Den of Thieves

by William Holden

  “I could do with a drink as well.” Christopher sat at the table and waited while I gathered three glasses and a bottle. As I was pouring the drinks, Pierre joined us. “How is he?”

  “As long as an infection does not set in, he should heal. The wound on his head is much deeper than we realized. I do not believe it was from hitting his head on the street.” Pierre took a sip and sighed. “Damn, that is fine.”

  “What do you think caused it?” I took a sip and let the heat of the spirit warm my throat.

  “I believe he was struck with the same poker as the other coachman.”

  “That would explain why we never recovered it. The thief took it with him.”

  “Do you think the recent attacks are related?” Christopher asked.

  “I do. Mrs. Reid said her husband’s Bauta mask was stolen. Based on Mr. Thorne’s vague description of the thief, it appears our murderer wore the same mask. The coachman said the man who attacked him had a pale face, one with no emotion. In talking with Sheppard just now, I asked him about it, and he said he remembered seeing something white hanging around the man’s neck. My guess is he took it off so he could see where he was going. Those masks have little room in which to see from.”

  “Bauta masks are not common in London,” Christopher said. “It shouldn’t be difficult to track down.”

  “I agree. Thomas and I need to interview more neighbors in the coming days. Mrs. Quinn mentioned that Mrs. Durant went out a few days ago for an appointment, something she would never do on her own, due to a bad leg.”

  “Do you think her going out is related as well?”

  “We shall not know until we find out whom she went to see and why.”

  “I am confused,” I admitted. “What possible connection could a lower-class family in Spitalfields have with someone like the Durants? I doubt they mingled in the same social circles, and it is even more doubtful they knew anyone in common.”

  “I agree.” Pierre nodded. “Nothing is making much sense. The events appear too random to be connected, and yet we have the same organized crime scene, the same theft and murder, and the Bauta mask. There must be something we are missing.”

  “My head is beginning to ache from all of this.” I finished off my drink. “I am heading to bed, care to join me?” I laughed when Pierre and Christopher both finished their drinks in one large gulp, stood, and raced up the back stairs.

  “Are you coming, Thomas?” They both asked, then waited for me to catch up with them.

  Chapter 6

  I lay snuggled between Pierre and Christopher as my mind drifted in and out of sleep. I kept my eyes closed not wanting the light of the morning to fully wake me. My plan was to linger as long as possible in the state of quiet bliss, which welcomed me out of sleep. But, as much as I wanted to remain sandwiched between the two men I loved, I began to crave the first sips of my morning coffee. Listening to the sounds of Pierre and Christopher snoring in near perfect harmony, I wondered if I could escape the bed without disturbing them.

  Just as I was getting ready to make my move, Christopher shifted and rolled over on his back. I waited until his snoring returned then folded back the thin sheet several times until I thought I could curl my legs out from under them without too much fuss. The chilly air of the morning caressed my nakedness and brought goosebumps to my skin. Rolling over on my side, I crept over Christopher’s body. I straddled him, my body hovering over his when the bed shifted from my weight. His eyes fluttered but did not open. A smile crossed his lips.

  “Good morning, my love,” he whispered. Despite sounding as if he were still asleep, I felt him move his hand between our bodies and pull on my prick. He moaned and nuzzled his face against the hair of my chest.

  “You are an incorrigible flirt.” I slipped his hand off my stiffened prick. Before I could say anything else, he rolled over and fell back to sleep. I leaned down, kissed his cheek, then made my way off the bed, being careful not to wake them. I took my breeches and shirt off the back of the chair and slipped out the door to dress in the hallway. Not bothering to tuck in my shirt, I made my way into the kitchen and started the fire. As I hung the pot over the flames, I heard a door open behind me.

  “Sir?” Sheppard called out from his bedchamber. His black hair, a mess of tangles, fell below his shoulders and covered part of his eyes. A dark shade of whiskers covered his square jaw line, chin, and neck. His innermost linen was unfastened down to his waist, exposing his hairless chest. My eyes, as if trained to admire a man’s body inspected more of Sheppard’s body in the near state of undress. A small trail of dark hair fell below his navel and then spread out into a thicker dense patch of pubic hair. The tight curls and dark coloring cast a heavy shadow behind the thin linen. The outline of his prick pressed against the fabric as it hung between his legs.

