“I already told you. A known pickpocket sold Captain Pryce a watch that I overheard the boy saying he stole.”
“And the name of this pickpocket? We’ll bring him in for questioning.”
Mr. Fitch regarded her with great interest. She swallowed. “I-I can’t say.”
“You mean you don’t know it?”
Unwilling to lie, she shrugged and hoped Mr. Hornbuckle would leave it at that.
“All right then, you have a suspected pickpocket—”
“A known pickpocket,” she corrected.
He scowled at her over the top of his spectacles. “He cannot be known if we do not know his name, can he? Now then, what else?”
She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Come, come,” he said, snapping those cursed fingers of his again, “what other evidence have you? What other stolen goods have you witnessed being bought? Or sold?”
She stuck out her chin. “It’s not as if I stood in his shop and watched what went on. That’s what your police officer is supposed to do during his investigation, isn’t he?”
Mr. Fitch’s tiny shake of his head warned her that she’d strayed into a sticky area, but by then it was too late.
Mr. Hornbuckle puffed himself up like a frog preparing to belch. “Lady Clara, with all due respect, a great many individuals enter this office bearing evidence—hard evidence, mind you—of intrigues and thievery and general skullduggery. We scarcely have the time or officers to investigate all of those. We certainly can’t run after every rumor that blows this way and that. When you have hard evidence, come back and we’ll speak again.” He rose officiously and gestured to the door. “Good day, my lady.”
She rose, too, outraged by the curt dismissal. “But…but…this man works for the Specter!”
Mr. Fitch blinked. Mr. Hornbuckle scowled. Then they both exchanged glances. Apparently, she didn’t need to clarify who the Specter was.
“Are you sure?” the magistrate snapped. “How do you know?”
“Well, he said—” She broke off, realizing that to explain herself she’d have to explain her own connection to Morgan, which would hardly help Johnny. “I-I heard it from several individuals. They said Captain Pryce worked for the Specter. Or at least was thinking of doing so.”
“That’s two separate things entirely,” Mr. Hornbuckle said. “And rumor is hardly proof of anything.”
“All the same, guv’nor,” Mr. Fitch put in, “I don’t mind looking into it. Might be sumpthing to it, y’know.” When Mr. Hornbuckle frowned at him, Fitch added, “If he’s with the Specter, sir, shouldn’t we investigate?”
“I’ll be the one to say what we investigate, Fitch, and I’m not about to waste a police officer on rumor and speculation.”
“You mean, you refuse to do anything?” she said incredulously.
“I didn’t say that, madam,” the magistrate retorted. “In light of your information—such as it is—I’ll consult with my superior and perhaps, if he agrees, we will—”
“Who is your superior, sir?” she demanded, not ready to leave the matter with a man so unwilling to give it weight.
He pursed his lips in a decidedly toadlike manner. “I am under the auspices of the Home Office.”
“And to whom do you report?”
He looked as if he might not answer, but even Mr. Hornbuckle wasn’t so brazen as to refuse to answer a lady of rank. “Lord Ravenswood, madam.”
“Thank you. Then I shall speak to Lord Ravenswood myself.” Turning on her heel, she started out of the room.
“He will only tell you the same thing!” Mr. Hornbuckle called after her. “You must have evidence, my lady, evidence!”
“I should like to hear it from him myself,” she called back, not even bothering to take her leave as she stalked through the outer offices. All she wanted was an investigation, for heaven’s sake. And the magistrate acted as if it were a great imposition, instead of his civic duty as an officer of the law.
Very well, she would go to his superior. She knew Lord Ravenswood from social occasions, and he seemed an honorable sort. Surely he would make the magistrate listen and send out an officer to investigate. She’d even take Lucy’s Mr. Fitch if that was all she could get.
She was half a block away from the Lambeth Street Office when a voice called out, “Wait, m’lady!”
Halting, she turned around to find the spindly-legged Mr. Fitch galloping after her. He pulled up short, breathing much harder than ought to be necessary for a man of his age. “I want…to speak…to you,” he gasped out.
