The Major and the Pickpocket

by Lucy Ashford

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And you promise to pay me as soon as I’ve done what you want?’

  ‘Most certainly I promise.’

  ‘And you’ll get Lemuel away from the constables…’ Tassie thrust out her hand. ‘We have a bargain, Marcus, you and I.’ But the touch of his warm, strong fingers as he grasped hers unsettled her anew. She dragged her hand away quickly. He proceeded to tell her then that she would be staying here, with Caro to look after her, until the time was right to tackle Corbridge; and Tassie nodded coolly, as if it were every day that she made a bargain for fifty guineas with a complete stranger. But her heart was thudding against her chest like a caged bird by the time he finally left her. And after he’d shut the door, she heard the key being turned in the lock outside.

  She sat down on the bed, in a state of turmoil. The plate of food, now almost cold, reproached her from the nearby table. She reached for a chicken leg, knowing she should try to eat, but the flesh, though tender, was like ashes in her mouth.

  God’s teeth, but the man was a detestable bully! Was she quite mad to make such a dangerous bargain? She let the chicken leg fall back on to the plate. She knew what the real trouble was. The trouble was Marcus. When he held her, and caressed her so—so casually, she felt all her strength, all her determination never to be any man’s plaything, never to let any man possess her, melt away like frost in the morning sunshine.

  She pulled herself up and reminded herself that it wasn’t only the money; she was doing this for Lemuel. Marcus had promised to get poor Lemuel away from the constables. Marcus had given her his word of honour…No, he hadn’t.

  And she remembered now what the other man, Hal, had said outside the Angel: I went after the girl’s accomplice, but he bolted like a ferret.

  She stood up, her face growing stormy. Had Lemuel really come back to look for her, as Marcus said? Or—was Marcus lying about Lemuel?

  It might have been some consolation to Tassie to know that Marcus was equally in a state of turmoil. He was no stranger to the favours of beautiful women; so how was it that he’d been aroused far more than was good for him by this girl of the streets, this streetwise, dishonest wench called—of all the ridiculous names—Tassie? All right, so it was an understandable male reaction to have instantly felt his loins stirring at the glimpse he got of her slender, burgeoning female body beneath her thin lawn gown, and at the way her small, high breasts responded to his touch even as she hurled insults at him. Yet he found her a complete paradox, for in spite of her scruffy appearance she gave an impression of utter innocence, and of underlying refinement as well!

  But that illusion must be as false as the rest of her. She’d told him she was no whore; yet how could she be innocent, or of gentle birth, living the life she’d led? Marcus set his mouth in a hard line as he pulled on his greatcoat and prepared to go out. His tactics against her were perfectly justified; she was simply a clever minx, well taught by someone. His wits must have been addled by Philippa’s betrayal. She too had been soft and sweet in his arms before he left for the Americas, and her kisses had been warm and full of promise.

  Marcus pushed Philippa grimly to the back of his mind for now and turned his thoughts, as he left the big house, to Lord Sebastian Corbridge. Corbridge was the enemy against whom he must plan his tactics step by step, whatever the cost. And the wench Tassie?

  Why, she would be the ace in Marcus’s hand. Nothing less—and definitely nothing more.

  Chapter Five

  It was later that same night. The grandfather clock in the hallway of the house in Portman Square had just struck eleven, and Hal Beauchamp was in the ground-floor study, pacing anxiously up and down. He froze when he heard the slam of the big front door, then hurried quickly into the hall. ‘Marcus. In here, man. What have you been up to?’

  Marcus had already shrugged off his caped greatcoat and hung it on the mahogany coatstand. His leather riding boots echoed on the polished floor as he followed Hal into his study.

  ‘Reacquainting myself with the London gambling haunts,’ he answered as soon as Hal had shut the door. ‘And I’ve learnt that Sebastian Corbridge has taken to frequenting Lady Amanda Sallis’s fashionable little gaming house in Albemarle Street.’

  Hal poured his friend a glass of brandy. ‘The play there is deep, if I remember correctly. And Lady Sallis and her young female assistants are all extremely pretty, and use their wiles to encourage the punters. Tell me, what game does Corbridge prefer?’

  Marcus took the brandy, but didn’t drink. ‘Piquet, for the moment. They say he’s playing carelessly. The other night he went under by almost two thousand, boasting as he did so that his expectation of Lornings in the autumn should cover any debts.’