  “It is all right—” I lost my ability to speak when Bess peered out over Sheppard’s shoulder.

  “Morning, Thomas.” I could see her delight in what must have been a shocked expression on my face. I was lost for words. I nodded my greeting instead. I felt the blush of embarrassment rise to my cheeks. “The coffee will be ready in a few moments if you care to join me.”

  “Thank you, Thomas. I shall dress and be out to help you.” She winked then the door closed.

  As I set the table, I could not help but think of the two of them behind closed doors. I had seen a spark of attraction between the two of them the night before, but it never occurred to me that the appeal would end with them in bed so soon after meeting. I knew Bess had a way with men, after all, she won my affections almost immediately, but with Sheppard’s religious zeal, I would have expected him to have had some restraint against her powers of seduction.

  My thoughts were averted from the love affair between Sheppard and Bess to Christopher, as he had snuck up behind me, turned me around, and pulled me into his arms. He kissed me and slipped his hands inside my breeches. My prick responded to his caress. “Since you wouldn’t accept my offer in bed, I thought I would try my luck out here so as not to disturb Pierre.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I would let you take me wherever and whenever you wish, but we are not alone.” I nodded toward Bess and Sheppard as they came out of the bedchamber. Christopher turned toward them, but his hand remained deep inside my breeches. Despite the disapproving look in Sheppard’s expression, he had a difficult time looking away. His eyes expressed a secret longing. “My apologies,” I pulled Christopher’s hand out of my breeches, and, anxious to change the subject, added, “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Better. Thank you. My head is still a little fuzzy.”

  “I take it you slept well?” I gave Bess a wry smile.

  “Honestly. Nicholas was in no shape for anything last night, especially sex. He offered to share his bed with me and nothing else.”

  “Right.” I winked at Christopher.

  “You should rest, Nicholas.” Bess tried to ignore my insinuations, though I saw the playfulness in her expression when she looked at me.

  “I am all right.” Sheppard grabbed hold of the back of a kitchen chair to steady himself.

  “Please, Nicholas, have a seat and rest.” Bess helped him to sit down. “Let me get you some coffee.”

  “I would prefer a gin.” He smiled. “I think it best to get Bess back home as soon as possible. The magistrate was not at all happy with us last night.”

  “Do not worry about me, Nicholas.” Bess poured him a drink.

  “I have to agree with Sheppard.” I filled the kettle with boiling water and set it on the table. “Mr. Wilcox is becoming more aggressive toward Pierre and me. I do not want you to get in the middle of it, Bess. As soon as Pierre wakes and has some breakfast, we shall drop you off at the Goose and Gridiron on our way back to Mayfair to talk to some of the neighbors about last night.”

  “Then you will need my services.” Sheppard tossed back the gin. “One for the road.” He smiled at no one in particular.

&nb
sp; “You will take the day off.” I tested the coffee. Finding it ready, I poured the three of us each a cup. “Christopher, do you mind being our driver today?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then it is settled.” I blew across the surface then sipped the hot, black liquid. “Bess, has Mr. Wilcox had any business meetings that seemed out of the ordinary, even for him. I am worried he is planning something against Pierre.”

  “Thomas,” Christopher sipped his coffee. “You worry too much.”

  “Mr. Wilcox has no reason to confide in me about business matters. In his eyes, I am good for one thing, entertaining his band of thieves—”

  “Bess?” Sheppard winced as if her words had slapped him in the face.

  “I am sorry, Nicholas. I thought you knew.” She placed her hand on his shoulder.

  He pulled away from her touch. “How was I supposed to know? Hmm? If you will excuse me, I think I shall take my gin in my room.” Sheppard stood. He swayed as if a fit of dizziness had attacked him. He steadied himself on the back of the chair.

  “Let me—”

  “No.” He said without looking at Bess. “I can manage.” He grabbed the bottle of gin and walked into his bedchamber and slammed the door.

