An Honorable Thief

by Anne Gracie

  "Yes, Mr Devenish. The Misses Singleton are indeed at home to you. Please step this way."

  Hugo followed the butler, taking in his surroundings as he did so. Not a wealthy home, but well enough. Furnished for comfort as much as style, but a little over-fussy for his taste. He had a seaman's dislike of clutter, and this house abounded in it—little statuettes, china plates, amateurishly hand-painted, lace mats and embroidered cloths, little ar­rangements of dried grasses and flowers, vases, bottles, carvings, brassware, silver bibelots—scarcely a surface was bare.

  The butler opened a door. "Mr Devenish."

  Hugo entered and instantly regretted coming. At this early hour—for a so-called morning visit, that is—he had not expected to find anyone other than the Misses Singleton present, but in fact there were four other ladies as well. At the butler's announcement the room fell abruptly silent.

  Hugo took a deep breath and greeted the ladies. Miss Singleton rose to greet him and made the necessary intro­ductions. After a great deal of bowing and exchanging of greetings he was finally able to sit down, a little stiffly, feeling that he'd walked into a zoo—as the main exhibit.

  One of the ladies, a matron clad in deepest purple, re­turned to finishing the tale she'd been telling when he ar­rived, and Hugo took the opportunity to inspect Miss Cath­erine Singleton in her home environment.

  She was examining him with equal intensity, he realised with interest. Unaware of his observation, her eyes skimmed him from head to foot, almost anxiously, but then their eyes met. Her look of faint trepidation vanished in­stantly and was replaced by a bright inquiring glance, as if to ask him what he was thinking.

  He responded with a bland look. She raised an eyebrow, turned pointedly to the speaker and fixed the bright inter­ested gaze on her.

  Hugo's lips twitched. He was coming to learn and ap­preciate some of her mannerisms. The gaze directed at the matronly lady was in fact a reprimand to himself, for daring to appear to imagine she might find anything about him of interest.

  He set himself to wait until the other ladies had taken themselves off; he did not want to spread alarm unneces­sarily.

  It was more than half an hour before the last of the ladies made their departure, their obvious curiosity at Mr Deven-ish's visit having made them linger considerably longer than the usual morning visit. The moment the last lady left, he leaned forward.

  "Now, Miss Singleton," he said, addressing Miss Rose, but including Miss Catherine Singleton in his glance, "I have some news which you may find disquieting."

  The two ladies glanced curiously at each other. "Pray, do not keep us in suspense, Mr Devenish."

  "I had...occasion to be passing this house last night." He ignored the way Miss Catherine raised her brows, a little pointedly, he thought. "And I noticed something suspicious occurring around the back."

  "I see," said Miss Catherine affably. "You not only had...occasion to be outside our house, you had occasion to walk down our back alley too. How very odd. Is it not extremely dirty there? Can I ask why you were—"

  "Hush, Kit," hissed Miss Rose Singleton.

  Ahh, he thought. She was called Kit, not Catherine. It suited her much better. Kit.

  "Go on, Mr Devenish," said Miss Rose encouragingly.

  "To cut a long story short," he said with dignity, "I disturbed the blackguard known as the Chinese Burglar! He was about to break into your home."

  Both ladies gasped in surprise.

  "The Chinese Burglar! But how—?"

  "Why did you not warn us? Did you summon the Watch?"

  Hugo felt once again that his collar was a little too tight. "Er, no. I... There was a scuffle."

  "Do you mean to say you vanquished him, Mr Deven-ish? How very brave you are, indeed!" said Kit admiringly.

  "No. He...got away—ran off—rode off—on horseback, to be precise."

  "Oh!" Kit Singleton sat back, disappointed. "You let him get away," she said reproachfully.

  "Yes. Sorry."

  Miss Rose Singleton was much more concerned. "Oh, Mr Devenish, you could have been hurt, murdered! I be­lieve those foreign criminals can be frightfully danger­ous—''

  "Unlike nice safe English criminals," interpolated Kit irrepressibly.

  "Hush, Kit. You know what I mean. Mr Devenish could have been hurt."

  Kit leaned forward, suddenly serious. "And were you hurt, sir?"