“About what?”
He breathed heavily a moment longer, then straightened, tugging at his cravat nervously. “I’m wondering if…that is…I suspect that the pickpocket your ladyship spoke of is related to a certain female acquaintance of mine.”
“Perhaps,” she hedged, curious to see how much he would reveal.
“I hear that this particular pickpocket is in residence at the alleged fence’s shop.”
Her lips tightened. Word certainly got around fast. “If we’re speaking of the same individual, then yes, I believe that is the case.”
“Well, then, m’lady…” He paused, hunching his shoulders. “I was wondering if your ladyship might know why the boy has associated himself with Cap’n Pryce.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And I’m wondering why you’re so interested in your acquaintance’s relative, sir.”
Mr. Fitch shrugged. “I’m speaking of his sister, as I s’pose you know. I look out for her from time to time. But I can’t have nobody, especially Mr. Hornbuckle, thinking that I associate with criminals. Especially if you’re right about this Pryce fellow.”
Oh, dear, what should she tell him? She didn’t want to ruin Lucy’s chances for a better life, but Mr. Fitch certainly didn’t seem the right sort of man for Lucy. “It’s my understanding that the pickpocket resides there as a legitimate employee of Captain Pryce. And not to…er…steal for him.” Or so Morgan said. She still didn’t know whether to believe him.
A spark of speculation flickered in the man’s gaze, but it was gone so fast that she might have imagined it. “Well, then, if you’re right, that’s not so bad, is it?”
“No, not so bad at all.”
He bobbed his head. “Thank you, m’lady.” Then he turned and trundled back to the police office.
She watched him go. How on earth had that fellow ever become a police officer? Except for a moment there, he hadn’t struck her as being particularly bright and certainly not very brave. He’d barely questioned the magistrate’s decision. He’d been more concerned about protecting his reputation than his “female acquaintance’s” brother.
“You could do much better, Lucy,” she said to the air.
But that wasn’t her problem, she told herself as she headed up the street. Right now, her main concern was how to stop Morgan. Which meant she’d be paying a visit to the Home Office this afternoon.
The next morning, Morgan was in the alley showing Samuel how to hide his knife so no one would find it when Johnny came out through the open side door, towing an older boy. “This fellow says he’s got to talk to you, Cap’n.”
Morgan recognized Ravenswood’s lackey at once. “Thanks, Johnny.” When the lad stood there as if waiting to hear all the particulars, Morgan scowled at him and said pointedly, “Didn’t I teach you better than to leave the shop unattended?”
With a mumbled oath, Johnny returned to the shop, dragging his feet every step. Morgan waited until he was sure the curious boy was out of hearing, then excused himself to Samuel and pulled his visitor around the corner.
“Sorry, Bill, but you’ll have to come back. It’s barely been a week, and I forgot all about the report.”
“I ain’t here for that, sir. Our mutual friend says he must speak to you. Tonight, at Lord Merrington’s ball. Our friend is attending, and he wants you there, too.”
A ball? “Can’t he meet me anywhere more private?”
&nb
sp; “He don’t have time. He said to remind you that nobody at the ball would know you from this sphere.”
Except Lady Clara. No, that wasn’t probable. Ravenswood had already said she rarely attended social events, except to solicit funds. Merrington’s ball wouldn’t be the best place for that—it was a known marriage mart. Plus which, Ravenswood said she avoided those anyway, so he ought to be safe.
“Shall I tell his lordship that you’ll be there?” Bill asked.
Morgan still hesitated. Tonight it would be a week since his encounter with the Specter. The man would want his answer. Then again, it might be better not to be here when the Specter showed up. The bastard might get angry enough to make a mistake. And it wouldn’t do for Morgan to look too eager.
“Yes, I’ll be there. I’ll give him my report then, too.” When Bill started to leave, Morgan stayed him. “Did he say what this is about?”
“Only that complications had arisen requiring your attention.”
That was intriguing. “Thanks, Bill.”
