“Yes,” Georgiana said. Turning her steps toward the crescent, she gestured for him to join her. “I fear I have most discouraging news for you.”
“Oh?” Jeffries asked with a look of surprise.
“Yes,” Georgiana said, heaving a great sigh. “I have come to believe that Mr. Hawkins might well be innocent—of the theft, I mean,” she amended hurriedly. The vicar, with all this strange propensities, could hardly be termed pure in any other sense.
“Well now, miss, I guess you’re probably right about that,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I sent someone to make inquiries at his last post, but I don’t think they’ll turn up anything worse than a bit of…indiscretion,” he added, clearing his throat.
Georgiana nodded dispiritedly. “Well, he claims to have been in the linen closet with Mrs. Howard during the time in question, but you might want to see if you can verify it.”
Jeffries looked at her with a mixture of surprise and grudging admiration. “I’ll do that, miss. And I’ll have someone keep an eye on him, though I honestly don’t think he’s got the necklace. He’s a queer one, all right, but not the sort to plan such a daring theft.”
“He’s far too busy,” Georgiana said. “Between toadying up to potential patrons and his other…activities, I don’t see how he could find the time!”
Jeffries laughed. “Well, you’ve found some guilty fellows, miss, just not the right ones.”
Georgiana frowned. “But if not the vicar, who?”
Jeffries shook his head. “That I can’t tell you, miss. I don’t mind saying that this one has me stumped. I’ve talked to all the servants, and not a one of them seems to know anything. All of them claim the fellow outside the bedroom door never left his post or dozed off. And although I have a list of all the guests, most of them are accounted for, too, except for some who would never be able to do the deed.”
“Unless someone came who was uninvited,” Georgiana mused aloud.
Jeffries nodded. “And unnoticed.” He paused to rub his chin again. “The locked room is a bit of a puzzle, isn’t it? It almost reminds me of…” His words trailed off, and he shook his head. “No. It’s been too long, and Bath’s too far afield.”
Georgiana was about to ask him what he was mumbling about when she caught sight of Mr. Savonierre entering one of the finest homes in the Royal Crescent, the most elite address in Bath. She shivered, despite the warmth of the day, at the sight of the black-clad gentleman, for there was something about him she found unnerving. Remembering their conversation at the Pump Room yesterday, she turned to Jeffries.
“I believe Mr. Savonierre is becoming impatient,” she commented. “Ashdowne says he is very powerful. He won’t make you sorry you took the case, will he?” Although she had led a sheltered life, Georgiana knew that the wealthy often abused their authority with little regard for others. And she would feel terrible if the Bow Street Runner lost his position or was replaced.
Jeffries smiled grimly. “His black looks and acid tongue are making me sorry already, but I don’t think he’ll toss me on my ear just for trying to do my job. He’s a strange one, but fair, I think.”
Georgiana glanced at the house Savonierre had entered, an elegant place she had heard he was making his own. “If he’s so devoted to Lady Culpepper, I’m surprised he doesn’t stay with her,” she mused.
“Oh, I think he did at first, but after the theft, he let his own place over there,” he said, with a nod toward the tall stone facade.
Georgiana blinked, uncertain for a moment whether she had heard Jeffries correctly. “But just yesterday he said that he came straight away after hearing about the burglary. I thought he arrived afterward, bringing you with him,” she said.
Jeffries shook his head. “Oh, no, miss. He was here that night. The servants said as much, for he locked the room right up after the theft and took charge.”
Georgiana stared at the Bow Street Runner, her thoughts awhirl, her pulse pounding. “But I didn’t see him at all! He never made an appearance at the ball, I’m certain of it. I wondered how he had learned of the theft so quickly. If he was there, why didn’t he show himself? And why would he put it around town that he didn’t arrive until after the robbery?”
Obviously sensing the direction of her thoughts, Jeffries gave her a wide-eyed look of alarm. “Oh, no, miss! Surely you’re not going to accuse one of the richest, most powerful men in the country of common thievery!”