  Mr Devenish hoped the sensation he was experiencing did not mean he was turning bright red. He was not going to explain to two maiden ladies just where the thief had managed to kick him to put him so effectively out of action.

  "Not at all. A couple of scrapes and bruises, nothing at all."

  Kit sat back. "I would have thought a man of your size could have vanquished a Chinaman," she said. "I believe them to be a small, slight people."

  "He was very quick," said Mr Devenish stiffly.

  "And how did you know it was the Chinese Burglar? Did you see his face?"

  "No, I saw his long black pigtail."

  "You saw his pigtail?"

  "It bounced against his back as he ran away."

  She sat very still for a moment, then suddenly smiled at him warmly. "Well, even so, it was very brave of you to tackle the fellow and I join my aunt in thanking you."

  "Yes, yes, of course, but, Kit, you have not thought what this means," said Rose anxiously. "It means the burglar was after something in this house."

  "My thoughts exactly," said Hugo.

  There was a short silence.

  "And he will be back!" exclaimed Rose. "Oh, Heavens! What shall we do?"

  The door opened suddenly. "Mrs Groombridge," said the butler and ushered in another lady visitor.

  Mrs Groombridge was big with news. No sooner had the polite greetings and pleasantries been disposed of than she launched into her story.

  "Have you heard? He struck again last night! Who? The Chinese Burglar, of course! Colonel Grantley's house!"

  After the initial outcry of surprise and amazement, it fi­nally became clear: the Chinese Burglar had broken into the home of a gentleman called Colonel Grantley and stolen the famous Eyes of India.

  "The Eyes of India?" asked Kit curiously. "What on earth are the Eyes of India?"

  "Oh, my dear—of course, you are newly come to Lon­don, but they are very famous! They are jewels, my dear, the most fabulous emeralds—simply magnificent! I would give my eye teeth to own them—or I would have." She tittered. "There is a necklace, a tiara, one or perhaps two bracelets, earrings and several rings. Poor Colonel Grantley is devastated. And Mrs Grantley—inconsolable, poor dear."

  "But how do they know it was the same burglar who robbed the other places?" asked Kit

  "Oh, my dear, haven't you heard? He left behind another sheet of paper, covered in that outlandish writing—all bird scratches, it looks to me. Quite pretty, but utterly incom­prehensible."

  "If you are not Chinese, that is," said Kit.

  Mrs Groombridge looked at her hard as if suspecting mockery, but she could see none, so she decided to laugh instead.

  "And does anyone know what the writing says?" asked Rose.

  Mrs Groombridge nodded. "Quite meaningless, appar­ently. It is just pages of poetry or some such—torn from the same book."

  "I did not know the Chinese had books," commented Kit. "I thought they only used scrolls."

  Mrs Groombridge shrugged. “Well, I have no idea about that, but I can tell you, my husband has hired extra guards—we cannot be too careful, if there is a gang of foreign thieves about! I cannot imagine how the fellow got past the Watch! Disgraceful, that's what it is!"

  They conversed a little more, but it was soon apparent that Mrs Groombridge knew very little more than the barest facts of the robbery.

  She soon rose. "Oh, well, I must be off. So delightful to meet you, Mr Devenish, goodbye, dear Miss Singleton and Miss Catherine. So many calls, so little time," and she bustled out.

  The three inhabitants of the draw
ing room looked at each other in silence.

  "Do you suppose," said Kit, "that having been foiled from his burglary here, he made off to Colonel Grantley's house?"

  Mr Devenish looked thoughtful. "No," he said. "I don't."

  "No," agreed Kit. "It is stretching credulity too far for him to be disturbed at a house which has few treasures and then just happen across a fabulous emerald set." She fixed him with a look. "Then what do you think he was doing here? It is a great mystery, do you not think so?"

  "Yes," said Mr Devenish meditatively. "It is a mys­tery."

  "Perhaps he was hiding the jewels. Or passing them to a confederate," suggested Rose.

  "Oh, Aunt Rose, what a clever notion," agreed Kit in­stantly. "That's what it must have been. To think, our back alley used as a meeting place for a desperate gang of for­eign thieves. How very exciting."

  Just then three more ladies arrived and, feeling their in­quisitive gazes boring into him, Hugo decided he could take no more of the company of respectable tonnish females. He left them speculating over the mystery of the Chinese Bur­glar.

