The Gentleman Thief
Page 6
“I see,” Jeffries said, although he did not look at all as if he did. Perhaps he was slow but thorough, Georgiana thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“Shall we walk?” Georgiana asked, for even though the Bow Street Runner seemed oblivious to his surroundings, she was keeping a wary eye out for curious passersby.
Jeffries appeared nonplussed, but when she tugged on his sleeve, he fell into step beside her. “Did you question the servants?” she asked.
“Miss, I…”
“No matter,” Georgiana said with an airy wave. “I am certain of the identity of the thief.”
“And just how did you decide, miss?” Jeffries asked.
“Well, as I said, I narrowed it down to three likely candidates,” Georgiana explained, pleased to have the opportunity to expound upon her theories. “At first, I considered Ashdowne—”
“Lord Ashdowne? The Marquis of Ashdowne?” Jeffries stopped to gape at her until Georgiana was forced to nudge him forward once more.
When they were walking again, she continued. “I admit that he seems less likely now, but I cannot shake the feeling that he is up to something, for he is hardly the sort to frequent Bath. I ask you, why would a healthy man such as he claim to be in need of the waters?” Georgiana said. Immediately, she regretted her words as a blush climbed her cheeks. All too well, she recalled just how healthy—and hard and muscular—was Ashdowne.
Jeffries, apparently mollified, smiled slightly. “It’s been my experience, miss, that it’s nigh impossible to figure out the ton and their doings.”
Georgiana nodded, although she thought his admission a sad commentary on his skills, for it was his job to discover motivations and such. Still, a man so aware of his own shortcomings might be more amenable to assistance than someone more arrogant, Georgiana mused, and she stepped alongside him with increasing assurance.
“Be that as it may, I have dismissed him as a suspect, for he became most interested in the investigation. He offered to assist me and is watching the culprit’s house even as we speak,” Georgiana said. Or so she hoped.
“Did he now?”
Georgiana thought she caught a sly grin on the taciturn man’s face, but she ignored it, not wishing to enter into any further discussion of the marquis. She had lain awake long enough last night thinking about Ashdowne and his kisses, and she had concluded that it was a good thing the Bow Street Runner had arrived to close the investigation.
Her association with her one and only assistant would soon be at an end, effectively eliminating the need for any further contact with the incredibly handsome nobleman. Although Georgiana had to admit to a certain amount of pleasure in his company, he was just too much of a threat to her senses. Why, she could hardly think when he was near, and that would not do at all for someone who delighted in mental exercise.
No. Ashdowne was too much of a distraction even now, Georgiana mused as she forced her errant thoughts back to the matter at hand. She held up three fingers and immediately ticked off one, then another. “I also had my suspicions about a certain Mr. Hawkins, late of Yorkshire,” she confided.
“Did you now?” Jeffries asked, and Georgiana was pleased to note the Bow Street Runner’s increased interest.
“Yes. He is in town looking for a new living, and—”
Jeffries cut her off with a startled sound. “You’re accusing a vicar?”
“Well, yes,” Georgiana admitted. “For the most part, I’m certain that those who choose a religious life are above reproach, but, alas, I am equally sure that some commit the same sins as lesser men. And Mr. Hawkins is no ordinary vicar,” Georgiana explained. “I have talked to him twice now, and his speech on both occasions struck me as most peculiar.”
Georgiana leaned closer to her companion to impart her information more confidentially. “He harbors a grudge against the rich that cannot be put down to mere envy. And since he is looking for a new post, I would imagine he is in need of funds.”
“You’re saying a man of the cloth sneaked into Lady Culpepper’s bedroom, stole the necklace and climbed out the window?” Jeffries asked, his expression dubious.
“Why not?” Georgiana returned, straightening to her full diminutive height. “I tell you, he has something against the wealthy in general, if not Lady Culpepper in particular.”
To her immense gratification, Jeffries turned thoughtful. “I see. But you have since changed your mind about him?”
