Hollis straightened his cuffs in a show of pleased arrogance. “That’s a quick mystery solved. What shall we sort out next?”
“I know you’re jesting, but we do have something else to wonder on. There’ve been more thefts matching Very Merry’s style: nothing disturbed, no one taking notice, making off with small items that ain’t worth a lick.”
“Some of what she stole had value,” Hollis said.
Brogan nodded. “But some had none at all.”
“What’s disappeared since we snatched the girl off the street?”
“Most recently, a leather manicure box. Ivory-handled tools.”
A manicure box. And not even a silver-plated one. That, combined with the figurines and trinket boxes that had been nipped, amounted to little more than nothing. Four-Finger Mike didn’t seem the type to let such “mistakes” go uncorrected.
“Is it possible,” he wondered aloud, “that Very Merry is not actually the Phantom Fox, and we’ve another thief on our hands?”
“If I were you,” Brogan said, “I’d worry less about the little thieflings and set m’ sights instead on discovering why Miss Newport is letting herself into the very house where you found the urchin who’s now living under your roof.”
Hollis’s head snapped in that direction. Sure enough, Ana stood at the front door of Very Merry’s hiding place—a house without a knocker up, a house that had seemed empty. And Ana was unlocking the door.
Brogan inched in that direction. “I can’t let a peculiarity on this scale go unexplored.”
“She doesn’t know that I have any friends amongst the penny dreadful writers other than Fletcher,” Hollis warned.
“So use any one of my aliases.” With that, the Irishman moved directly toward Ana. Whatever she was up to, they were about to find out.
Miss Newport?”
Ana jumped at the sound of Hollis Darby’s
voice. Never in all her visits to her father had someone she knew stumbled upon her there. She stood frozen, unable to push the door open, unable to turn to look at him.
He knew her family lived in Pimlico. He knew they had fallen on difficult times; she had told him bits of it during their evening at the opera. But the neglect and poverty and bitterness he would find in this house would reveal the enormity of the situation. And should he catch her placing her most recent repossession in the curio cabinet, she would never manage to explain how she had acquired it.
She forced herself to breathe as she turned toward him. “Mr. Darby.”
She didn’t recognize the man next to him, though his finely tailored coat and high-polished watch fob spoke of a higher rung on the ladder.Hollis’s gaze slid up the façade of the house. “Is this where you live?”
“I live at Thurloe.”
He smiled and rephrased the question. “Is this your family’s home? You said you grew up in Pimlico.”
She could hardly lie about that. He had seen her unlocking the door, after all. “Yes. My father lives here still.”
There was no means of sending the gentlemen on their way, yet inviting them in would be too humiliating. She hadn’t the strength for that degree of exposure, having spent every bit of vulnerability she could endure during their very personal moments at the theatre.
“Miss Newport,” Hollis said, “this is my good friend, Ganor O’Donnell.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” she said.
“And I you, Miss Newport.”
“I would invite you in, but the house hasn’t any rooms prepared for receiving visitors,” she said.
“We’re not finicky, Miss Newport,” Hollis’s apparently Irish friend said. “I’d enjoy spending a moment or two coming to know you better, whether the doing of that happens in a gilded sitting room or a quiet, simple corner.”
She suspected the man was something of a charmer.
“If we assure you we will not turn our noses up at anything, may we come in?” Hollis asked the question kindly, yet it was still embarrassing. Callers didn’t generally have to beg their hostesses to permit them to enter.
She could only manage to answer in a miserable whisper. “It is likely worse than you are anticipating.”
He smiled gently. “I believe I can safely assure you that we have seen worse.”
“He’s not wrong, Miss Newport,” Mr. O’Donnell said. “We’ve spent time in some questionable places.”
Odd. “Which places?”
“We’d tell you, but we’ve been sworn to secrecy.” Mischief danced in Mr. O’Donnell’s eyes. He was teasing her. She greatly appreciated it in that moment.
“I should also warn you that I haven’t the least idea how my father will receive you. He’s not violent or dangerous or anything of that nature, but he is a little . . . prickly at times.”
They appeared undeterred.
She squared her shoulders and set her chin. “Well, then, gentlemen. Consider yourself warned.”
“We do.” Hollis dipped his head.
She pushed open the door and cringed at the strong smell of dust in the air. They followed her inside, one of them closing the door behind him. Ana didn’t say a word as she led the way through the dingy entry to the bare stairs and began to climb. The gentlemen behind her didn’t speak. The house wasn’t filthy, simply neglected. With only Wallace on staff, the house couldn’t be maintained as well as it ought to be. It was in desperate need of dusting and airing out—perhaps a new piece of furniture here or there.
They climbed the stairs, and Ana inched open the door to Father’s rooms. She caught Wallace’s eye and waved him over.
“We have visitors,” she whispered.
Wallace sputtered but didn’t manage to answer.
“I know one of the gentlemen,” she said. “He will, I’m sure, be kind. His friend likely will be too. But how is Father today?”
Wallace shrugged. “Seems in good enough spirits.”