  “I am sorry, Bess.”

  “It is all right. Once a whore always a whore.” Bess finished her coffee and refilled the cup.”

  “Bess, you are more than that, and you know it.”

  “To you, Christopher, and Pierre, perhaps. Nicholas will never see me in any other light, now that he knows my background.”

  As I sat there trying to think of something comforting to say, a knock came to the side door. I looked at Christopher, who shrugged. Another round of pounding came before I could stand. “All right, I am coming.” I made my way to the door and opened it. “May I help you?” I said with a bit too much irritation in my voice. I immediately regretted my sharp tongue. The man, who stood at my door in the early morning hours, wore high-ranking official attire, though I could not place what part of parliament or branch of government.

  “I beg your forgiveness for my call at such an inappropriate hour. I am Gideon Atwood, Deputy to Theodore Spence, the sergeant-at-arms of the House of Commons. The sergeant sent me here this morning to fetch Mr. Pierre Baptiste.”

  “Please, come in.” I stepped out of the way then closed the door after him. “Mr. Baptiste is still sleeping, if you will take a seat, I will wake him.” I felt a little awkward in my previous days’ clothes and with my shirt untucked. I wished to apologize for my appearance but thought better of it. “May I ask what this is concerning?” I escorted him to the table where Bess and Christopher sat.

  “I am afraid those matters are between the sergeant and Mr. Baptiste.” He removed his hat, then nodded as he took a seat. “Thank you.”

  “Would you care for some coffee this morning?” Bess asked as I walked up the steps and into the back hallway.

  “Pierre?” I entered our bedchamber. Pierre stirred but did not wake. Pierre, get up.”

  “What in God’s name?” Pierre rolled over onto his back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Who is calling so early?” Pierre leaned on an elbow as he ran his hand over his face.

  “A gentleman from the House of Commons.” I tossed the sheets off his body. My eyes immediately fell upon Pierre’s nakedness. I inhaled the warm, musky scent of his night sweat. My prick stirred restlessly in my breeches despite the strange occurrences of this early morning.

  “What does he want?”

  “The sergeant-at-arms has requested your presence. The man is waiting to take you to the Palace of Westminster.” I began to tuck in my shirt and straighten my clothes.

  Pierre sat on the edge of the bed. “What does the sergeant-at-arms want with me?” He stood and began fumbling around for his clothes.

  “I asked him the same question. He said it was between you and the sergeant.”

  “Hand me my wig, will you?”

  “Here.” I handed him his wig, took mine from the wig stand, and placed it on my head. “What?” I looked at Pierre. “I am going with you.”

  “Thomas, I appreciate that, but it is inappropriate to appear if not called.”

  “Since when have you ever known me to do anything appropriate?”

  “I wish we had more time to discuss this, but unfortunately we do not.” Pierre looked into the mirror, straightened his wig, and waistcoat then turned and looked at my outfit. He grabbed his overcoat and opened the door, slipping on the coat as we walked down the hallway and into the dining room.

  “My apologies for keeping you waiting, sir. Pierre Baptiste, at your service.” Pierre bowed.

  “Mr. Baptiste,” Mr. Atwood stood. “Thank you for making yourself available with such little notice. I am Mr. Atwood, Deputy to the sergeant-at-arms.”

  “May I inquire as to what this is about?”

  “You may, but I cannot speak to it…let me just say that it is of the utmost importance to our Kingdom. These matters cannot be discussed in the presence of—”

  “Please, say no more.” Pierre looked around the room at the three of us. I began to feel oddly out of place, and unwanted. “If I may, sir. This is my associate—”

  “I am aware of who he is.” He bowed. “Mr. Newton.”

  “Sir.” I bowed. I looked at Christopher and Bess. They both appeared as uncomfortable with the deputy’s knowledge of me as I felt. I turned back toward the deputy as Pierre spoke.

  “I hope it might be possible to allow him to accompany me.” He paused then added. “There is no one more trustworthy than he.”

  “He may, but I cannot guarantee he will be allowed to sit with Sir Theodore.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I bowed.

