And her appreciation for it grew as Ardbaile’s first houses came into view. Her feet slowed of their own accord. This was a terrible idea for more reasons than discomfort, or even fear. Fear was temporary. Provided there were no truly horrendous mishaps, her anxiety would disappear as soon as she returned home. Even a bit of embarrassment, painful as it was, faded with a little time.
But the longing stayed. It never really left her. It was like a flame she couldn’t quite put out. It would die down to a smolder sometimes, but a trip to town was like adding dry wood to the fire. It would flare and rage and burn for months.
This is what you cannot have. A life. A world beyond her little cottage in the woods.
She loved her home. She needed the refuge it provided. But it wasn’t the life she would have chosen for herself, if only she’d been given a choice. She wanted to be a part ofthis world. The world of shops and neighbors, dinner parties and assemblies. She wanted to attend church, haggle with the butcher, engage in idle gossip over the draper’s counter. Normal things. Everyday things.
She wanted to know the people of Ardbaile, instead of just knowingof them. She’d seen their faces since childhood, but only through the window of her father’s carriage as it passed through town. She’d watched them settle there, grow up, and grow older, but always from a distance. She knew a great deal about the lives of so many of them, but she’d learned it all secondhand from the Harmons.
They were like characters in a picture book. She could see them, but she couldn’t quite reach them, couldn’t quite touch them. And any attempt she made to write herself into the story generally ended in disaster. There was suspicion, mockery, confusion, accusations, and the perpetual threat of discovery and even banishment to an asylum.
It was better to simply keep the book shut and hidden on the highest shelf, where it could serve as neither temptation nor reminder.
It was best just to stay home.
Gabriel, for whom a stroll into a small town was probably rather dull, continued to make light conversation as they caught up with the Harmons and made their way to the center of the village. Once they reached Main Street with its long row of shops, however, Jane found it easier to keep her eyes on the pavement in front of her feet and let the Harmons do all of the talking.
Even at the relatively early hour of eleven, the street was bustling with activity and noise. The sounds and sights weren’t entirely foreign to her, but they seemed jarring compared to the peacefulness of her woods. And the entire excursion felt…perilous. Even more than it had in the past. It felt as if—she snuck a glance at Gabriel—it felt as if she had a little more to lose. Which was preposterous. Sir Gabriel wasn’t hers to lose, keep, lend out, or give away.
Still, she exhaled a long, quiet breath of relief when she glanced up and saw the solicitor’s office just ahead.
“Chin up, dear,” Mrs. Harmon suddenly whispered in her ear. “Don’t let her intimidate you.”
Confused, Jane turned her head to ask for an explanation, but she hadn’t so much as opened her mouth when she spied the problem. Mrs. Lydia Grinsell, standing stock-still on the other side of the street with her little button nose in the air and a look of disgust on her face.
Jane tipped her chin up even as her stomach turned over in a long, slow roll.
For a horrifying second, it appeared as if the woman might cross the street to confront her, but Mrs. Grinsell ultimately settled for turning her back on the group in dramatic fashion and flouncing away.
Jane looked to Gabriel and found him engaged in a conversation with Mr. Harmon, both of them apparently unaware of the brief moment of tension.
Thank God, she thought. She had no idea how she could have explained away Mrs. Grinsell’s hatred for her.
“It’s been so long,” Mrs. Harmon grumbled in Jane’s ear. “One would think she’d have let the matter go by now.”
Jane didn’t reply. It hadn’t been all that long ago. Only six years—the last time she had tried to become a part of the outside world.
Everything had been going so well. She’d come into town every week for three months. In the beginning, she’d kept her visits brief and her interactions limited. But with every successful trip, she’d grown a little bolder, risked a little more. She’d greeted people on the street, asked after their families. She went into shops just to browse, and struck up conversations with the shopkeepers or other patrons. She’d nearly made a friend in the vicar’s wife, and had half made up her mind to accept the lady’s invitation to supper.
And then, in the blink of an eye, everything had fallen apart.