“Not really. It is simply that I have found a far more likely culprit,” Georgiana declared. Nodding to a passing couple, she inched closer to Jeffries and spoke in a low tone as she pressed upon her third outstretched digit. “On the night of the theft, I overheard two men plotting most suspiciously. One of them I recognized immediately as Lord Whalsey, and the other I have identified as a Mr. Cheever.”
“Lord Whalsey?” Jeffries echoed with a groan. “Pardon me, miss, but must all your suspects be noblemen or churchmen? Don’t tell me! Let me guess. This fellow’s a bloody duke, isn’t he?”
Georgiana was disturbed, not by Jeffries’s language, which was undoubtedly the cant of the streets, but by his accusation. She lifted her chin. “I assure you that I did not choose these men for their titles,” she said. “And besides, Whalsey is only a viscount with pockets to let, driving him to engineer the commission of a crime.”
Jeffries shook his head, an unhappy look on his plain features. “First you accuse a marquis, then a vicar, and now a viscount. Miss, I do believe you have a most lively imagination.”
Georgiana blinked in dismay, for she sensed she was losing him. “Are you suggesting that such persons never venture onto the wrong side of the law?” she asked.
“No, miss,” he replied.
“Then you must hear me out! I tell you, I did not search for Whalsey and his cohort. Quite by accident I fell upon them hatching their scheme.” And as precisely as she could recall, Georgiana related her experience behind the large potted plant, leaving out the calamitous entanglement with Ashdowne, of course.
She was a bit disappointed that Jeffries did not take notes and resolved to suggest that course to him later, but in the meantime she was determined to convince him of the truth of her conclusions. And so she told him about her confrontation with the viscount in the Pump Room.
They had nearly reached that center of Bath by the time she had finished, and she had the distinct pleasure of watching him lift a hand to rub his chin in contemplation. “It sounds bad, miss, but I can hardly march up to his lordship without more evidence.”
“But surely you can question him at least!” Georgiana protested. The interrogative talents of the Bow Street men were legendary. “I am certain that he would confess in a thrice!”
“I don’t know, miss,” Jeffries said, shaking his head again, and Georgiana was seized by a fit of temper. All her life she had been faced with skeptics and scoffers, but she had never expected this professional to doubt her. He was one of the best! He was one of her heroes! How could he not take her seriously?
Georgiana turned on him, prepared to demand that he at least speak with Whalsey before it was too late. She swung her reticule back and forth, tempted to use it to knock some sense into his wooden head, but she was uncertain as to the penalty for striking an official of the law. Fortunately, she was saved from that desperate choice by the sound of her name.
“Ah, Miss Bellewether. I see that you are busy already this morning.”
Ashdowne! Never had Georgiana thought she would welcome the presence of the marquis, for she had accepted his assistance of necessity, but now…now she felt like throwing herself into his strong arms. Her happiness must have shown on her face, for he hesitated a moment as if startled by her enthusiasm, before smiling smoothly.
“Ashdowne! I am so glad you are here!”
“So I gathered,” he said, bending over her hand with a wry expression. “To what may I attribute this sudden delight in my company?”
Ignoring the way he set her pulse
pounding, Georgiana tugged her fingers free and gestured toward Jeffries. “My lord, this is Wilson Jeffries, a Bow Street Runner who is investigating the theft of Lady Culpepper’s necklace.”
“Jeffries.” Ashdowne acknowledged the man with a nod. “But what is there to investigate? Surely you have given him the benefit of your expertise?” he asked Georgiana, lifting one dark brow.
Georgiana was uncertain for a moment whether he was teasing her, but he appeared expectant. “Well, yes, I have, and he doesn’t believe me! Can you imagine?”
Ashdowne looked properly affronted, and Georgiana was immediately mollified. “Really?” he said, turning to Jeffries, and Georgiana had the pleasure of watching the Bow Street Runner squirm under the nobleman’s gaze. Although he had refused to heed her, a marquis was quite a different story, and Georgiana found herself smiling smugly at Jeffries’s discomfort. She congratulated herself on her choice of assistants, for Ashdowne really was proving himself most helpful.
