by Brenda Hiatt
His gaze was sympathetic. “How hard that must have been for you. I wish more than ever word had reached me in Spain. Perhaps then—” He broke off, staring down at his plate.
A lump formed in Xena’s throat, forcing her to set down her fork. “I’m so sorry, Harry. My stubborn, foolish pride is what prevented me writing to my father again, or to you. Because of it, I very nearly ruined both our lives. Perhaps not permanently, but… I have no one to blame but myself for cheating us both of what could have been years of happiness.” A tear of regret slipped down her cheek.
Harry glanced up before she could dash it away and was instantly at her side. “Pray don’t, Xena. While I wish I’d learned you were alive all those years ago—and about Theo—you did what you felt was best at the time.”
Fiercely, she shook her head. “Best for whom? Surely not for Theo. I see now how selfish I’ve been all along. After discovering you alive here in London it was terribly wrong of me to keep you ignorant not only of your son but about the true state of my finances. Moorside is no grand estate, to be sure, but it is not quite so impoverished as I led you to believe.”
“For fear I might stake a claim, drink and gamble it away from you—and Theo?”
She nodded, shamefaced.
“Given the tales you heard about me that first evening—none of them precisely false, alas—it is scarcely surprising your first instinct was to protect both your home and Theo from a scoundrel like me. Much as he tried to protect you from me in the park.”
He grinned at the memory and Xena grudgingly smiled back, though her heart still ached for what might have been.
“I cannot believe you nearly so depraved as the gossips claim, Harry, not now that I know you better. Maintaining such a reputation was your way of thumbing your nose at the absurd expectations of Society—much like my own refusal to go along with most of their strictures.”
Abruptly, he sobered. “Don’t try to gild my past, Xena. While I plan to be a far better man going forward, I can’t deny the gossips mostly had the right of it. Not only have I no lands or fortune of my own, I’ve been anything but a saint these past years, believe me.”
Now it was Xena who grinned. “You did become one, however. The Saint of Seven Dials, in fact.”
Acknowledging her hit with a wry smile, he resumed his chair. “Yes, about that. Given what I now know, I’ve come to believe you were right that I should give it up—pass the torch on to someone with less to lose.”
Though she’d originally demanded he do just that, now Xena felt a stab of disappointment. “Oh. I, ah, suppose that would be the wisest course, but…”
“But you were quite looking forward to playing a role in my next foray?”
Feeling a bit sheepish, she nodded. “You can’t know how very much I’ve missed excitement these past few years. The challenges of maintaining an estate with insufficient funds are poor substitutes for escaping an elephant stampede, scaling a Tibetan mountain or fending off French soldiers in camp.”
“I’m sorry, Xena. Remembering your love for adventure, I was resigned to allowing you to assist me at least once. But now—” A tap came at the parlor door, interrupting him. “The next course, I presume.”
Knowing they might be discussing sensitive matters, they’d instructed the footmen to knock.
“Enter,” Harry called out.
Instead of a tray-bearing footman, however, Flute entered the room. “Beggin’ pardon, sir, ma’am. Polly didn’t mention as how you were at dinner, just that I’d find you here. I c’n come back later if—”
“No, it is quite all right,” Xena assured the boy with a smile, wondering at Harry’s sudden frown. “You have a message from Lord Peter or Sarah?”
“Er, not exactly, mum. Mr. Thatcher here said as how I should keep my ear to the ground for a sure thing and I just heard tell of a nice, plump pigeon that should be safe enough for the plucking.”
Harry’s frown intensified. “Yes, well, that was before— That is—”
Before he could send the lad away, Xena quickly intervened. “That was very enterprising of you, Flute. What target have you in mind?”
Twisting his cap between his hands, he darted a glance at the still-frowning Harry, then shrugged. “Tig heard a couple ruffians talking earlier today, saying as how some rich wine merchant’s gone abroad, leaving his Town house empty. No servants there, even. They was planning how they could rob it themselves, maybe tomorrow, so I though the Saint might should beat them to it?”
“Who is this merchant, Flute, do you know?” Xena asked. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the Saint tries to limit his targets to those who most seem to deserve his attention.”