“And why not?” Georgiana asked, her excitement growing. “I find it very curious that Mr. Savonierre kept such a low profile before the theft.”
Jeffries snorted loudly. “He always keeps a low profile, miss. That’s Savonierre. They say he but whispers and the government jumps to do his bidding, that Prinny himself—”
Georgiana waved away his protests, for they were hardly pertinent to the case. Far more interesting to her was her observation that no matter what his relationship to Lady Culpepper, Savonierre was as out of place in Bath as was Ashdowne! With a sharp sensation of relief, Georgiana realized that he no longer was the sole suspect on her list as she gleefully added Savonierre. After all, the man was a perfect villain: dark, aloof, mysterious and not very nice.
Unfortunately, Jeffries had yet to be convinced. “What’s a man like that want with the necklace? He’s got more money than the prince himself! Why, he probably could buy a hundred emeralds, with the size of his purse, and be none the worse for the purchase,” he said, dismissing her theory outright.
Georgiana glanced thoughtfully toward Mr. Savonierre’s elegant home, unable to give voice to the strange feeling that tugged at her. Although she put no heed in feminine intuition, she knew that Savonierre had been in the right place at the right time under an extremely odd set of circumstances. And he was just the sort who would treat a criminal act as a game that he alone could win, while laughing at the pathetic efforts to identify him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Jeffries, who snorted suddenly. “And why hire me? To catch himself?”
“The perfect camouflage,” Georgiana murmured. “Perhaps it amuses him to watch us flounder for the truth while he remains out of reach, someone we would never suspect.”
“But why?” Jeffries persisted.
“I don’t know,” Georgiana answered honestly. “But something tells me that there’s more to this theft than mere money.”
Jeffries, however, remained skeptical, and he warned her away from Savonierre in no uncertain terms. “No one’s ever gone up against him, miss. He’s dangerous,” the Bow Street Runner muttered more than once.
“Indeed!” Georgiana replied, but her mind was already made up. She intended to prove to Mr. Jeffries and everyone else just how dangerous—and guilty—was Mr. Savonierre. Parting company with the Bow Street Runner, who was still shaking his head, she strode on alone as she contemplated her next step.
Although she refused to feel intimidated by her newest suspect’s reputation, Georgiana realized that he was not cut from the same cloth as Whalsey or Hawkins. He was far too clever to admit to anything, and he was not a man one could easily follow without detection. A worthier opponent than the others, perhaps, Mr. Savonierre would nonetheless be far more difficult to apprehend.
Georgiana felt a sudden, sharp pang at the absence of her assistant but told herself she would do better alone, especially considering the enmity that existed between Ashdowne and Savonierre. She remembered all too clearly their last encounter, when those two had faced off like predators, trying to draw blood with taunts cloaked in civility. Sleek and elegant and deadly, they reminded her of nothing so much as a pair of jungle cats.
With a gasp of startlement, Georgiana halted in the middle of the walkway, heedless of the strollers who gave her a wide berth. “The Cat! Of course!” she murmured, blinking in stunned shock at the turn of her thoughts. All along, she had felt as if there was something about the case she was missing, some connection that wavered just out of reach. But now it came back to her with vivid clarity. Lady
Culpepper’s robbery reminded her of another, not here in Bath, but in London—and more than one.
An avid follower of the cases of the Bow Street Runners and professional thief takers, Georgiana read as much as she could about the crimes that plagued the city and the men who solved them. And one of the most notorious burglars of recent years had been The Cat.
No one knew his real identity, of course, because he had never been caught. They simply dubbed him The Cat because of his ability to get in and out of his victims’ homes with ease, disappearing without a trace through locked doors, and…open windows! Lady Culpepper’s seemingly impossible crime was just the sort of thing that had once been attributed to the daring criminal.
And the open jewel case! That, too, was typical of The Cat. One of the reasons for his popularity in the newspapers was his odd penchant for discriminating choices. He usually never took more than one item of jewelry, albeit a very expensive one, but oftentimes he had left a case or box, the rest of its contents within plain view, as if to taunt the authorities—or his victims.