“Let us hope that proves true.” She sighed and turned back to her guests. “My father’s room is the only one with furniture or any degree of cleanliness. Your visit will have to happen in here.”
Both men nodded their understanding.
Wallace opened the door fully and stood back to allow entry. Ana set her usual Friday basket on the table in the middle of the sitting area. Father was at the window, looking down on the street below.
“Good afternoon, Father. We’ve two gentlemen here wishing to make your acquaintance.”
He turned. His pulled brow spoke of confusion but not dissatisfaction. Thank the heavens he appeared to have shaved that morning and was wearing an unobjectionable, if outdated, set of morning clothes instead of his dressing gown. The room even appeared to have been straightened recently.
“Father, this is Mr. Darby and Mr. O’Donnell. Gentlemen, this is my father, Mr. Newport.”
Bows were exchanged.
Father greeted the gentlemen with grace. Wallace procured chairs and, somehow, a bit of brandy. With a silent sigh of relief, Ana lowered herself onto the window seat.
“I grew up near Belgrave Square,” Hollis said. “I have a few acquaintances in Pimlico.”
“A fine area, Pimlico,” Father said. “Mrs. Newport and I were overjoyed when we were able to secure this home. Our daughter would have every advantage. A father could hardly want more for his child.”
“And you have an exceptional child,” Hollis said. “All who know her think highly of her.”
Father tipped his chin upward and pulled his shoulders back. She’d not seen pride in his expression in such a long time that she hardly recognized the emotion.
“How fortunate you were able to find a property to purchase on St. George’s,” Mr. O’Donnell said. “I don’t believe they come available very often.”
“The house across the street switched hands recently, I believe,” Hollis said.
Father nodded, his posture growing a touch more agitated. The gentlemen would soon realize what a sore topic this was. “Thompson had to retrench.”
“Charles Thompson?” Hollis asked. “I hadn’t heard his finances were in disarray.”
“Wallace says his servants said he beggared himself gambling.” Father let out a tense breath. “Some lose fortunes. Others have their fortunes snatched away.”
“Frightening how fast things can change,” Mr. O’Donnell agreed with a nod. “For his sake, I hope Mr. Thompson can’t find himself a single card game in the country.”
The briefest hint of amusement touched Father’s face, something that happened as seldom as his pride. “His cousin likely hopes he doesn’t manage to rebuild his accounts.”
“Did his cousin take possession of his London house?” Hollis asked.
Father nodded. “An odd one, he is. I can’t sort him in the least. He has a great many callers, and at all hours—morning, afternoon, evening. Nothing seems untoward, simply strangely constant.”
Ana turned enough on the window seat to look across the street. Two men knocked at the Thompsons’ door. Ana couldn’t see their faces, couldn’t have even guessed at their ages, but they were gentlemen by the look of their clothes. They were ushered inside. No carriage appeared to have dropped them there.
Strange. She turned back toward the room.
“This is one of Lafayette Jones’s,” Mr. O’Donnell said, holding up a penny dreadful. “How are you enjoying it?”
“Immensely. Ana enjoys his work as well.”
“Does she?” Hollis knew her enjoyment of them—they had discussed the penny dreadfuls before—but was making kind conversation with her Father.
The gentlemen discussed various authors: Fletcher Walker, Mr. King, Brogan Donnelly, Stone, Lafayette Jones. Father was more widely read in the area of penny dreadful serials than Ana had realized.
After a moment, Hollis joined her at the window.
Voice lowered, she said, “Thank you for being kind to him. So many in Society rejected him after his fortunes turned. He’s hidden out here ever since.”
“And you have been struggling to make ends meet.” He spoke as quietly as she. Mr. O’Donnell and Father were too engrossed in their discussion of stories to pay much heed.
“We’ve had a difficult few years.”
“Yes, you spoke of that during our time at the opera.” He set his hand gently on hers. “I hadn’t realized how difficult those years apparently were.”
“And now that you know?”
He threaded his fingers through hers, the simple touch reassuring her even before he spoke. “I only wish we had become friends sooner. Passing through difficulties is made harder by passing through them alone.”
“You have passed through difficulties, yourself.” She remembered well from their very personal conversation.
“It seems you and I have a great deal in common, Ana Newport.”
But, oh, so much about them was more painfully different than he could possibly realize. He was a respected gentleman. She was a sneak thief.
Movement on the street below pulled her attention. She leaned closer to the glass, narrowing her gaze on the Thompsons’ house. “That is the second pair of men to knock in the last few minutes.”
Hollis looked down. “Were the others finely dressed as well?”
“They were. And like these, there was no carriage dropping them there.”
“Hmm.” He seemed even more curious than she was. “I wonder how often this scene plays out.”
“I would ask my father, but he is calm and pleased just now.” She looked back at the two men, bent over a copy of Lafayette Jones’s latest work. “I’d rather not rile him up again, not when he’s having such a nice visit.”
Hollis continued to watch the street below. Ana slipped away and, with a quick check to make certain her father and their visitors were content, stepped from the room and into the one next to it. There, she opened the curio cabinet and set inside it a small, hinged, leather box—small enough to have been tucked in her drawstring wrist bag.