Flute nodded, grinning now. “No worries there, mum. He’s a skinflint of a codger, name of Biddle. Has a hard time keeping servants, he pays so poorly. It’s why the place ain’t guarded now. Married a few months back and turned off those he had so he could spend the blunt saved on their wages to take his bride on a Grand Tour.”
“Biddle?” Harry echoed. “Biddle. Hm. That name is familiar… Ah, I have it! Phillips was complaining about him a month or two ago—his new stepfather. Rich as Midas, he claimed, but too nip-farthing to help with Phillips’s gambling debts.”
“Sir Barney Phillips, you mean?” Xena pursed her lips in distaste. “I suppose it’s a point in this Biddle’s favor if he’s not overfond of him.”
Harry chuckled. “Too true. I won’t deny it’s a tempting target, Flute, but—”
“No, don’t you see, Harry, it’s perfect!” Xena exclaimed, growing excited. “Tonight, while Theo is still safe with Yamini, is the perfect time for the Saint to pull off one last caper. Can’t we? Please?”
For a long moment he regarded her, clearly wishing to refuse. But then his hazel eyes softened and a smile touched his lips. “Very well, as it means so very much to you, my dear. But you are to serve as lookout only, mind! I’ll not have you in harm’s way.” Then, turning to Flute, “Tell us more of this Biddle’s house. Where is it, precisely?”
* * *
Three hours later, Harry still had strong misgivings about allowing Xena to come along as they approached the house near Tottenham Court Road that Flute had described.
From a distance and in the dark, she did look remarkably like a boy in her breeches and overcoat, her hair bundled up under a cap much like Flute’s. But anyone seeing her face under any sort of light would guess the truth at once. She was well armed with a pair of pistols and a short-sword, however, so if she were threatened in any way she should be well able to defend herself—or so he repeatedly told himself.
“Remember,” he whispered, “under no circumstances are you to venture inside. That way, in the unlikely event I should be captured and arrested, no blame can attach to you. I’m sure you’ve no wish to deprive Theo of both his parents in one evening.”
“Of course not,” she said, though the stubborn set of her jaw rather worried him. “You’ve been exceedingly clear as to how limited my role must be.”
“Good.” She’d likely pout for a day or two, but he would far rather that than risk her safety tonight. He had no doubt he could cajole her out of any sullens in short order.
Biddle’s Town house was a goodly-sized one, lending credence to Flute’s—and Sir Barney’s—assertion that the man did a good business as a wine merchant. And it did indeed look vacant, with nary a light showing. Even so, two houses away he bade Xena stop.
“You can watch the back of the house well enough from here. I recall you used to be capable of rather a piercing whistle. Is that still the case?”
She nodded. “So if I see anything suspicious—?”
“Yes, whistle as loudly as you can, then head back the way we came. When you reach Oxford Street, you’ll be able to flag down a hackney to take you back to Grosvenor Street. On no account are you to linger, even if I appear to be in difficulties. I’ve burgled far trickier targets than this and escaped unscathed, so I’ve no doubt I can do the same to
night, especially with a bit of warning.”
“I understand.” She sounded far too docile for his liking, but he could scarcely take her to task for that.
“Very well. Mostly likely I’ll be able to rejoin you here inside half an hour without incident and we can return together to Grosvenor Street. Then tomorrow…we’ll send for Theo?”
She smiled up at him in the dimness of the alleyway. “He’ll like that very much. Do be careful, Harry.” Rising up on her toes, she gave him a swift but very sweet kiss. “Now go.”
Though sorely tempted to pull her to him again, he desisted, mindful of her disguise—not that anyone was in evidence at the moment. Still, there were windows. Turning quickly away, he continued on, through the tiny garden behind Biddle’s house.
On reaching the back door, he peered down the well beside it to the kitchen window. No, no lights there, either. The place truly must be as deserted as Flute claimed. He’d considered asking the lad to come along to keep an eye on Xena but there’d clearly been no need. Just as well, as she would surely have taken issue with such a precaution.