She’d been having a perfectly normal, perfectly civil conversation with Mrs. Grinsell outside the pharmacy. The new mother was well, her infant was thriving. But her hands were full with the basket and child, and she still needed to visit the drapers. Would Jane mind taking the basket home for her?
Jane had thought it an odd request, and perhaps a little presumptuous, but she’d agreed nonetheless.
Only Mrs. Grinsell had not asked Jane to take the basket. She’d said something else, something Jane had misheard and, to this day, could not puzzle out. And when Jane walked away with the woman’s goods, Mrs. Grinsell had made her displeasure known in the strongest, and loudest, terms possible.
Jane had been called a variety of names over the years. She’d withstood countless insults and accusations. But it was the first and only time she’d ever been called a thief.
The humiliation of it still burned. People had stopped in the street and come out of the shops to see what the ruckus was about. The constable had been called.
Jane could still remember the sick terror of seeing Mr. Cronk headed her way. She’d been certain he would take her away. She would be tried, pronounced mad, and sent back to the asylum.
But Mr. Cronk hadn’t put her in manacles. He’d sorted through the misunderstanding with a great deal of patience, and convinced Mrs. Grinsell to let the matter go once Jane issued an apology. He’d sent Jane home with a sympathetic smile and kind words she’d only half heard.
It had all worked out in the end, but the scene had been enough to convince her that no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she longed for it, there could be no life for her in Ardbaile.
Chapter Five
After ten minutes in Mr. Felch’s company, Jane decided that Mrs. Felch had been the greater beneficiary in the solicitor’s sudden decision to return to work. The man was decidedly pompous. He also seemed to have something wrong with his left eye. Three times over the course of the meeting, he blinked it at her. Under other circumstances, she might have thought he was winking. But that made no sense. They shared no friendship or secret joke. He couldn’t possibly be flirting with her. They’d only just met, and Jane spoke to him as little as possible during the transaction.
Once business was concluded, she hurried out of the office just in time to see the Harmons, who’d waited in the receiving room, head into the stairwell.
“What was wrong with his eye?” Jane whispered to Gabriel as they followed.
“Beg your pardon?”
“His right eye. He kept blinking it.”
“He wasn’t blinking, Jane.” He glanced at her when she didn’t respond. “Those were winks. He was winking at you.”
“No, he wasn’t. Why should he?”
Gabriel scowled as he opened the door for her. “Because he thought I wouldn’t notice.”
“Has winking become an acceptable way to greet strangers?” She could scarcely picture it. People walking about, batting individual eyes at each other. She peered across the street to where Mrs. Harmon was ushering her husband into the grocer’s. Winking seemed the sort of thing Mrs. Harmon would have mentioned.
“No, it’s still reserved for teasing small children and flirting with women.”
She threw an appalled look at the office windows above. “I can’t imagine why he thought I might appreciate such attention. Does he wink at all his female clients, do you
suppose?”
“I doubt it.” He cleared his throat. “The thing is, Jane, we were signing a contract that stipulated I pay you for unspecified goods and service…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing at something over her shoulder.
She glanced behind her but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “What is it?”
“Wait here a moment,” he replied, brushing past her.
“Where are you going?”
“The bookseller’s. Round the corner, isn’t it?”
“On Peregrine Lane, yes. But—”
“I’ll be right back,” he called out. “Go inside with the Harmons.”
“But…” They’d been in the middle of a conversation. He’d not yet explained why the solicitor had thought it appropriate to flirt with her.
He disappeared around the corner.
“Well…drat,” she said to no one in particular, and with a huff of annoyance, headed for the grocer’s.
Mrs. Harmon looked up when she entered. “Where is your Sir Gabriel?”
“He’s notmy Sir Gabriel,” she corrected with a worried glance at the shopkeeper. Thankfully, the man was preoccupied with assisting someone else. “And he’s gone to the bookseller’s. Rather suddenly.”
