by Lisa Boero
“Are you the Richmond Thief?” she whispered. Despite her initial fear, she had to admit that there was something wickedly romantic about the dark room and the flicker of soft light across his masked face. Almost like one of those dreams that woke her at night, aching and unsatisfied.
“A brilliant deduction, madam.”
“If you let me go, I will give you my emeralds straight away.”
He laughed softly. “No indeed, I shall not be fobbed off with such paltry pastes.”
“Pastes?” she said too loudly.
“Shush or I shall have to take drastic measures.”
“No, no. I mean, how did you know?”
There was that low rumble of a laugh again. “Because no emeralds are as perfectly matched as the set you wear. And if it were, it would be owned by a family more prominent than the Trents.”
“Logical,” Althea replied in grudging admiration. “And so what do we do now? If you let me go, I promise not to mention the matter to anyone.”
“You are a lady of your word, but this is your warning. Do not pursue me further or you will live to regret it.”
“What will you do to me?”
“Are you afraid?”
Althea had to admit that she did not have the advantage of the situation, so she nodded.
“Good,” he paused as if considering and then said, “but I have a far more agreeable object in mind tonight.”
She tilted her head up, outwardly defiant. “Such as?”
He ran one gloved finger down her cheek. “I have been watching you, waiting for just the right moment.” His eyes bored into hers, as if gauging her reaction. Then, before she could protest, his lips met her lips.
His mouth was soft and persuasive, not forcing her, but rather pulling her in. Althea’s initial surprise was quickly replaced by the strangest sensation—her pulse accelerated and a giddy warmth wormed its way down her spine and out through her veins until every inch of her tingled. The sound of her heart pounded in her ears.
This must be what passion feels like. Angina pectoris, she thought as she found herself burrowing farther into the stranger’s arms and kissing him back with a reckless abandon completely alien to her. And to think such feelings existed inside drab little Althea Claire. She could have laughed, but instead she let the madness sweep through her, losing all sense of the world around her save for the pleasure of the thief’s kiss.
The thief pulled back first, saying with a growling whisper, “You will drive me mad.” He let her go suddenly. “Leave now.”
“But?” Her head spun dangerously and she stumbled backward.
He caught her. “Steady.” He ran his hand slowly down her arm. “Leave, I beg of you, before I do something I will regret.” Even in a disguised whisper, Althea could not fail to understand his meaning.
“Oh.” A part of her rejoiced at the maintenance of her good reputation, but another part felt suddenly desolate. “Shall I ever see you again?”
“For your sake, I hope not. Now, go.” There was a veiled menace in the stage whisper.
Althea regained her bearings in the darkened room and then walked resolutely to the door. She opened it, but when, like a bewildered Orpheus, she turned back, he was gone.
Chapter Twelve
That night Althea tossed in her bed, shaken by strange amorphous dreams. She awoke with a start at dawn, both ashamed of her conduct the night before and filled with a desire to move forward with the investigation. No midnight warning from a masked stranger was going to put her off. She threw open the bed curtains, pulled open the drapes, and rang the bell. A bleary-eyed housemaid appeared several minutes later.
“You rang, milady?”
“Yes. Get Sally for me, please.”
Sally arrived even more somnambulant. “Lady Trent?”
“Help me into one of those black gowns.”
“But begging your pardon, you have come out of mourning.”
“Never mind that, I have much to do today. And not a word of this to anyone. Do you understand?”
“But what shall I tell Miss Trent? She will surely know that you are gone.”
“That I am out and will be back shortly. You can tell her that I will explain when I get back, but that I do not desire any of the other members of the household to know that I have left. As far as they are concerned, I am still resting up after last night’s ball. And when I come back to my room, make sure you are the one who answers the summons of the bell.”
Althea performed a surreptitious review of the bellpulls in the open parts of the house and a rapid scan of her raven. Then, after a quick bite of toast and a sip of tea Sally brought to her room, Althea affixed one of her old dark bonnets on her head and pulled the veiling down over her face.
She went silently down the stairs and out into the street where she hailed one of the hackney carriages that were already navigating the London streets in search of business. The driver showed some surprise at the sight of a gently bred woman traveling alone at an early hour of the morning, but he refrained from comment. Althea supposed that the drivers of hackney carriages must have seen a great many stranger sights and didn’t ask questions so long as the fare was paid.
She had the driver pull the carriage down the street from the Bow Street court, in front of the new Covent Garden. The patrons of the theater had long since retired to their beds, and what was left of the festive performance atmosphere were the beggars and painted ladies whose night’s work had allowed them to indulge in the searing pints of gin sold in the district. Fish mongers and apple carts called to anyone who would listen while they rumbled their wares up the cobblestones to the market. Street urchins played in the gutters and shouted to each other as they dodged the horses and carts.
The driver, who was a portly gentleman with a fine set of whiskers and the solid deportment of a man who thoroughly knows his trade, got off the box and came to open the door of the carriage. With the flick of his whip in the air he shooed away some tattered urchins agog to see what strange specimen of humanity might emerge from a carriage at that time of the morning.
