The Thief's Daughter

by Victoria Cornwall

  Not long ago she would have cared what Jack would think of her in this dress. Jenna remembered his teasing, his kindness and his lovemaking as she followed a trail of flowering motifs with her fingertips. How had she been so blind? He had fooled her and she had been his willing fool. Jenna lifted the other sleeve and imagined Jack’s hand brushing the scalloped edge from her arm. She dropped it and stepped back, despising herself for thinking of him.

  He had used her and beaten her brother for betraying him. She thought of Silas, lying bloodied in her arms. Now, he was dead and Jack was to blame. She must not waver now, for tonight she would be dining with one of the most powerful men in the county. She must remember all she had been taught and find an opportunity to speak to Judge Buller alone. Only then could she inform him about Jack and grant her brother’s dying wish.

  Jack arrived early and waited impatiently in the drawing room. Eventually, Enoch came down to greet him and offered him a drink. Jack refused with a curt shake of his head.

  ‘You look quite sour.’

  ‘I did not want Jenna to be involved. If things go wrong …’

  ‘Nothing will go wrong.’

  ‘It is all right for you, Enoch. If Buller finds out who we are, he will have us punished. You and your wife, on the other hand, are too valuable to him. He still needs your support for his political career.’ Jack watched Enoch sip his port. ‘But I suspect you will deny that you knew what our intentions were. It would be an easy yarn to believe. Jenna’s family history would be evidence enough that she is a deceiver and that you were tricked by her.’

  ‘You do not trust me, Jack?’ said Enoch, looking at him over his glass.

  ‘It is hard to trust anyone when at seventeen you discover that some of your neighbours were responsible for killing your father, while others were too scared to talk.’

  Enoch’s expression changed to one of concern as he rested his glass in his hand.

  ‘I think it would be prudent for you to have a different name. Your reputation as a thief-taker may have reached the judge’s ears and put you at risk. How about the name, Jack Trago? We could introduce Jenna as your cousin.’ Jack gave a curt nod of his head in agreement. Enoch toyed with his glass. ‘You have never disclosed the full details of your father’s death to me. What were the circumstances?’

  Jack moved to the fire and warmed his palms against its heat.

  ‘My father refused to loan his horses to the local smuggling gang. Horses that are worked all night are too tired to work on the farm during the day. He knew this, so he stood up to their demands. My father was punished for refusing.’ Jack inhaled deeply at the painful memory, before releasing it slowly through pursed lips. ‘They did not take kindly to a local farmer objecting. If they allowed one to refuse, many would follow, so they made an example of him.’ He paused briefly before continuing on. ‘They beat him and tied his legs to the stirrup of his own horse. They hit the horse with a poker and it bolted. He was dragged behind it for almost a mile. He survived long enough for me to find him, but died in my arms shortly afterwards.’

  ‘I’m sorry you have suffered so much.’

  ‘Me? It was my father who suffered.’

  ‘You have suffered and are suffering now. Ever since your father’s death you have dedicated your life to purging Cornwall of the smuggling gangs. Revenge consumes you.’

  ‘It is an impossible task I have set myself, but I cannot rest until it is done.’

  ‘I want you to settle and have a good life, but revenge is still too important to you, Jack. Until the day comes when you can walk away, we must continue to try and bring these gangs down one at a time. We are close to closing down the Blake brothers for the first time and Jenna’s help is the key to achieving it.’

  ‘She has never socialised with the aristocracy. You ask too much of her,’ argued Jack.

  ‘Relax. My wife tells me that Jenna is an extraordinary woman. I believe that my wife is coming now. Perhaps she can reassure you.’

  Lady Pickering entered in her finest gown and powdered wig. It was the first time Jack had met her and he greeted her with a bow. He made no attempt at small talk.

  ‘How is your charge?’ he asked.

  ‘It has been quite a day. Exhausting, but satisfying all at the same time. You would not know she has not had the benefit of a governess. At first she made many mistakes, such as asking one of the imaginary guests to pass her a dish. I told her that was ill-mannered and it is what we pay servants to do. Curiously she said that doing it oneself encourages conversation around the table. I could not disagree with her, however I told her that understanding the proper etiquette separates the upper class from the lower and she had best remember that. I received no more defiance from her. She has a way of making a point that is unconventional but yet difficult to argue with. I think she will hold an interesting conversation at the table remarkably well.’

  ‘You sound like you have taken a liking to her, my dear,’ Enoch teased.

  ‘She is a likeable person, but not someone I would want our son to marry.’

  ‘She is not open to offers,’ said Jack.

  ‘Mr Penhale,’ replied Lady Pickering. ‘Every woman is open to offers, but whether she accepts them is quite a different matter.’

  The door opened to reveal Jenna standing in the hall.

  ‘Your housekeeper is ready, Jack,’ said Enoch, putting down his glass. ‘Now you will see why I am not so concerned that she will be found out. Look, Jack, see what a fine lady she makes.’

  Jack did not need to be told to look at Jenna as he had waited for this moment since she left. He had tried to imagine what she would look like, yet seeing her now still took his breath away. He swallowed the thick lump of emotion that rose in his throat, but said nothing. Instead he allowed Enoch and his wife to greet and pay her the compliments that he wanted to give.