Ana opened the box, displaying the ivory-handled manicure set inside. It was not the finest example of such a thing—far from it, in fact—but it had been her mother’s.
A mere moment after Ana returned to Father’s room, Wallace did as well, having delivered her weekly basket of foodstuffs to the kitchen.
“Good of these genn’lmen to show kindness to Mr. Newport. He oughtn’t be so lonely as he is.” Wallace eyed both visitors, but not with suspicion. “What brought them ’round, I wonder?”
“They likely know someone in the area,” Ana said. “Pimlico boasts many people of their station.”
Wallace nodded. “Perhaps they’ll bring others around to visit. That’d be a fine thing.”
It would be nice for her father, yes. But she had concerns. “Perhaps we might see if we could get the small sitting room on the ground floor cleaned up. I don’t know where we might get furniture, but—”
“I could repair a few of the broken bits in the attic, likely. Wouldn’t be anything too fine.”
It was a promising start. “There is a disused but still serviceable rug in the attic at Thurloe. Miss Black might allow me to have the use of it.”
A twinkle of hope entered Wallace’s expression. She felt the same touch hers.
“I’ll come a few extra times in the next little while,” she said. “We can have the sitting room ready for visitors, I’m sure. In time, Father might even decide to leave the house.”
“That would be a regular miracle, Miss Newport.”
She moved over to the window where Hollis still sat, though he didn’t watch the Thompsons’ place any longer. He had taken up one of Father’s copies of the most recent Lafayette Jones penny serial.
Ana sat beside the handsome and considerate gentleman. He looked up at her and smiled. “Welcome back, Miss Ana Newport.”
“You missed me, did you?”
His expression turned warm and tender. “I did, indeed.”
In that moment, her heart utterly melted.
The Dread Penny Society’s interest in Charles Thompson had been nothing more than the hope he would invest in the Barton School for Girls. Now it seemed he was involved in something much deeper. He, who had never before been associated with even casual gambling, had lost his fortune at the card tables. His home in Town was being let to what was said to be a cousin, whose guests’ comings and goings were odd by all accounts.
What had truly unnerved Hollis, however, was seeing someone he knew all too well entering that suspicious house: Alistair Headley.
The man spent more and more time with Randolph. Hollis was worried, and he felt in his gut he had reason to be.
Across from him in the carriage, Ana sat in uneasy silence, clutching her usual Saturday satchel and watching him with her brows low and her forehead creased in confused concern.
“I am not being very personable, am I?” He offered a quick smile of apology. “I’ve something to discuss with my brother, and I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Your topic is a difficult one?”
“Every topic is a difficult one with him.”
The morning light spilled through the carriage windows, illuminating her in a glow of gold. “You are very different from him in that respect. I find you quite easy to talk with.”
“Why is it, then, you told me so little of your father’s situation?”
Her gaze dropped to her hands. “Our family has passed through enough humiliations without making them even more widely known.”
“What, precisely, happened?” He wouldn’t press her to share but hoped she would. He knew the misery of carrying unseen burdens alone.
“Father made his fortune in trade, primarily shipping. He took on a part
ner as his business grew, but he didn’t realize that partner was stealing funds from the company. Then the man disappeared, leaving behind empty coffers and defrauded investors.”
A disaster by all accounts.
“We sold the things we had that were of any value,” she said. “That saved Father from debtors’ prison, but the damage to his reputation could not be undone. His partner was the fraudster, but Father was the one ruined by it.”
“I enjoyed our visit with him yesterday. Ganor said the same several times after we dropped you at Thurloe.”
“You were both very kind to him.” She clearly had expected something other than kindness, yet there was nothing personal in the underlying accusation.
“He has a quick wit and a sharp mind. It is a shame few people have the opportunity to enjoy his company.”
“His one-time ‘friends’ and associates turned on him when his fortunes fell. The things they said about him and to him were terrible. They exacted revenge in painful and personal ways.” The sadness in her expression spoke volumes. That revenge, Hollis would wager, had been exacted against her, as well.
Hollis reached across and took her hand. She had allowed him to do that several times of late. “If he will allow us to visit again, Ganor and I would enjoy doing so.”
“I hope you will.”
The carriage stopped in front of Randolph’s house. Hollis and Ana had made this trip several Saturdays in a row. Alighting and making their way to the music room was habit as much as anything now.
Eloise was waiting for them. She greeted them with enthusiasm. He’d known his little niece would love Ana. How could she not?
“I’ve practiced and practiced,” Eloise told her music teacher.
“I am pleased to hear that. Would you like to play for your uncle?”
Eloise nodded eagerly.
Hollis took her hand and walked with her to the pianoforte. “I have always enjoyed hearing you play, love.”
“No, you haven’t, silly. I used to pound on the keys and make Miss Dowling have megrims.”
Oh, sweet Eloise. So innocently entertaining.
She climbed onto the piano stool and, after smiling at him, plunked out a tune. She already played better than she had only a few short weeks earlier. And her joy as she played was contagious. Hollis glanced at Ana and saw tender pride in her expression.
The Gentleman and the Thief Page 11