“Are you sure you want to leave off here, milady? Begging your pardon, but this area ain’t what I’d expect a gentle lady to want to come to at this hour,” he said.
“Yes, I have an appointment with the magistrate of Bow Street.” And when the driver looked at her in surprise, “No, I am not about to be clapped in irons, my good man. Rather, I wish Magistrate Read to investigate a little matter for me, but do not wish it to be publicly known.”
The driver nodded sagely. “Then I will be waiting for you until you comes out.”
“Excellent. Ah, I spy a man with a big ring of keys. He must be connected with the court.”
Althea stepped down from the carriage and accosted the official. “I must speak with Mr. Read on an urgent matter.”
The official looked startled to be addressed by anyone at such an early hour, let alone a lady dressed head to toe in the darkest black. “Magistrate Read don’t come until about nine o’clock, madam.”
“Is there a place where I may sit and wait for him? It is of the utmost importance that I speak to him before his court duties make private speech impossible.”
“There are his chambers. I suppose he wouldn’t mind if I let you wait there, seeing as how you are so determined.”
“Thank you!” She entered the stone portal of Bow Street. The magistrate’s court seemed to be much in the usual style, with a raised platform with a large table from which he could pronounce justice and two low tables below for assorted counsel. Althea imagined that it was not much changed from the wild days of the Fielding brothers. There were also several doors that led off into rooms presumably for court officials, Magistrate Read, and any persons held as prisoners.
The official led her to a heavy oak door behind the dais and, after several tries with a large iron key, opened it enough to allow Althea to pass through. Timid morning light filtered through a dusty window. The chamber had a f
loor littered with piles of papers and legal tomes. A fireplace on one wall held the ashen embers of a fire. The other walls were lined with shelves and little square cubby holes from which papers stuck out like quills on a porcupine.
Barely visible under all the paper was a small lawyer’s desk with a utilitarian wooden chair behind it. Another wooden chair sat to one side with several leather-bound books stacked on top of the seat. The official hurried over and removed the books, placing them on the floor with the others, and gestured toward the chair with his hand. “You may wait here if you please, madam.” And then seeming to notice the disorder of the room for the first time, he added, “Beg your pardon, but the charwoman left a fortnight ago, and we’ve not had time to employ another.”
Although Althea was quite sure that the magistrate’s chambers had not been cleaned in months, she said, “There is no need to apologize. I perfectly understand. Thank you.” She sat down and shook her heavy bombazine skirt out, sending clouds of dust across the plank floor. “Now, you will be so good as to let Magistrate Read know I am here as soon as he arrives, won’t you?”
“Aye, madam. I’ll do better than that. I’ll have a note sent to his rooms that a lady wishes to see him. May I say who?”
“Tell him a widow lady. That should be enough.” She pulled a coin out of her reticule and put it into his hand. “Thank you.”
The man’s eyes lit up at the sight of the money. “Your servant, madam.” He bowed reverently and then quietly shut the door behind him.
When Mr. Read arrived an hour later, Althea had examined most of the papers in plain view, read several passages on various legal topics from the books on offer, and taken a survey of the insect carcasses that littered the windowsill. There were three spiders, five houseflies, and a speckled lady bug. She sat down quickly as she heard the door open.
Mr. Read greeted her warmly. “To what do I owe this great pleasure?” He was as rumpled as at their last meeting, with a cravat that was loosely and negligently thrown around his neck, a mottled felt waistcoat, and a fitted coat on which the last button hung down by a thread.
Althea hesitated. Although she had come with every intention of telling him about the thief’s actions at the Norwich ball, her courage failed her at the sight of a magistrate of the court. What would he think of her? He would be more than displeased to find out that she had been kissing the criminal she was supposed to catch. He would have no choice but to remove her from the case. Instead she said, “Several things have lately come to pass, and I wished to seek your guidance, sir.”
“I would be happy to be of assistance.” He shifted some papers around and then sat down behind the desk. If he noticed the chaos around him, he did not show it. “So tell me, Lady Trent: what has transpired?”
“Two servants have disappeared from the Levanwood household, and I suspect some mischief. Whether or not it is connected with the Richmond Thief, I cannot tell.”
“His Grace sent me word that your trap failed to produce any results last night.”
She nodded, torn again between the truth and mortification. In the light of the morning, her conduct in the library had really been unpardonable. Why, anyone would think she was a common hussy, selling her charms to strangers. No, worse than that, to a thief. And yet, he had sent her away like an honorable gentleman. He could not therefore be so lost and depraved. And more embarrassing still, she had to admit she had enjoyed kissing him back. It was extremely vexing. There was no way she could tell Mr. Read the truth.
“My jewels were not temptation enough,” she said.
“Perhaps the thief was otherwise occupied.”
Althea blushed, but Mr. Read did not apparently sense it, because he continued, “Another try might be in order. If we could just flush him out in the open and identify him, we would likely prevent further attacks. Then it would be just a matter of time before we brought him to justice.” He shook his head, and added, “But what is this you tell me about disappearing servants?”