After the lad left, Morgan returned to the alley, deep in thought. He’d need to dress at his brother’s town house, his only real home in London. He kept no clothing appropriate for a ball here. And there was Johnny to consider. He dared not leave the boy alone when the Specter might show up.
He smiled. Funny how automatic it had become to consider Johnny in every situation. In only three days, the boy’s education had become as important to his life as Samuel’s morning lessons and the business of being a fence. In truth, Morgan had come to realize why Clara was so concerned for the lad. Johnny had potential. He had a sharp mind, a sturdy and quick body, and, when he wasn’t posturing and pretending not to care about anything, an eager disposition. With the right influences, Johnny might actually succeed in the navy.
If he could curb his tendency to flout authority.
Samuel looked up as he came down the alley. “Everything all right, Cap’n?”
“Yes.” Morgan studied Samuel a moment. “I need a favor from you.”
“I’ll do my best, sir. But if it concerns m’lady—”
“No. It concerns Johnny. I have to be out this evening, and I want him looked after in the interim. Is there anywhere you could bring him to stay just for tonight?”
Samuel screwed up his face in thought. “I s’pose he could sleep in the Stanbourne servant quarters. I could keep him with me until late, then sneak him in after all the servants is asleep. S’long as it’s just for one night—”
“That’s all—one night. You can bring him back here early tomorrow morning.”
“If you’re worried he might steal from you while you’re gone, I don’t think—”
“It’s not that. I merely don’t want him here alone.”
“Why not?” came a peevish voice behind him.
Morgan turned, then groaned to find Johnny in the doorway, looking raw and vulnerable. “You’re supposed to be minding the shop,” Morgan said.
“I been doing good, ain’t I?” Johnny said plaintively. “I been careful and working hard and—”
“It’s got naught to do with you, my boy. You’ve been a very loyal and trustworthy assistant, I assure you.”
Samuel cleared his throat. “I could stay here with him if you want.”
“No!” Morgan said sharply. The last thing he needed was Samuel and Johnny both tangling with the Specter. “I don’t want either of you here tonight. Understood?”
When they hung their heads, he rolled his eyes. This was what came of being responsible for civilians. They didn’t follow orders, and they got their feelings hurt when you didn’t explain anything. It was damned annoying.
“You’ll have to trust me on this. I have my reasons.” He softened his tone. “I need you both to do this for me. It’s important.” Taking out a guinea, he flipped it to Johnny, whose eyes went round as he caught it in the air. “The two of you go out and enjoy yourselves. See a cockfight or a prizefight or something. Have a good meal and some ale. Just stay away from here until tomorrow morning, all right?”
With a nod, they both brightened, and he hid a smile. Amazing what a guinea would do to smooth over a pickpocket’s objections.
The rest of the day couldn’t pass quickly enough for Morgan, who’d grown tense wondering what “complications” had worried Ravenswood so much. When he sent Samuel and Johnny off together in the early evening and closed up shop, he wasted no time heading for his brother’s town house.
He realized something was wrong, however, the moment he entered the town house and the butler called him “my lord,” blinked, and then corrected himself. The only time Sebastian’s servants confused the two twins was when both were in town.
Confound it all to hell.
“Morgan, is that you?” his sister-in-law cried as she hurried out of the drawing room. Juliet broke into a smile when she spotted him. “It is you! Oh, but it’s good to see you. Sebastian was terribly disappointed when we arrived yesterday to find that you weren’t in residence.”
She greeted him with a hug, then belatedly noticed his scruffy attire. Holding him at arm’s length, she surveyed him carefully. “Why are you dressed like that? For goodness’ sake, you look like a vagrant.”
“I…um…well…”
Her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been getting into trouble again, have you? The terms of our wager—”
“I remember the terms of our wager, never fear.” He just hadn’t been adhering to them, that’s all. He cast her a fond smile. “My grubby clothing has naught to do with our wager.” Not as far as he was concerned, anyway.
“Apparently, Morgan’s been doing charitable work at the Home for the Reformation of Pickpockets,” explained another voice as familiar to Morgan as his own. Sebastian strode into the foyer, eyeing his brother with a mixture of affection and suspicion. “Or so Ravenswood claims.”