  Her gown was the finest he had ever seen, but it did not outshine her. The rich silk only complemented the softness of her skin and the colour of ivory only added a contrast to her rich dark hair that begged for his touch. It was as if Jenna were illuminating the darkness that he was not aware had been present.

  Jack felt drawn to her and stepped forward, but his way was barred. He had to remain satisfied with catching only glimpses of her between the bodies that fussed around her. He saw the curve of her neck and longed to kiss it, not the diamond necklace that glinted at her throat. He saw the rise and fall of her bosom as it strained against her square neckline, and he longed to feel her softness. He saw the gown’s fastenings and imagined being alone with her and ripping them apart.

  Enoch and his wife moved aside and Jack could see her fully again. He swallowed, struck dumb at the transformation, yet still hoping to see the old Jenna in the eyes of this new fragile beauty. He waited for her to look at him, ready to offer her a smile of encouragement, but her eyes did not search for his and the moment did not come.

  ‘Our coach is outside. Let us depart,’ said Enoch, taking his wife’s hand and leading her to the door.

  Jack noticed Jenna begin to wring her hands. Her distress helped him find his tongue and he stepped forward again to place his hand on hers to still them. Turning his back on Enoch, he tilted her chin with a single finger so she looked at him.

  ‘I’m afraid for you,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t do it, Jenna.’

  Jenna lifted her chin away from his touch and looked down at his hand on hers. His words of concern appeared to catch her off guard. Perhaps this was the reason she chose to echo his own answer on the night of the smuggling run.

  ‘And if I don’t do this, what then?’ she answered. Before he could reply, Enoch called to them to follow and she pulled her hands away from under his. ‘We must not keep them waiting,’ she said coolly. ‘I have a task to do and I will not change my mind.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The coach that took them to Judge Buller’s country estate was claustrophobic and thick with tension. Although it was winter, the cr
amped conditions soon warmed the interior and the blankets provided for their comfort were quickly set aside. Lady Pickering’s and Jenna’s dresses took up much of the room, overlapping the men’s knees to provide warmth of their own. However, the swathes of material did not cushion its four occupants as, throughout the journey, their knees and hips jarred impolitely against their neighbours’ as the unforgiving carriage wheels bumped along the poorly maintained road.

  The journey was made no more pleasant by the people inside the coach. Lady Pickering took to grumbling and complained that Enoch should have accepted the offer of rooms to stay for the night. Enoch retorted that they did not have time and it was best to depart quickly once the evening was over.

  ‘In refusing the offer, you have placed us at risk of being held up by highwaymen on our way home,’ snapped his wife.

  Enoch reflected his wife’s nervous tension with a curt reply of his own.

  ‘I’m sure your tongue, dearest, will send them away.’

  Jack remained silent, broodily watching Jenna, who sat diagonally to him looking out of the window into the blackness of the night. A slight furrow marked his brow. Her apparent lack of nerves and refusal to meet his eye troubled him, but if Jack thought she was ignoring him he could not have been more wrong. Throughout the journey, while the senior occupants bickered around her, Jenna’s eyes never left his face. In his reflection in the window, she saw his concern and every flicker of his cheek muscle as he tightened his jaw. Jenna felt unmoved. His furrowed brow was nothing to the suffering her brother had endured.

  Jack remained unaware that he was being observed until the carriage came to a lurching halt and it was time to disembark. Then, without warning, his eyes flicked across to her reflection in the window and locked with hers. She quickly looked away and began to fuss with her dress, but it was too late. He had caught her watching him and it was not a look of love that he saw in her face.

  ‘Sir Enoch Pickering!’ shouted the butler.

  Smiling broadly, Judge Buller came striding across the hall to greet his newly arrived guests. ‘I hope the journey was not too tiresome.’

  Enoch returned a brittle smile. ‘A journey is rarely as good as the feeling of arrival.’

  ‘Although that depends on where you are going, eh,’ said the judge, jovially looking around at his new guests. ‘We will be a party of thirteen,’ he said, ‘and some have already accumulated in the drawing room for drinks.’ Jenna saw his attention settle on Jack. ‘I am glad that you have decided to accept my invitation,’ he told him. ‘There is much I would like to discuss with you.’

  Jack acknowledged him with a slight bow, but did not reply. Instead Enoch stepped forward.

  ‘May I formally introduce you to my friend, Jack Trago,’ he said with a smile.

  An awkward silence descended and Jenna watched the judge’s own smile fade a little, before he found his tongue and manners again. ‘Are you involved in politics, sir?’ he asked him.

  ‘No, sir. I leave politics to those who have a thicker skin than I.’

  Enoch’s laughter was hearty. It was joined belatedly by the judge’s, but Jenna thought it sounded forced. It was too hearty, too abrupt and ended too quickly. No wonder, he had expected to meet the former prime minister’s son, not a man who was no help to him at all. His initial good mood was dampened by the error and showed in his greeting of Lady Pickering. Jenna was the last to be introduced. A curt bow of his head was the only greeting she received before he solemnly led them to the drawing room, where the other guests were gathered.

