen of them in all. The first four were fine. Tentatively Julianna put her foot on the first step and, holding her breath, placed all her weight on it. Nothing. She sagged, light-headed with relief, and almost laughed aloud at her foolishness. She could hardly climb all fifteen steps at this pace. She’d still be here when the sun rose.
She mentally delivered a stern lecture to herself and then quickly took the next two steps. By then her heart had slowed down and she could hear something besides its frantic beat. She was on the third step. She climbed up one more, no creaking. She faced the fifth step and pursed her lips. You shall not get me, she told the step mentally, and she stretched her foot over it to the sixth. She nearly shouted in triumph when she was met with silence. She skipped the seventh—it had creaked the loudest—and then stood on the eighth debating her next move. The next four steps all creaked. But the last time she’d been here she’d made sure to step on the far right side of the steps going up and coming down. If she remembered correctly, only the eleventh step creaked when she was going up. So she should be safe if she kept to the right and skipped the eleventh. Dear Lord help her if she was wrong.
Her heart once again in her throat, Julianna carefully placed her foot on the next step and quickly moved up. Nothing! Before her courage failed her, she went all the way up to the twelfth step, skipping the eleventh. She had to stop and take several deep breaths before moving forward. She was feeling vaguely nauseous.
Just then she heard a door open. If it was possible to have an apoplectic fit in complete silence then that is what she would have called the sudden rush of blood pounding in her temples and the cold sweat that chilled her skin. She plastered herself against the wall, pressing as tightly to its shadowed length as she could without actually becoming part of the faded boards. The maneuver was awkward because she couldn’t move her feet. She was twisted into a painful position, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the sheer horror of waiting to be caught. As footfalls moved closer, slowly making their way down the hall, Julianna forgot to breathe. The steps didn’t falter at the stairs but kept on moving. Whoever it was paused at the end of the hall for several seconds and then shifted back toward the stairs again. She heard a voice muttering in annoyance, a door open and close, and then silence once again.
Julianna nearly fell over as lights danced before her eyes and she gasped for breath, trying to be as quiet as possible. If you must breathe, she silently berated herself, then do it quietly. She pressed a hand to her chest and felt her hammering heart. The guard, making his rounds. It had been the guard. If he did hourly rounds during the night—which seemed logical to her—she would have almost another hour before he came out again. She waited several more minutes before moving, making sure the guard had enough time to fall back asleep, and her breathing and heartbeat had time to return to normal.
Of the three remaining steps only the last one creaked, so Julianna made short work of them. She was in the hallway. She mustn’t linger near the stairs in case the guard came out again, or Blackman. She wasn’t sure which would be worse.
She tiptoed down the hall, keeping to the far side, where Cam had dragged her that first day. The floor had been solid and quiet beneath her scurrying feet, so she felt safe enough to use the same path tonight. At the first door she stopped and started to pull out her lock pick. But a glance at the door made her pause. What if it wasn’t locked? Blackman seemed sure of his fortress here.
To her delight the door opened easily. She had to stop herself from swinging it wide, remembering the entry door’s peculiar squeak. Slowly cracking the door open, she slipped through it, and then quickly shut it behind her.
She was in! She’d made it to Blackman’s office. It was darker inside than she’d thought it would be. The lamppost in the street outside his window wasn’t lit. She would have been able to see by its light. Instead, she had to rely on her memory. She could just make out the vague outlines of his furniture. On the left was the window and before it was the table Blackman seemed to occupy all day. Taking three large steps, Julianna situated herself next to the table. She felt for the scarred wood surface with her hand. Then she turned and faced the far wall, to the right. Cam had walked directly from this spot over to the wall in a straight line. Julianna followed the same path, so intent on not tripping over anything that she nearly ran face-first into the wall. Pulling up short, a nervous giggle nearly escaped. She was giddy with her success thus far.
Julianna placed her hands gingerly against the wall and began to run them along the seams she found there. After several excruciating minutes she found what she was looking for. It was almost undetectable; if she hadn’t been looking for it, she would have passed right over it. But two boards were separated by a wider space than the others. She pulled off one of her gloves and inserted her fingernail into the space, gliding it down. It caught on something and she pulled back and continued below it until it caught again. Hinges. This had to be it. But how had Cam opened it? She’d been too frightened by Blackman to pay attention. She closed her eyes and walked through the memory again, trying to judge how wide the cabinet’s door had been. Two feet, perhaps? She slid one hand over, searching for some kind of latch.
After several minutes she heaved a sigh of frustration. She was so close! She could almost smell the pearl. Well, that was an exaggeration, of course. But she knew, just knew, that it was in there waiting for her to rescue it. Generations of Sharps and Stewarts were haranguing her from the grave, and a shiver raced down her spine as if she could actually hear their clamor. She had to get that damn pearl.
Julianna put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. She was being ridiculous. She started to tap her foot, but stopped immediately, afraid of making too much noise.
You know, she was really rather good at this. She’d managed to break into the lair of a dangerous criminal and was inches away from the treasure she sought. She’d made a detailed plan, followed it through, journeyed through the streets of London undetected, canvassed the area, picked a lock, snuck up some rather tricky steps, and found the secret cabinet. Glory, she thought with a wide smile, she really was good. As a matter of fact, if she’d tried this hard when she stole the pearl the first time around, Alasdair would never have caught her.
But she’d wanted him to catch her.
Her smile fell when she contemplated all the troubles she’d encountered since stealing the pearl. What a complete and utter fool she was. She’d never really believed the pearl would solve her problems. As a matter of fact, she’d pushed her reservations aside, ignored the warning voice in her head that had told her stealing it would be a colossal mistake. She was a monumental idiot. She’d stolen Alasdair’s pearl because she’d wanted him and she couldn’t think of any other way to make him notice her. It was so … so … infantile. Tomorrow, when she’d return the pearl, she was going to have to face him and confess how ridiculous she’d been. Only by returning the pearl could she redeem herself, not only in his eyes but her own. What a complete ninny she was, so afraid to talk to a man that she broke into his house and stole his famous family heirloom. Oh, yes, Julianna, she berated herself, well done. Congratulations on a brilliant scheme. And now he wanted to marry her. Would he still want her when he learned the truth behind her theft?