The back door was locked but he’d come equipped with his picks this time and made short work of it. In ten seconds he was inside, the door closed behind him. He paused again to listen and utter silence met his ears. Though certain now the house was empty, he moved down the central hallway with extra caution for fear that if he knocked something over, Xena might hear, worry—and perhaps react.
Examination of the front parlor by the pale light of the street lamps across the way revealed expensive looking objects d’ art adorning mantel, tables and walls. It appeared Mr. Biddle was given to ostentatious display. After dropping several smaller pieces into his sack, Harry crossed the hall to the sumptuously appointed dining room—and the plate closet behind it.
Warming to his work now, he again pulled out his lock-picks, only to find the key was already in the lock and the door ajar. Had those thieves Tig overheard beaten him here after all? Frowning now, he pushed the door open.
“Oi!” came a shout from within. “We got ’im!”
Quick footsteps sounded behind him, then a familiar voice drawled, “Let’s have a light, shall we, blokes? I’d like to take a good look at my prize before we turn him over to the authorities.”
Harry wheeled about, only to be seized from behind by whoever had been lying in ambush in the plate closet, a beefy arm around his neck. In the sudden flare of a tinder box, he saw Sir Barney Phillips standing in the dining room doorway, flanked by two larger men. Phillips, brandishing a small pistol, smirked broadly as one of the others lit a candle and held it aloft.
“You’ve fallen neatly into my trap, Thatcher. When I heard a rumor the Saint of Seven Dials was missing an arm, my suspicion immediately leapt to you. You can’t imagine how gratified I am to learn I was correct. Now, in addition to that most substantial reward—which I will of course share with my compatriots here—I’ll have the added satisfaction of seeing you swinging from a gibbet. Not a bad night’s work, if I say so myself.”
CHAPTER 21
XENA HAD scarcely waited until Harry’s back was turned before softly following him along the narrow alleyway leading to Biddle’s Town house. Apart from how insulting it was to be told to wait such a distance away, she could surely watch and warn him more effectively from a closer vantage point.
She was also quite curious to see how he would gain entry, as the house was presumably well secured against its owner’s lengthy absence—but she hadn’t even reached the railing separating the small yard from the alley when Harry disappeared inside, closing the door behind him.
“Hmph,” she snorted quietly, annoyed and impressed. He clearly hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d claimed to know his business. She must remember to ask him where he’d picked up such skills, for he could scarcely have become so proficient in a mere matter of weeks.
Leaning against the wall separating Biddle’s kitchen garden from that of the next house, she discontentedly settled in to wait. Where was the adventure Harry had promised her?
On that very thought, movement behind a ground floor window near the door caught her eye. Squinting through the darkness, she perceived at least two figures moving inside, perhaps even three. Had Mr. Biddle left someone behind to guard his house after all? What if the man or men had guns?
Her heart beginning to pound, Xena moved away from the wall to creep through the yard to the back door, where she pressed her ear against the cold panel. She was almost certain she heard a faint whisper on the other side. Really anxious for Harry’s safety now, she forced herself to remain where she was while she slowly counted to twenty.
Then, ever so slowly and carefully, she turned the handle and pushed the door just far enough to peer through the crack. Tiptoeing down the hallway ahead, silhouetted by the pale light coming through the fanlight above the front door, were three men, one fairly slight but flanked by two much larger ones. Taking a deep, silent breath to steel her nerves, Xena opened the door far enough to slip inside, then pushed it nearly to behind her in case they glanced back.
Just then, a shout came from up ahead and the three men quickened their pace, no longer bothering to be quiet. Thankful she’d taken the precaution of wearing thin-soled shoes, Xena softly hurried after them, pulling her pistols from the pockets of her coat as she went.
* * *
Harry, meanwhile, glared at Phillips. “Looks like you’ve done a bit of housebreaking yourself, unless ‘Old Biddy,’ as you’ve named him, had a change of heart and gave you a key to his house. Wonder how he’ll like hearing about that?”
As he spoke, he desperately sized up his situation. It seemed hopeless enough, given the two louts on either side of Phillips and the one half-throttling him from behind. He wondered if there were any more. Either way, he had no intention of going quietly. If nothing else, a struggle would give Xena more time to escape.