  "I have come to a decision," said Thomas, Lord Nor­wood. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

  Hugo felt an odd tension steal into his body. He'd been feeling on edge ever since his butler had announced his nephew's visit. His nephew had never visited him before, not without his mother. Hugo raised an eyebrow in cold enquiry.

  "I have—" Thomas broke off and ran his finger around his collar. "I have decided to take a bride."

  "Indeed?" Hugo's voice was freezing. "I gather you have overcome all the dictates of common sense and finally proposed to the girl."

  "Yes," croaked Thomas defiantly. "I am a man after all, and I make my own decisions. And that is why I have come to you—"

  "And did she accept you?" Hugo forced his fingers to unclench as he waited for his nephew's answer.

  Thomas blinked. "Of course she did. We are in love."

  "In love!" Hugo's voice was scathing. "In love with her inheritance, more like!"

  Thomas blinked. "But she has no inheritance."

  "Yes, I told you so!"

  "But how did you know? I have told nobody about it. Even my mother does not know."

  Hugo frowned. "What the devil do you mean, even your mother doesn't know! She has been nagging you to this point for weeks!"

  "But she hasn't. She wanted me to marry Miss Single­ton."

  Hugo felt a sudden lightness in the region of his heart. "And you are not marrying Miss Singleton?''

  "No. It is Miss Lutens that I am now betrothed to. Miss Singleton introduced us. Only it is a secret."

  Hugo blinked. He did not in the least care what his nephew did, as long as he didn't marry Miss Singleton. "A secret? Why?"

  Thomas drew himself up with dignity. "I will not marry Libby—Miss Lutens—while I am encumbered by debt." He ran his finger around his tight collar again. "I have come to ask you if you would be so good as to teach me how to go on in business."

  Hugo stared. "You don't care that you may be subjected to slurs about being in trade? You will, you know, and it can hurt."

  Thomas shook his head firmly. "My wife and family's future security is more important than any remarks passed by small-minded people." He eyed Hugo warily. "So, Uncle, would you help me to learn how to care for my fam­ily?"

  Hugo felt a sudden lump in his throat. He could not respond.

  Thomas added, "If anyone can do it, you can. You saved our family from financial ruin before; will you not teach me how to prevent it ever happening again?''

  Hugo held out his hand. "I will."

  His nephew had become a man at last.

  And Hugo was a member of a family.

  Chapter Seven

  "Mr Hugo Devenish."

  The butler's announcement caused a flutter of interest among the various ladies gathered in Miss Rose Singleton's front morning room.

  "Two visits in two mornings!" hissed one of the ladies.

  "He is very rich, I believe," whispered another.

  Kit almost giggled as Mr Devenish stared in hastily con­cealed alarm at the number of ladies in the room, all avidly staring at him; a collection of hungry hens eyeing a large, tasty grain of wheat.

  He greeted each lady with correctness, if not ease of manner.

  Kit smiled as he forced himself to make small talk. His cold, brusque manner should have been off-putting, but the ladies were not the least put off; they obviously regarded Mr Devenish as quite a catch and the more gruff and glacial his answers, the more effusively they tried to draw him out.

  The gushing feminine responses disconcerted him, she noted. The man clearly had no idea of his own attractions. He was looking faintly hunted. It was rather endearing, Kit felt. This overheated morning room, filled with respectablefemininity, was the first social situation in which she'd seen him where he wasn't all cold self-assurance.

  Mr Devenish glanced across at her. "I actually came— besides wishing to pay my respects, of course—to ask Miss Catherine Singleton if she would do me the honour of ac­companying me on a drive in the park," he said. "It is a beautiful day and quite mild. Miss Singleton?"

  Absolutely not, thought Kit. She had no intention of be­ing alone with him—even in public—again. He would be given no opportunity to question her again. She opened her mouth to refuse him prettily.

  "Of course, Mr Devenish, she would be delighted," Rose Singleton responded. “It is a lovely day, and since I got rid of our antiquated landaulet, she has had little op­portunity to go out for drives."

  "Oh, but, Aunt, I am not dressed for driving," said Kit instantly.