  ‘The devil he did,’ breathed Hal softly. ‘Still thinking of setting up the girl as bait, my friend?’

  Marcus sipped his brandy, but his eyes never left Hal’s face. ‘Not having second thoughts, are you, Hal? After all, it was your idea.’

  ‘I know.’ Hal fingered the stem of his glass carefully. ‘But I’m not at all sure that I was in earnest, I must confess. And Caro’s been lecturing me. Keeps saying how sweet Tassie is, and how much she admires our honourable intentions regarding her—in other words, my sister hopes we aren’t planning any mischief with the girl.’

  Marcus said shortly, ‘By rights the wench should be in Newgate. She’ll have been play-acting again for your sister, doing her best to touch Caro’s tender heart—’ He broke off. ‘You didn’t tell your sister what we were planning, did you?’

  Hal gazed at his old friend steadily. ‘Oh, don’t worry, dear boy. I’ve stuck to our original story—how the girl’s a poor, starving waif without a home, and we’ve decided to keep her here for a few days until she’s recovered her strength. I think Caro accepted all that, though she’s uneasy. She says, and I know what she means, that in spite of everything, Tassie has a kind of underlying—gentility—’

  ‘Oh, no. Oh, no.’ Marcus shook his dark head and started his uneven pacing of the room again. ‘Don’t let your sister be taken in, Hal. Don’t you be taken in! That girl is a devil of a fine actress, which is just what I want. Just what I need to wreck Corbridge’s vile plans.’

  ‘You’re quite sure,’ said Hal carefully, ‘that she’s willing? That she knows what’s involved?’

  Marcus laughed shortly. ‘Oh, she’s willing all right. The mention of fifty guineas made her eyes light up, believe me.’ Marcus didn’t mention his threat about Lemuel, because in fact he and Hal hadn’t seen Tassie’s nervous young friend since he’d hotfooted it from the Angel. Marcus felt uncomfortable about the lie, but it had served its purpose, hadn’t it? First thing tomorrow he’d tell Tassie that her lanky companion was free. And then—then, Marcus would set his plan in motion.

  The girl was a superb little trickster, no doubt about it. She’d fooled Caro, and she’d—almost—fooled Hal. So much the better for his plan. He would train her in the ways of the gentry—she’d be a quick learner, of that he was certain—then set her up in some tasteful satin-strewn boudoir as one of those alluring, faintly mysterious ladies on the fringes of fashion who ran their own discreet little gaming establishments in town. And the trap for Corbridge would be set…

  But already he’d underestimated his young recruit. For just at that moment there was a knock on the study door; Hal went to open it, and was surprised to see the housemaid Emilia standing there, her sharp face agitated beneath her lace cap.

  ‘Sir,’ she addressed Hal, wringing her fingers, ‘it’s that young madam in the guest chamber, sir. Oh, I knew she’d be trouble, the minute I laid eyes on her! And now she’s—gone!’

  Marcus became dangerously still. ‘Gone?’

  ‘Vanished, sir! Her room’s empty, and that bed, it’s never bin slept in—I always said the young minx should never be let inside this house.’

  Marcus drew in his breath swiftly, remembering the valuables Tassie had earlier stuffed into the pockets of her gown
. Hal, looking bewildered, exclaimed, ‘But she retired to bed two hours ago! And I asked you to go to her, Emilia, to see that she had everything she might require…’

  ‘I did go up, Master Hal, I swear to God I did! Checked if there was anything she wanted, like you said!’

  Hal said brusquely, ‘You were kind to her, I hope?’

  Emilia sniffed. ‘As kind as one could be, sir, to a baggage like that. She said—quite rude to me, she was—that all she wanted was to be left alone, in peace. So I left her.’

  ‘And you locked the door again, as we instructed?’

  ‘Yes! I locked it real careful, sir!’

  ‘You can’t have done. You can’t have done!’ exclaimed Hal, pacing the room in agitation.

  It was Marcus who said with an effort at calmness, ‘All right, Emilia. Knowing the girl’s tricks as I do, I rather suspect she’d have fooled any of us.’ He turned to Hal. ‘Let’s go up and take a look around her room. You never know, there might be some clue as to where she’s gone.’