He preyed only upon the very wealthy, whose losses would be as nothing, and he never took too much. That apparent lack of greed, along with his stealth and daring, had captured the imagination of Londoners. It was speculated that he was one of the elite, of course, for how else could he gain entrance to so many exclusive homes and balls? Indeed, he stole only the most exquisite of gems, usually during a house party or rout of some sort, disappearing without a trace, only to strike again days, weeks or months later. Even many members of the ton seemed amused by his antics, as long as he had not robbed them.
Georgiana had read the details of the various cases avidly, certain that if only she had access to such social circles, she could find the rogue. But she had been stuck in the country, her only contact the papers that her uncle saved for her, often weeks old by the time she read them. She had never been to London, had never moved among the ton, and The Cat had never been caught.
Georgiana tried to remember exactly when the news had dwindled, but certainly the last robbery had been committed more than a year ago. Months had gone by without a case that could be attributed to The Cat, and eventually the interest of the public shifted elsewhere. The newspapers speculated that he had been caught for some other crime and executed without fanfare, or that he had been killed, perhaps by some denizen of the criminal world.
Maybe, Georgiana mused, he had simply been changing his location. She knew that beyond the immediate environs of London, the country was in the dubious hands of sheriffs and local magistrates, many of whom were ill suited for their jobs. Some were dishonest, some simply unprepared and most hampered by lack of money and staff. And very little communication occurred between the various authorities.
Had The Cat spent the past year in rural environs, lifting a priceless piece of jewelry here and there from the lavish homes of the aristocracy? If so, it would remain a local matter unless someone called in Bow Street, a rare occurrence. And the city’s journalists, Georgiana’s best source of information, would probably not hear of it, either.
Perhaps London had become too confining or precarious a place after so much publicity and so The Cat had moved on, traveling between house parties and places like Brighton, where the fashionable liked to retire. But why Bath? Surely the pickings here weren’t as good, Georgiana mused. Then again, the Culpepper emeralds were quite famous. Perhaps The Cat had a yen for them that went beyond their face value.
Sinking down upon a low wall, Georgiana contemplated the evidence. Although she suspected the untrustworthy press of exaggerating some of The Cat’s misdeeds, she knew that the man she sought must be extremely agile and far more clever than even she had calculated. Mr. Cheever and the vicar, her first two suspects, were not intelligent enough to have carved such a career. Nor would they move in the kind of circles where The Cat had been known to strike.
But not so her third suspect, Savonierre.
Georgiana blinked, a hot flush of excitement staining her cheeks. He would fit into the most elegant and elite company, a man wealthy in his own right, whom none would suspect of such nefarious dealings! Why would he do it? Because he thrived on danger and secretly despised his titled connections, Georgiana decided. What better way to show his contempt without severing his ties to them?
Surging to her feet, Georgiana knew that this time she had the real culprit! Only, how was she to prove it? She realized that she must place Savonierre at the scene of not just this robbery but the other thefts, as well. And to do that, she needed to discover his movements a year ago and earlier, especially during the height of The Cat’s infamy.
She could ask his servants, of course, but she was not prepared to rouse any suspicion at this point. Nor did she want the intimidating gentleman to discover her interest. No, she needed to track his movements without his knowledge, Georgiana mused, and the place to begin was in the very newspapers where she had first learned of The Cat’s existence.
With a smile of triumph, Georgiana hurried toward home, for she knew just where to get them!
It took some convincing, but Georgiana finally managed to pry permission from her parents for a visit to her great-uncle. She suspected that her mother’s general disapproval of Silas Morcombe was overcome by an eagerness to separate her eldest daughter from a certain marquis, which was fine with Georgiana. And so she had only to bribe Bertrand to go with her, which she managed to do by handing over her pin money. She never used it for the fripperies intended, anyway, and thought it far better spent on a case than a trip to the milliner’s.
A coach was hired, and although Georgiana spent the rest of the day inside the stifling equipage, the journey passed far more quickly from Bath than from her country home, and the travelers were greeted with much enthusiasm by Silas by nightfall.