  Rose laughed. “Well, run upstairs, my dear, and change. Mr Devenish will not mind waiting, will you, sir?''

  "Not at all," concurred Mr Devenish smoothly, a sar­donic gleam in his eye the only indication that he was aware of Kit's reluctance.

  "But, er, is it proper?'' said Kit desperately.

  A room full of ladies tittered.

  "I imagine Mr Devenish has his groom with him, and a drive in an open carriage in the public eye is perfectly proper. But I meant you to take your maid with you, of course," explained Rose kindly. "Now, run along dear. Gentlemen do not like to be kept waiting."

  Gritting her teeth in a smile, Kit ran along.

  She rang for Maggie and began to strip off her muslin round gown. There was no sign of Maggie, so she rang again and, without waiting, started to change into a walking dress in blue with knots of red, black and white ribbon around the hem, cuffs and shoulders. It was a straggle to button the dress herself and she could not reach the last three.

  Where on earth was Maggie? Her half-day off was not for several days yet. She was becoming almost unreliable. It was most unlike her.

  "Oh, Miss Kit, sorry I'm late." Maggie rushed into the room, looking flushed.

  "What kept you?" Kit asked.

  Maggie busied herself with the buttons. "There, that's it, all finished. Going out, miss?" she asked, turning Kit around to inspect her.

  Kit hastily explained that she and Maggie were going for a drive with Mr Devenish. Maggie's face fell.

  "Me too?"

  Kit frowned. "Yes. Do you not wish to go? I'm sorry, but I need you to chaperon me."

  Maggie glanced at the door indecisively. "Oh, no, it's all right, Miss Kit, my dear,'' she said, making up her mind. "You need a chaperon and who better than me? I'll...I'll just fetch my coat." She hurried out.

  Kit stared after her. Maggie was hurrying downstairs, not up the narrow servants' stair to where her room was. She was behaving almost...furtively. They would have to have a little talk after this drive.

  A few minutes later Kit came downstairs, tucking a few stray curls under a blue Turkish cap, embroidered in black with a long silver tassel hanging from the crown. Maggie, looking smart in a grey coat and a plain grey bonnet, was waiting in the hallway, looking flushed again.

  Mr Devenish was also waiting in the hall. His eyes ran over K
it and she felt a frisson of pleasure, feeling approval in his gaze, and knowing that she looked quite in vogue. Not that she wanted his approval, of course. Still, it was nice to know you looked all right. Especially when you

  fashioned some of your clothes yourself, with Maggie's assistance,

  A smart-looking carriage awaited them in the street. A tall, wooden-faced man in grey and black livery stood by it.

  Behind her, Maggie gasped and halted suddenly. She muttered something and Kit glanced around enquiringly. "What is it? Forgotten something?"

  Maggie shook her head grimly and thrust Kit forward, a black look on her face. Puzzled, Kit put out her hand to allow Mr Devenish to help her up the steps. Around the back, Mr Devenish's groom did the same for Maggie.

  "Oof!"

  Kit looked around.

  Mr Devenish's groom was hunched over, gasping for breath like a fish. Maggie, looking like a militant, dignified queen, climbed into the back of the carriage without any assistance from the groom.

  "Cheeky jackanapes!" she muttered. She caught Kit's eye and blushed. "Teach him to lie to a decent woman!" She cast a fulminating glare in the direction of the tall groom, whose face was suddenly wiped of all expression.

  Kit's heart sank. Maggie's big handsome jackanapes-he must be Mr Devenish's groom. It all fell into place; the flushed and excited look on Maggie's face sometimes, her lateness, the odd times she slipped out. Poor Maggie had thought she'd been meeting her beau, but instead Mr Dev­enish had set his groom to spying on them.

  Oh, there were times when she hated this masquerade!

  Still, she supposed it was better for Maggie to know his true purpose now than to discover the deception later.

  She cast the groom a withering glance before she turned back in her seat. His expression was still wooden but his eyes were worried; at least he wasn't gloating.

  Mr Devenish had observed the exchange. He leapt lightly up beside her, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "An independent creature, your maid." He took the reins in his hands. "She has a very handy left hook, I see."

  Kit ignored him. She would very much have liked to box his own ears for setting his groom to spy on them in the first place, but she could not quarrel with him in such a public place.