After a moment of fidgeting under the marquis’s un-yielding stare, Jeffries cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose that I could have a little chat with Lord Whalsey, if you think it would be advisable,” he said.
“Absolutely,” Ashdowne replied in his dry manner so different from her own rampant enthusiasm. Georgiana wondered what, if anything, excited the marquis, and then blushed at the conjectures that followed.
“In fact, I insist upon it,” Ashdowne said. “Let us all make a visit to the house he is letting, for I have a man watching the place, and he has not gone out as yet.” As he spoke, Ashdowne turned in that direction, motioning for Georgiana to join him, and in reluctant surrender, Jeffries fell into step alongside them.
Unable to contain her bliss, Georgiana glanced up at Ashdowne with an expression of gratitude. Perhaps it was too much for the contained marquis, for he looked decidedly uncomfortable before flashing her a smooth grin. Too smooth, Georgiana thought, but she was so thrilled she did not want to contend with her recurring suspicions about Ashdowne. Returning his smile, she eagerly anticipated the interview ahead, planning her strategy should poor Mr. Jeffries require her help in obtaining a confession from Whalsey.
As it happened, their suspect was having a late breakfast when they arrived, but Ashdowne’s name gained them entrée and they were shown to a small salon, where they waited for only a few minutes until Whalsey’s arrival. Apparently he was all too eager to greet a marquis, for he hurried forward to give Ashdowne a deferential bow. But when he bent toward Georgiana, he straightened abruptly, a look of ill-disguised loathing upon his pale features.
“You!” he muttered, taking a step back, and Georgiana, far from taking umbrage, was well pleased with his reaction. Already wary of her, the man ought to confess his guilt in no time at all!
“I assume you’ve met Miss Bellewether,” Ashdowne said, ignoring Whalsey’s slight. “And this gentleman is Wilson Jeffries, a Bow Street Runner.”
“Wh-what?” Whalsey blanched as he whirled toward Jeffries.
The Bow Street Runner nodded respectfully. “Good morning, Lord Whalsey. I would like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”
“You most certainly may not! Wh-what is the meaning of this?” Whalsey asked, puffing with indignation.
“Nothing to get yourself agitated about, my lord. I’m here in Bath doing some investigating, and I—” Jeffries began, only to be silenced by Whalsey’s loud huff.
“You’ve been listening to her, haven’t you?” Whalsey accused, pointing a finger at Georgiana. Warmed by the recognition, she smiled, which only seemed to enrage the viscount further. “Surely, you cannot mean to believe the absurd prattle of this…this hoyden?” he asked, his voice rising shrilly. “Why, the woman’s a lunatic! She needs a keeper!”
“Ah. That would be me,” Ashdowne said softly.
Surprised, and somehow warmed, by the marquis’s show of support, Georgiana glanced at him gratefully, but any words she might have formed were lost as the doors to the room were flung open by a manservant. “Mr. Cheever, my lord!” the servant announced, as the man in question hurried into the room.
To Georgiana’s delight, Whalsey made a strangled sound and turned toward the new arrival with a look of horror that made Cheever stop in his tracks. Georgiana suspected that the fellow would have turned tail and run if Jeffries had not chosen that moment to act. He rose to his feet. “Mr. Cheever, please join us, as I’d like to put a few questions to you.”
Cheever remained arrested, a wary expression on his lean features, while Whalsey moved between Jeffries and the new arrival, as if to prevent their conversation. “This man is a Bow Street Runner,” Whalsey explained to Cheever with a significance that no one could miss. Georgiana smiled triumphantly at Ashdowne.
“Please sit down,” Jeffries said to Cheever. His voice, although cordial, held an underlying insistence that Georgiana admired. She had to restrain herself from clapping and urging him on.
Whalsey, however, did not join in her enthusiasm. He puffed his chest and his cheeks out once more, reminding Georgiana of a bellows. “This is an outrage!” he declared, most emphatically. “Y-you barge into my home, accost me, and now you are attacking my guests. Well, I—I won’t have it! You, sir, may leave the premises at once!”