  Jenna remained on the fringe of the party, watching Judge Buller circulate the room to talk to his guests. Their opulent finery appeared like a sea of colourful silks, linens and braids and in its midst was the host whose duty was to ensure everyone had a good time. Jenna gnawed her bottom lip, as she realised she would have great difficulty getting him alone in order to speak with him. The task she had set herself suddenly appeared insurmountable. She felt someone come to stand beside her and knew that it was Jack.

  ‘Are you afraid?’ asked Jack under his breath.

  ‘I have felt true fear in my life, Jack, and it is not fear that I feel right now.’

  ‘What do you feel?’ he asked.

  She could sense he was looking at her with that same troubled expression that she had seen in the coach.

  I feel angry, she wanted to shout at him. I feel betrayed. I feel overwhelmed with painful grief.

  Instead she replied quietly, ‘I feel nothing … nothing at all.’

  Before he could reply, another guest interrupted them to seek Jack’s opinion and after some persuading, Jack reluctantly left her side and followed him. Jenna watched him being led to a small group of men who were voicing their opinions in loud voices. It was a situation she knew he would hate, but the thought of his discomfort did not bring a smile to her lips. Instead, she became aware that her hand was hurting and looked down. To her surprise, her fingertips were blanched and marked from holding the stem of her glass too tightly. She had come close to it shattering and making a spectacle of herself. She must be more careful.

  As she waited for dinner to be announced, she cast her eye on the paintings that adorned the walls. There were many, but none like the ones she had seen in the cave.

  ‘You look like you have a secret,’ said a man’s voice at her side.

  A frisson of fear shot up Jenna’s spine, heightening her senses and lifting the hairs at the nape of her neck. Had she been discovered? In the pause that followed, Jenna realised that the tone was not one of accusation. I must remain calm, Jenna scolded herself, I must play the game.

  Jenna looked up into a pair of smiling hazel eyes. Quietly she released the breath she had been holding. The man raised an eyebrow; and she could see that he was waiting patiently for a reply. It was the first time someone had spoken to her with the aim of making conversation. Belatedly, she wondered if she was up to the task.

  ‘I have no secret to share.’

  The man would not be put off.

  ‘Does that mean you have no secret, or that you have one but you are unwilling to share it?’ asked the man, smiling.

  Jenna decided to return his smile. ‘Can a secret be shared?’ she teased. ‘Surely if a secret is shared it is no longer a secret.’

  The man, who had a strong jawline and straight brows, considered her reply.

  ‘I see that I have met my match tonight. I am content for you to keep your secrets if it means that you continue to share your smile.’ He looked about him. ‘As there seems to be the lack of someone to introduce us, may I take the liberty of doing it myself?’

  Jenna liked his relaxed approach; better she conversed with him than someone who may notice her failings in etiquette.

  ‘If we only spoke to those to whom we were formally introduced, we would miss the opportunity of speaking to many interesting people.’ Her reply pleased him.

  ‘My name is Edgar.’ He gave a slight bow over her hand. ‘Charles Buller is my uncle.’

  ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ she said to his bowed head. ‘My name is Jenna. Mr Trago is my …’ She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. ‘… cousin.’

  Edgar slowly straightened. He was as tall as Jack, with a similar build, but where Jack exuded a quiet, earthy strength, Edgar had aristocratic refinement.

  ‘Do you know many people here?’ he asked.

  Jenna smiled. ‘No, I do not.’

  Edgar took it upon himself to remedy the situation. ‘Then let me tell you about my uncle’s guests, for you can be assured that there is a reason for each invitation.’

  ‘Isn’t there always a reason to invite someone?’

  ‘Reason, yes. A family member, a friend, a loved one. But not one of these guests falls into any of those categories. I see that I have surprised you. My uncle is efficient; he does not waste good food where there is no chance of receiving a reward.’ He raised his glass. ‘Twelve guests … thirteen in total. It is
an unlucky number for some, but my uncle has no fear.’ He looked across the room. ‘See over there, the man with a florid complexion with his little wife by his side.’ Jenna followed his gaze. ‘That is Edward Grantham. He was a Member of Parliament until an unfortunate scandal forced him to leave. He is now impoverished, but he has much information that will one day be useful to my dear uncle Charles.’

  Jenna looked up at Edgar. For the first time she could hear an edge to his voice.

  Edgar ignored her questioning look. ‘See those men speaking to your cousin – William Morton and Horace Polmean. They both own large estates that have been in their families for generations. Their fortune is more than you could ever imagine. They are the perfect acquaintances to have when it comes to buying a seat in Parliament, don’t you think? The two women at their sides are their spouses. One dutiful and meek, the other one is a tyrant.’

  ‘And what about me? Why am I here?’ asked Jenna, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘I’m afraid that you were a delightful error that has cheered me up no end. He thought Mr Trago was the former prime minister’s son, William Pitt, who would have contacts that would be useful to him. It has put me in good cheer to see that my uncle is not always as successful as he would like. I believe you already knew this, though.’

  ‘And now it has been confirmed. I am glad that you are in good cheer, even though I am not sure that I should condone the reason for it.’