  But it was a waste of time, Marcus knew it already, as the two of them strode up the wide, curving staircase towards Tassie’s empty bedchamber with Emilia fretting at their heels. If the minx had chosen to run off—in her nightgown?—he wouldn’t put it past her—then there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do to bring her back. She’d have returned to her low-life friends, of course. She’d find the lad Lemuel with them, safe and sound, and she’d realise that Marcus’s threats had been lies.

  Marcus knew that he’d make other plans, would find some other way to defeat Corbridge. But even so he felt ridiculously low in spirits as he gazed around that empty room. At least it didn’t look as if she’d stolen anything, for the little silver hand-mirror and the scent phial were still on the dressing table where they belonged. For a moment or two he fingered the keyhole in the door that Emilia swore she’d locked. Then his eyes were drawn suddenly to something that glittered on the floor.

  He stooped to pick it up. It was a hairpin, twisted into a strange shape. He said to Emilia, ‘Is this yours?’

  ‘It could be, sir!’ She looked at him in some surprise at his question. “Tis only a hairpin. They fall out all the time, they do…’

  ‘Damnation,’ muttered Marcus, ‘damnation—’ And then he broke off, because all three of them had become aware of an explosion of confused noise coming from somewhere below—the sound of the heavy front door banging shut, of running footsteps, of voices shrilly raised. And, incredibly, the sound of a bird squawking. Hal, muttering, ‘What in God’s name is that?’ rushed out along the passageway to the top of the stairs and leaned on the galleried balustrade to peer down into the gloom of the great hall below. Then his shoulders started to shake with laughter.

  ‘Marcus,’ he called to his friend, ‘you’ll never believe this. Come and take a look.’

  With a feeling of foreboding, Marcus hurried to Hal’s side and gazed down. Chaos appeared to have broken loose. Anxious servants were pouring out from their quarters at the rear of the big house, some of them in night attire, waving their arms and shouting. One of them—Marcus thought it was the butler, Sansom—was even brandishing a broom.

  Above them, wheeling and circling round the lofty hall with plumage as bright as a jewel and a squawk as piercing as a bullet, was a bird. A red-and-green parrot. And down below, in the big hallway, at the centre of the chaos, was the girl, identifiable immediately by her tumbling golden locks, though he couldn’t see very much of the rest of her, because she was clad in one of Hal’s elegant greatcoats, its hem trailing heavily over some outsized boots that quite dwarfed her small feet. She was pushing her way with determination through the mêlée of shouting servants, and striding up the broad staircase towards the airborne parrot, quite heedless of Marcus and Hal gazing speechlessly down at her. Halfway up, where the stairs turned in a sweeping curve, she hitched up her coat and flung herself astride the banister. And there she perched, precariously balanced above a twenty-foot drop, while reaching out coaxingly to the cackling bird that flapped maddeningly just out of her reach. ‘Here, Edward! Here!’ she crooned.

  Hal’s laughter had died some time ago. ‘God. She’ll break her neck,’ he muttered.

  Marcus had already decided that was not going to happen—at least not in his good friend Hal’s house. His face as dark as thunder, he leaped down the stairs two at a time, ignoring the frantic jarring to his wounded leg, but Tassie saw him coming and teetered dangerously as she made one last effort to reach out for the parrot.

  Marcus got there just in time to grab her, and pulled her back so hard over the banister that she fell awkwardly against him.

  ‘Let me go, you—you stuffed-shirt bully!’ She pummelled furiously at his chest, hampered by the long sleeves of the greatcoat she wore. ‘I almost had him then, but you frightened him, you great brute!’

  ‘Not half as much as I’m going to frighten you,’ said Marcus. He was aware of Hal hurrying downstairs past him to dismiss the gawping servants. Caro seemed, thank God, to have slept through it all—fortunate that her chamber was at the other side of the house. The parrot, muttering soft protests to itself at all the commotion, was now clinging agilely, almost upside down, to the massive gilt frame that surrounded an oil portrait of Hal’s revered grandfather.

  ‘That thing,’ continued Marcus, nodding grimly at the bird’s antics. ‘How the devil did it get into the house?’

  ‘He’s not a thing,’ declared Tassie, ‘he’s Edward, he’s mine, and I won’t, I won’t be without him!’