It wasn’t until after a late supper, with Bertrand nodding in a comfortable chair, much in the manner of her father, that Georgiana was at last able to confide in her great-uncle the nature of her visit.
“I need to go through your newspapers,” she said as he moved about the cozy room, piled high with books and papers of all sorts, searching for his glasses. “They are upon your head, Uncle,” Georgiana said.
“Ah, yes, of course,” he said, pushing the spectacles over his eyes and sinking into a worn but well-padded seat. “Now, where were we?”
“Your newspapers,” Georgiana reminded him.
“Ah, of course, of course,” he said, smiling. “Well, they are all there in the attic, years of the Morning Post, the Times and the Gazette, but you had better wait until morning to examine them. Looking for anything in particular?” he asked, giving her a sly glance.
“Yes,” Georgiana answered. “I am working upon a new case.”
“I thought as much,” her uncle replied.
“It might even have been mentioned in the papers. Lady Culpepper’s famous emerald necklace was stolen, and I was right there! Naturally, this is my most important investigation. I am counting upon it to assure my success.”
Morcombe frowned, muttering to himself absently at her mention of the victim. “Culpepper. Culpepper. Ah, yes. I’ve heard of her. Not at all the thing, as your mother would say.” Although he didn’t move in the highest circles, Silas always knew a bit about everyone.
“Well, I admit she is rather high in the instep, but that is hardly unusual where the ton is concerned,” Georgiana said.
“No, that’s not it. The trouble’s gambling, m’girl, and it’s done in better people than Lady Culpepper,” Silas said.
“Oh! You mean she’s been losing her fortune at the tables?” Georgiana asked, surprised. She remembered the vicar’s accusation that the emeralds had never been stolen at all, but broken up and sold by their owner. Although she had dismissed the possibility, it seemed to keep returning like a bad penny.
“I don’t think there’s any chance of her going to debtor’s prison, but she is an inveterate gamester and there have been rumors of the worst kind
surrounding her play,” Silas explained.
Georgiana blinked at him aghast. “You mean, she…cheats?”
Silas chuckled at Georgiana’s expression of horror. “I certainly can’t vouch for the truth of it, but that’s what I’ve heard. And it’s a fact that she seems to win large sums quite frequently, especially from green young women who could not be expected to tell if she palmed a card or two.”
“Oh! But that is too bad of her!” Georgiana said, and she wondered if this information could impact upon the case. Apparently Lady Culpepper was unscrupulous, at least when gambling. Would she go so far as to steal her own necklace? But what of Savonierre? What was his role? And The Cat? Having just discovered the connection between the Bath robbery and the notorious thief, Georgiana was not willing to give it up so easily.
“Perhaps one of the young ladies decided to get back some of her own by stealing the necklace,” Silas suggested.
“Perhaps,” Georgiana admitted reluctantly. But she really could not imagine any female of the ton accomplishing the daring theft, particularly someone who could not tell when their opponent was cheating at cards.
Resting her chin in her hand, Georgiana blew out a breath, dislodging one fat curl from its place over her eye. “The case is certainly turning out to be a lot more complicated than I originally thought,” she said glumly.
Silas smiled. “All the more challenge for you, dear,” he said as he reached for his pipe.
“Yes,” Georgiana murmured, for Silas was right. She had long desired a test of her intellect, and at last she had found it, though she might have wished for a nemesis other than the rather frightening Savonierre. Somehow, she had felt an odd sort of kinship and admiration for the thief, which had not transferred well to any of her suspects, she realized with a frown.
It was rather disappointing, but one hardly had a choice when dealing with criminals. And Georgiana knew she had to focus on the eventual rewards that might result from her efforts. All during the long ride in the coach, she had imagined her success. If other thoughts, most notably about a certain marquis intruded, she pushed them aside, intent upon not only solving this case, but others, as well. Just imagine, if she should unmask The Cat!
The Gentleman Thief Page 18