“Has he?” Mrs. Harmon craned her neck for a peek out the window. “That reminds me. Now that we’re to have some extra coin, I should like a copy of that new adventure novel Mrs. Whitburger has been talking about.Around the World in Eighty Days.” She dug into her chatelaine bag and withdrew a few coins. “Be a dear and fetch it for me.”
“Why can’t we all go?”
“I couldn’t possibly.” Mrs. Harmon fanned her face. “The walk here was so taxing. Mr. Harmon and I shall take our rest there”—she pointed to a bench outside —“and await your return.”
“Taxing? You walk to town and back twice a week. You’re not taxed.” She looked to Mr. Harmon for support, but he’d taken a sudden interest in the nearest shelf of merchandise and couldn’t be bothered to look at her.
Mrs. Harmon sniffed. “It taxed me today.” She pressed the coins into Jane’s hand and gave her an implacable look. “Fetch the book.”
“Oh, very well.” Sighing, Jane pocketed the coins and headed for the door.
Once outside, she skirted around the front of the building and slipped into one of the alleyways that ran behind the shops. It wasn’t seemly for a lady to walk the alleyways alone, but it was preferable to even a chance of facing another awkward encounter on the street. And there was no danger in it, not in Ardbaile while the sun was high, lighting the narrow dirt paths.
At least…there didn’t use to be. But the paths had changed, she noticed. They’d been tidy once, kept free of clutter and refuse. Now she was skirting broken crates and buckets, old rags, fragmented bits of furniture and shattered glass.
Had her town altered so much in six years? Had she missed more than she’d realized?
Suddenly ill at ease, she turned up the next path leading back to Main Street.
“I told you to stay with the Harmons.”
Gabriel’s angry voice sounded like a cannon blast in her ears. She whirled, heart in her throat and an involuntary scream on her lips.
She never had the chance to make so much as a peep.
He looked over his shoulder once, and then his hand was over her mouth and he was shoving her backward. The sudden, jarring movement would have tripped her, but his arm caught her firmly around the waist, keeping her upright until he’d pinned her against the brick wall of the nearest building.
He bent his head, and his voice was hot and rushed in her ear. “Stay here. Be still. Be quiet. Understood?”
She nodded, and she wasn’t even sure why, except that she couldfeel the terrible tension in his frame.
“Not a sound, Jane,” he warned, and then he was gone. One moment he was pressed up against her, taking up her entire field of vision, and in the next, she was alone and staring at the opposite wall of the alley.
She took a small, ragged breath, turned her head, and discovered she was standing beside a small mountain of crates.
He’d hidden her, she realized. He hadn’t just pushed her out of the way. He’d stashed her away. And he hadn’t gone far. She could make out his form through a small gap between two crates. He was walking away from her. Ten feet, fifteen, twenty…
Another form stepped into the alley, and Gabriel came to a stop.
“Kray,” she heard him say. “I thought I saw you about earlier. Finished with your search already?”
Mr. Kray drew a gun from his pocket and aimed it at Gabriel’s chest. “Where is it, Arkwright?”
Jane’s heart nearly stopped in her chest.
Dear God. Dear God.
She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand there, hiding like a coward. She had to get help. She glanced behind her. The alleyway veered to the left not far ahead. If she stuck close to the wall, she could move away without being seen.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” she heard Gabriel say. “Where is what?”
She shifted slightly, losing her clear view of the men. Their voices became a little muddled, but she could make out at least some of what Mr. Kray was saying.
“It’s gone… Took it… Mine …”
One cautious step backward, another…something cracked softly beneath her heel.
She froze.
Mr. Kray abruptly ceased talking.
Her world narrowed down to the sight of the wooden slats in front of her, the sound of blood rushing in her ears, and the horrible knowledge that any second now, Mr. Kray was going to step around her little barrier, and shoot her dead.
Be still. Be quiet. Understood?
Gabriel had given her the simplest of instructions. Anyone should have been able to follow them. But she hadn’t. She never followed instructions, and it was going to get them both killed.
Idiot child. Pay attention!