  Marcus was still holding her. ‘I suppose you’ve been back to your low-life friends?’

  ‘What if I have? I’ve done no harm, and neither has Edward,’ she flashed back. ‘I just meant to collect him and his cage and bring him back to that horrible, quiet room upstairs for company. ‘Tis not my fault the place is in such a silly uproar!’

  ‘The main door was locked for the night,’ pointed out Marcus. ‘As was the door of your chamber.’ There was a silence; he gazed down into those green eyes that were so fathomless, so unsettling.

  ‘Locks ain’t everything.’ She shrugged.

  He’d been right, then, about the hairpin. Were there any tricks she didn’t know? ‘So you add the picking of locks to your other accomplishments, do you?’

  ‘It comes in useful!’ retorted Tassie defensively.

  ‘I’ll bet it does.’

  ‘If poor Edward hadn’t escaped from under my dratted coat as I opened the door—’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ Marcus interrupted. ‘That is Hal’s coat, I think.’

  ‘Very well, then, Hal’s dratted coat. If he hadn’t escaped—’

  ‘You mentioned a cage. Why wasn’t the bird in it?’

  ‘He was!’ She flung open the voluminous coat to reveal a small wicker carrier hooked to her belt. ‘But look, he’s pecked the door open, he does that sometimes, ‘cos he doesn’t like being locked up…Why, normally he’s so quiet and peaceful, you wouldn’t even know he was there!’

  As the bird pranced around the portrait uttering devilish cackles, Marcus found this exceedingly hard to believe. ‘Really? The bird certainly matches you in his squawking,’ he observed.

  The girl gazed up at him bitterly, her pointed little chin raised in stubborn defiance. ‘At least—at least I’m truthful, about really important things,’ she declared.

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘You said that the constables had taken Lemuel, and that if I helped you, you would get him out of trouble. But that was a lie, wasn’t it, to force me to do what you wanted!’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’

  He knew she was a scoundrel and a thief, but, yes, he felt astonishingly guilty at that moment. In an effort to sound nonchalant he said, ‘Well, if that’s your opinion of me I’m surprised you bothered to come back.’

  ‘Of course I came back,’ she retaliated. ‘We made our bargain, didn’t we? About the money? We shook
hands on it! Only—if you make me get rid of Edward, then I swear that I’ll leave for good!’

  He felt a curious sense of surprise, almost of pleasure, that she’d decided to return. She was obviously going to be trouble, but at least she was also proving a diversion. He said, ‘Yes, we made our bargain. And I’m glad you’ve come back, even if you do intend to saddle me with that crazy bird.’

  ‘I keep telling you. I couldn’t leave Edward.’

  Marcus suddenly realised that beneath her brazen demeanour, her face was quite white with tiredness. There were dark shadows beneath her huge eyes, and her voice trembled as she went on, ‘He would pine to death without me. He’d think I’d abandoned him, you see. And—and I had to see Georgie Jay, to tell him and everyone else that I’d be away for a while, otherwise they’d worry…’

  ‘Georgie Jay?’ He gritted the name out. ‘Is he another of your low-life friends? Whoever he is, I hope you didn’t even think of telling him what you were up to, Tassie. Because if you did our agreement is off. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes! I understand!’ she retorted bitterly. ‘And I didn’t tell my friends anything, you bully! Because that’s what they are—friends. And Georgie Jay—he’s like an older brother to me…’ Her green eyes filled with sudden tears, and abruptly she swung her head away from him so that he wouldn’t see them. She added in a low voice, ‘How long before we can begin our business, Marcus? Will we start tomorrow?’

  ‘Not exactly. We might have to wait just a little longer.’

  She exploded at that. ‘God’s teeth, why wait at all for a session at card play? You know how good I am!’

  ‘Firstly,’ he answered steadily, ‘you fooled Hal at the Angel, but you didn’t fool me. I’ve got to make sure you’re absolutely ready to play the part. Secondly, Sebastian Corbridge is going to be even more pressed for money than usual by the next quarter-day, because the rent on his expensive house in Brook Street will be due. So the prospect of easy winnings—presented by you, Tassie, armed with a purseful of guineas that I will provide as stake, and the promise of much more where that came from—will appeal to him at a time when he’s most likely to be tempted into reckless play.’