Phillips chuckled. “I figured out weeks ago which window offered easiest access to this place. Think you I’d stay in a tiny flat in Cheapside while Biddle and m’ mother gad about the Continent, leaving this palace empty? Long as I’m careful, they’ll be none the wiser on their return—and it offered the perfect bait to lure you in. Had my friends here drop news of the place within hearing of that little urchin who’s been helping you—the one who was so obliging as to boast of assisting the one-armed Saint only a few days since.”
Tig, no doubt. Flute had warned him the boy had a tendency to talk too much. Too late for regrets now, however.
Without warning, Harry drove his elbow into the stomach of the man holding him, then immediately crashed the back of his fist into his captor’s nose. Caught off-guard, the man doubled over, then went stumbling backward into the plate closet with a resounding crash. Harry kicked the door shut, turned the key, pocketed it, then set his back against the door, smiling grimly.
“One down. Who’s next? These fellows already know my mettle from when you sent them to rob me of your voucher a few weeks since. Care to try me yourself, Phillips? Or was being knocked down once enough for you?”
Sir Barney moved forward, bringing his pistol to bear, his expression first stunned, then furious. “Surely you jest, Thatcher! One trick move won’t get you out of this. Jim, Bill, hurry and bind him up—and don’t be too gentle.”
“I think not,” came a voice from the hallway. Xena stepped into the dining room, a pistol gleaming in each hand. “I taught you a lesson once, Phillips, and won’t hesitate to do so again—though this one is like to be more lasting.”
Harry didn’t know whether to curse or cheer. Before he could decide, Phillips whirled with an oath to train his pistol on Xena. Equally startled, his confederates turned as well.
“Gorblimey!” one exclaimed. “It’s a woman!”
Immediately taking advantage of their distraction, Harry launched himself at the nearest thug, who’d already come halfway around the dining table to carry out Phillips’s order. Hitting the man square
in the back, he knocked him into a chair, which fell with a clatter.
As he’d hoped, it took Phillips’s attention off Xena. The pistol swung back around and he again brought it to bear on Harry. A shot rang out…and the pistol flew from his grasp. Phillips cried out, wringing his now-empty hand. “You bitch! I’ll—”
Before he could finish, Harry closed the distance and sent a fist crashing into his mouth. “I’ll thank you not to speak to my wife like that, Phillips.”
Recovering from their surprise, the other two men now entered the fray. The one Harry had pushed aimed a vicious kick his way while the other came around the table with a roar, to be stopped by the sight of Xena’s other pistol pointed his way. Meanwhile, Phillips was struggling to get to his feet and two loud thumps sounded from the plate closet door as the trapped man hurled himself against it from inside.
The man nearest Harry swung a wild punch at his head. Harry ducked, caught him behind the knees and sent him crashing onto his back. Snatching up Phillips’s pistol, Harry then moved back to keep the whole room in range.
Xena took two quick steps forward to press her still-loaded pistol into Phillips’s side while Harry aimed his at the man she’d been covering before.
“You witnessed what I did to French soldiers who overran our camp back on the Peninsula,” Xena reminded Phillips when he tried to pull away. “Don’t think I’ll hesitate now.”
“Should have known Thatcher needed an accomplice to act as the Saint of Seven Dials. You can hang, too and I’ll mourn you no more than I did the first time I thought you’d died.” He spat at her.
She laughed airily, not at all as though they might both be facing the gallows. “The Saint of Seven Dials? Harry? I presume you have proof of that?”
“He’s here, ain’t he? That’s proof enough. No one but the Saint would’ve known this house was empty and unguarded just now.”
Following Xena’s cue, Harry forced a chuckle. “No one? I knew, as did most everyone at the Guards’ Club and likely elsewhere. You’ve made no secret of your resentment that your mother’s wealthy husband took her off touring without helping you out of your numerous gaming debts—to include what you owe me, by the bye. Concerned you might attempt to burgle your stepfather’s house in his absence, I bethought me to check on the place.”