Althea related what she knew about the valet and Mary and then produced the cord she had found in the garden.
Mr. Read examined it closely. “What do you think this signifies?”
“If Mary did indeed see the body of the valet in the garden, I think that this is a piece of a larger bellpull rope used to kill him by strangulation.”
“Have you had a chance to examine the bellpulls in the house to see if perhaps one is missing or cut?”
“I searched this morning, but only in the rooms I have access to. Obviously, the gentlemen’s quarters were impossible to search.”
He nodded. “Unfortunately, without a body or a request from the family to investigate, I have little reason to send a principal officer to the house.”
“At least you have been alerted should a body wash up on the banks of the Thames or something. And I will see what else I can manage to discover. Sometimes idle gossip produces valuable information.”
“Servants’ gossip often does.”
She smiled. “I’m glad we agree. It seems strange to me that people in London appear to treat servants as if they have neither eyes nor ears. They have both, and mouths too, which makes me hopeful that I will soon be able to trace Mary. Then I should be able to get a better description of what she thinks she saw.”
“When you do, please send me word. Was that all you wished to discuss?”
“No, but perhaps I am keeping you from your duties?”
Mr. Read pulled a battered watch from his pocket and squinted at it. “It appears I have quite another hour before I must attend to the matters of the day.”
“Then I have several questions regarding the prior crimes of the Richmond Thief. His Grace seemed to feel that his crimes varied quite widely in execution, but I had understood from you that was not the case.”
Mr. Read nodded. “Here is a point of disagreement between His Grace and I regarding which crimes should be attributed to the thief. Since our initial conversation, I will admit that I have come around to his way of thinking.”
“In such cases of doubt, I have often found it useful to consult a third person, whose perspective may clarify certain issues.”
“Your ladyship, perhaps?”
“I would be honored indeed if you would allow me to consult any documents you might have related to this matter.”
“It would be my pleasure. I had meant to put my notes in order, but my duties as magistrate have prevented me from dedicating the time to it I should have. Here—” He started to dig through the piles, pulling out one paper and another.
Clouds of dust rose from the desk. Althea coughed delicately into her hand. Mr. Read grinned. “Do not suppose that my office in any way represents the state of my faculties. Although it may not appear so, there is a method to my papers.”
“I have often observed that the greatest minds do not follow the straightest paths,” she said between coughs.
“Just so. A creative approach to crime detection is most effective and the charwoman was let go and we haven’t gotten another yet, so this is—ah, yes, here is the last of it.” He pulled a sheaf of papers out from the bottom of the pile. A feather fluttered to the ground at Althea’s feet. She picked it up.
“My pen!” Mr. Read said excitedly. Althea handed it to him. “The best pen that ever was, Lady Trent. I’m so glad we found it.” He pushed the pile of papers together in his hands and then passed them across the desk to Althea. “Here you are, madam, all the notes on the robberies. As you can see, they are in a bit of a muddle, but they should provide enough for your ladyship’s review. If you would be so kind as to return them as soon as you are able, I will have one of my clerks put them together properly.”
“Yes, of course. Could I trouble you for a bit of string?”
Mr. Read produced a length of it from the recesses of the desk, and Althea trussed the papers up like a package and then stood, tucking them under her arm. “I must return to Levanwood House before I am missed.”
Th
e driver seemed pleased that she had emerged unshackled from her meeting with Magistrate Read and was even more pleased when she told him she would double his fare if he moved with utmost speed. He maneuvered the bulky carriage like a swan through the water, swerving this way and that to take advantage of any opening in the traffic.
Althea had him pull up behind the house, thanked him, paid him handsomely, and then entered Levanwood House from the back door. She was able to make her way to her room without running into anyone of the family. The kitchen maid who saw her was well known to Althea and promised to hold her tongue. Althea tucked her hat and the papers deep into the drawers of the armoire. She pulled the bellpull, secure in the knowledge that she had carried her secret excursion off without a hitch.
Unfortunately, it was the maid Bridgett, not Sally, who appeared.
Althea struggled to hide her annoyance. “I suppose Sally was indisposed?”
“Yes, milady. Mrs. Buxton had urgent need of her.”
“Very well. Do help me off with this dress and into one of those muslin ones.”
Bridgett gave her an odd look but started to work the buttons at the sleeve.
“I have been out in the back garden, and I find black is much easier to keep clean,” Althea said nonchalantly.
Bridgett nodded. She was a stout young lady, no more than eighteen, but with the ease and dignity of a mature woman. “Them fine muslins is awful difficult. One spot and they is ruined.”
“So true. I think the current fashions must have been started by dressmakers for the purpose of greater trade.”
Bridgett smiled. “Just so, milady.”
As she was assisting Althea with the line of small buttons at the back of the dress, Althea, sensing an opportunity, said, “Has any word come from Mary? Although I should never question Lady Levanwood’s management of her own household, it is sad to see someone turned off for such a reason. I had considered engaging Mary myself at my house in Somerset, should she desire a change of scenery.”
“No, milady, we heard nothing.”