Suddenly, the terrifying silence was broken by Gabriel’s mocking laughter. “You’re awfully skittish for a man in your line of work. Spend a lot of time jumping at the sound of rats, do you?”
Mr. Kray’s response was completely unintelligible. Something about yaks, balconies, time, and a list. She couldn’t be certain if she’d heard any part of it correctly, although she was fairly certain the bit about yaks had to be wrong.
She caught a split-second peek of his checkered coat through the gap in the wooden slats. Mr. Kray was moving away from her, or maybe just turning away from her. Whatever the case, Gabriel’s explanation of rodents in the alley had saved her.
Still, she didn’t dare move an inch.
“What makes you so certain I have it?” Gideon said. “Why would I send for men to search for something I’ve already found?”
She could only guess that Mr. Kray had moved again because his voice became clear once more. “How else would you cover your tracks? I’m not an idiot, Arkwright. You found it—”
“I didn’t.” There was a pause, as if Gabriel was thinking something through, or maybe just taking a moment to shake his head or shrug. “If I had, it would be on its way to London as we speak. I have a commission to earn.”
“It’s worth far more than your commission.”
“My commission doesn’t come with the risk of hanging for treason.”
“You’ve never been afraid of risk.”
“I don’t mind playing the odds,” Gabriel admitted. “When they’re in my favor. Do you mind if I take a seat? I spent the morning in search of profit.”
Search of profit? Was that right?
She couldn’t make out Mr. Kray’s response at all, but he must have agreed because almost immediately, a loud scraping sound echoed in the alley.
Jane used the distraction to lift her heel and look down at her feet. She was standing on a shallow mound of debris—bits of wood, piles of paper, a smashed hat box, broken bricks, and a large assortment of rubbish she couldn’t hope to identify.
She could leap over the
mess, but not quietly. She couldn’t leave without giving herself away, which meant she’d have to wait it out, and pray Gabriel could save himself.
Quickly, while the alleyway was still filled with noise, she eased her way back to her original position and peered through the small gap in the crates. Gabriel had found a filthy old trunk with a hole the size of a dinner platter in its side, and had taken a seat on it in the middle of the alley. He looked oddly relaxed.
“Comfortable?” Mr. Kray drawled.
“Quite. Thank you.” Gabriel gestured toward a chair with a broken back propped up against the wall. “Join me?”
Kray snorted and dragged the chair over. He placed it a solid five feet away from Gabriel. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it?”
“To you as well.”
“I’m not playing a game.” Mr. Kray took a seat, his face angled away from Jane. He wagged the barrel of the gun in the direction of Gabriel’s head. “I’m winning it.”
“For now, but then, you know the rules. And the rewards. I’m operating in the dark.”
“Liar.”
Gabriel stretched out his legs and studied the toes of his boots. “You know me well. You know I’m a private investigator, not a spy.”
“True,” Mr. Kray conceded after a moment, and lowered the gun to his lap.
“And you know I was hired less than two weeks ago.” Gabriel titled his head a bit to the left. “In your, evidently extensive, experience, is two weeks sufficient time to cultivate the contacts necessary to facilitate this type of sale?”
“It’s unlikely, but not in pots and bowls. We work in different circles, but those circles occasionally overlap.” Mr. Kray nodded once. “Like now.”
Jane gave her head a tiny shake.Pots and bowls had to be wrong.
“Only because so many of the players are the rich and idle,” Gabriel returned. “I know which brothels cater to the aristocracy, and which pawnbrokers will buy up artwork filched from the manor walls by debt-ridden sons. I know who beds whom, who fathered whom, and how much everyone is willing to pay to keep the family secrets, secret. What Idon’tknow is who might be interested in paying a pretty penny for national secrets. It would take time for me to find such a person, and a great deal of poking about. Lots of talking, lots of dangerous questions. A lot of time spent sitting on a scrap of paperwork that could earn me a trip to the gallows.” He paused to let that all sink in. “Does thatreally sound like the sort of risk I would take?”
A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers) Page 8