“You spoke to Ravenswood?” Morgan asked. Was this the complication that alarmed Ravenswood? It didn’t seem likely. Ravenswood didn’t care one whit if Sebastian knew what Morgan was up to.
“I saw your friend this morning,” Sebastian remarked. “When you didn’t come home last night and the servants admitted you hadn’t been sleeping here, I thought he might know why.”
Morgan tried to determine from Sebastian’s expression whether Ravenswood had revealed Morgan’s current undertaking, but he couldn’t tell. He truly hated lying to his brother, but the alternative would put him on the outs with both Sebastian and his sweet wife, which Morgan didn’t relish.
So he merely kept evading. “Actually, I’ve been sleeping in Spitalfields. Lady Clara, who runs the Home, has been having trouble with the local populace, and I was willing to offer my presence for her protection.” Every word of it was true, even if they wouldn’t take it the way he meant it.
“Oh, Morgan, that’s wonderfully kind of you!” Juliet said so effusively that he felt guilty. “To sleep at the Home when you could have a nice bed here—”
“Yes, very kind,” Sebastian put in, his eyebrows arching high. “And so noble, too.”
Juliet babbled on. “I suppose you mean Lady Clara Stanbourne, do you? I met her during my coming out, but she doesn’t go much into society, does she?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe I’ve met her,” Sebastian put in.
“Judging from the fact that she didn’t confuse me with you when we first met,” Morgan said dryly, “I’d say that you haven’t.”
“Of course you haven’t, dearest,” Juliet chimed in. “You go into society as rarely as she. How on earth would the two of you meet?” She shot Morgan a sly glance. “Tell me, is Lady Clara still…unmarried?”
He knew that look. “Don’t get any ideas, Lady Matchmaker. I’m helping her, that’s all. So stop envisioning chapels and wedding gowns right this minute.”
“I was merely asking—”
“I know what you were asking, ma petite, but it’s not going to happen.”
Without warning
, an image flashed into his mind, of Clara gliding up an aisle, sheathed in white and crowned with a halo of apple blossoms. On her wedding night, she’d be swathed in the filmiest of muslins to tease her husband with the curves he’d soon be free to fondle to his heart’s content—
As his pulse began to pound furiously, he shook off the thought. Damn Juliet and her notions. Time to change the subject. “Is there any food in this place? I’ve not eaten since breakfast, and I’m starved.”
Half an hour later, they sat in the kitchen, Sebastian and Juliet watching him as he devoured a plate of cold roast beef and pickles and washed it down with small beer.
“So what is it you do at the Home?” Sebastian asked.
Sacrebleu. He couldn’t answer that without lying. Morgan concentrated on his food. “I teach the boys a few sailor’s skills—how to tie knots, read a compass…that sort of thing.” He taught one boy those things, after all.
“And Lady Clara doesn’t mind your sleeping on the premises?”
“She doesn’t stay there at night, you know. The housekeeper does.”
“Oh.” Juliet looked disappointed. “Do you have to go back tonight?”
“Actually, no. I’m going to Merrington’s ball.”
“Wonderful!” Juliet exclaimed. “So are we! Sebastian didn’t want to attend—you know how he hates such affairs—but I’m dying to dance, so I’m making him take me.”
Morgan stifled a groan. They would all be there together then. Just what he needed—Juliet wondering why he was going off to speak in private with Ravenswood. Come to think of it, the arse had probably set up the meeting for tonight purposely after talking to Sebastian yesterday. No doubt Sebastian had mentioned the ball.
He glanced to his brother, whose gaze looked thoughtful.
“You know,” Sebastian said, “you could accompany Juliet, and then I wouldn’t have to. If you’re going there anyway—”
“Oh, no, Mr. I’d-Rather-Be-Home,” Juliet interrupted. “When I said I wanted to dance, I meant with you.” She cast Morgan an apologetic smile. “No offense, you understand.”
Dance of Seduction Page 14