When Cheever inched toward the door, Whalsey shot him an exasperated glance. “Not you! You!” he clarified, pointing a finger at Jeffries. “Harassing your betters! Why, I’ll have you stripped of your position!”
To his credit, Jeffries did not waver, and Cheever eventually sat on the edge of a faded damask-covered chair, where he proceeded to dart anxious glances toward a small gilt table. The only item on the worn surface was a simple wooden box that was hardly in keeping with the rather shabby elegance of the salon, and Georgiana drew in a sharp breath at the realization.
While Whalsey continued to object to the presence of the visitors in no uncertain terms, Georgiana rose and walked casually toward the table that held so much fascination for Cheever. She was immediately rewarded with a squeak of horror from the man, which alerted his partner. Whalsey whirled toward her and gaped, his face growing red and mottled.
“You! Get away from there, you wretched female!” he said.
Excitement surged through Georgiana as she ignored the warning and stepped closer. Triumph, which had so often teased her, suddenly appeared to be within her grasp at last, for the significance of the box could mean only one thing. The overly confident thieves had hidden the necklace in plain sight, disguising its value in the rough container that normally would not have drawn a second glance.
Moving behind the small piece of furniture, Georgiana gestured toward the box with a flourish. “Mr. Jeffries, I believe that you will find the stolen item in here!” she said, trying to contain the exhilaration that rushed through her. Surely, this was her finest hour! she thought, beaming at her audience.
And then pandemonium erupted.
Cheever shot to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides, but Ashdowne swiftly rose, too, a formidable figure among the shorter men. Whalsey, his blustering at an end, pulled out a handkerchief and began fanning himself as he fell onto a nearby chaise, moaning in distress, while Jeffries stepped toward her.
“I’ll just have a look, my lord,” Jeffries said. No one made a move to stop him as he took up a stance at Georgiana’s side and reached for the lid. It stuck momentarily, but then Jeffries lifted it away to reveal the contents, and Georgiana held her breath only to release it in a hiss of disappointment.
With dismay, she saw at once that no gold necklace lay inside, for instead of the glitter of emeralds, her gaze met the dull sheen of glass. Although she leaned forward, it was soon obvious that the box was empty except for a dark bottle. She blinked, but just as she opened her mouth to admit her shock, Whalsey spoke from his position across the room.
“You cannot hold me accountable!” he said. “I’ve done nothing! Whatever is in there is Cheever’s, for he left that box here yesterday!”
“I left it here all right, but only because he paid me for it, the vain old bugger! I took the stuff, and the formula, too, but on his orders. It was all for him! What would I need with hair restorative?”
Georgiana finally found her voice. “Hair restorative?” she asked as Jeffries gingerly lifted the bottle from its berth.
“Aye, miss,” Cheever said. “It’s a secret formula, created by a certain Dr. Withipoll here in Bath, and nothing would do but that his lordship must get hold of some. And when the doctor wouldn’t sell, that’s when he called me in. It was all his doing! He forced me to steal it!” Cheever whined, eyeing the Bow Street Runner with canny intent.
“There are nigh on eighty physicians practicing in Bath. Surely one of them could have been induced to help you with your…ah…problem, without resorting to robbery,” Ashdowne said dryly to a sputtering Whalsey.
Having no interest in male baldness or how to cure it, Georgiana broke in upon the conversation. “But what of the jewels?” she asked. Both Whalsey and Cheever looked at her blankly. “Lady Culpepper’s necklace?” she prompted.
Cheever’s small eyes grew wide, and whatever gentlemanly ways he had put on fell away like a mask. “Now, you hold on a minute there, miss. I don’t know a thing about that! I’m strictly small-time, I swear it! I ain’t no jewel robber!”
“Nor am I!” Whalsey cried from across the room. “I may be a bit short of funds at the moment, but everyone knows I get my money by marrying it, not stealing it. It’s my hair I’m worried about! How will I find a rich widow, if it goes? A man can’t wear a wig all the time! I simply must keep my hair!” he declared with passionate ferocity.