  “Then let us not keep him waiting any longer.” Pierre opened the door for the deputy and me. I glanced back over my shoulder as Christopher and Bess sat at the table. Christopher nodded, letting me know he would take Bess home. I smiled at them both then closed the door.

  A coachman stood by the carriage and opened the door. Pierre followed me into the carriage then the deputy, who sat across from us. The coachman closed the door and took his seat at the front. When the deputy knocked twice on the roof. The carriage took off jostling us about the carriage.

  As we rode through the early morning streets, each staring out the windows, I could not help but think about the last time I entered the Palace of Westminster. It was the day Pierre and I confronted Lord Green about my parentage and his treasonous activities during a sitting of the House of Lords. The memories of those trying days, lost lives, including that of the mother I never knew, began to weigh on me as we neared parliament. I could not help but feel there were more challenging times ahead of us.

  I wanted to break the heavy silence in hopes of distracting my mind from lingering too long in the past. Pierre was always a good conversationalist, and I thought it would help to talk about this unexpected summons, but I felt it would be in bad taste to discuss our situation in front of the deputy. For once I held my tongue and remained quiet.

  The Palace of Westminster stood against an ominous gray gloom of the early dawn hours. Black smoke billowed out of the lamps lining the curved drive and drifted through the already warm breeze. It was going to be another hot day. My wig was already starting to itch. We waited patiently for the coachman to open the door and help us down from the carriage, then followed the deputy into the Palace.

  “Please, wait here.” The deputy turned toward us. “I will let Sir Theodore know you are here.” He bowed then turned as two guards opened a large double door. The deputy entered. The doors shut immediately behind him.

  “You do not look at all concerned, Pierre.”

  “There is no need until we know why we are here. For all we know, it could be about your inheritance; perhaps the king is ready to release it to you.”

  “Then why was not I summoned?” Before Pierre could answer, the doors opened, and the deputy came out.

&nbs
p; “Mr. Baptiste. Mr. Newton, Sir Theodore will see you.”

  Pierre and I entered the office of the sergeant-at-arms. Following Pierre’s lead, I stopped a few feet inside the door, removed my hat, crossed my right hand at my waist, and bowed. I had been so focused on making sure to replicate Pierre’s good manners; I did not notice the sergeant at first. It was not until I ended my bow did my attention become focused on Theodore Spence. I tried to keep a straight face as I watched the man charged with protecting the king, as he dusted a table full of the most extraordinary collection of wigs.

  “Mr. Baptiste.” He pulled a dusting mask from his face and placed it, along with the duster on the table. He coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. As he exhaled, he cocked his head to the left and frowned. Running his finger through a curl on the center wig, he leaned back to examine it, then patted the bottom to bring the curl back up. “Excuse my delay in receiving you. As I am sure you are aware, the proper care of wigs is a time-consuming venture. They are hell to control especially in the heat of summer.” He fanned himself as he stepped out from behind the large table and walked toward us. His white silk ruffled shirt had more waves and frills than any outfit I had ever seen. His breeches, waistcoat, and overcoat all matched in a pale rose color, with gold stitching and buttons. His walk, or rather his prance amused me even more than his wardrobe. His powdered white face, near the same color as his wigs, was highlighted with pink cheeks and eyeshadow, and deep burgundy lips. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Sir Theodore. The honor is all mine.” Pierre took the sergeant’s hand and kissed it.

  “And Mr. Newton.” Sir Theodore turned his effeminate manner toward me.

  “Sir.” I took his raised hand and kissed it as well. I could smell orange and lavender on his skin. “My apologies for coming—”

  “It is I, who should be apologizing,” he interrupted. “I have been most interested in meeting the young man who brought down Lord Green. I would have included you, Mr. Newton if I had known you and Mr. Baptiste were working so closely as to be sharing living quarters.” He winked, turned sharply on his high heels, and walked behind a large wooden desk with intricate Baroque style carvings inlaid with gold. “Please.” He motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. We waited until he took his seat, then took ours. “You look concerned, Mr. Newton.”