She imagined Samuel with his future wife, that well-bred, well-behaved lady who would gladly sit at home with her needlework while Samuel went off to work. For some reason, Esther pictured the lady with dark hair curled into ringlets about a pretty, wholesome face. She’d be patient and soft spoken. Naturally, she’d be obedient. And when Samuel returned at the end of the day, she’d smile at him demurely from her seat in the lovely green chair Esther thought of as her own.
Esther was second-best. She was filler, a stand-in until something better came along, or came back. She wasn’t good enough to keep. She wasn’t worth fighting for. And whatever approval and acceptance she might garner were undeserved, and temporary.
She could and would be replaced at the earliest opportunity.
Cold from the inside out, she shifted closer to Samuel. He grumbled something in his sleep, turned over on his side, and wrapped both arms and one leg around her, dragging her to his chest.
The warmth and scent of him enveloped her, chasing away the chill and fear.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes. This was different. Samuel was different. He wasn’t her father, or mother, or a silly young lad who needed his vanity stroked.
He was his own man. And that man liked her. Not someone she was pretending to be, not a fictional woman created to hide a secret past. He liked her. The former criminal. The knife thrower. The woman who argued with him and irritated him, laughed and danced with him. The woman who hadn’t the foggiest notion how to stitch a sampler and wouldn’t be content to wait at home with needle and thread even if she did.
He liked her just as she was.
Feeling better, she worked her arm under his so she could clasp his back and hold him close.
Devil take his would-be future bride. The useless ninny couldn’t have him.
Earned or not, deserved or not, Samuel was hers. And she was keeping him.
* * *
Esther was not a morning person. Samuel had thought that might be the case, but his suspicions were confirmed when he rose just before dawn and tried to rouse her with a kiss before he left. Half awake, she batted him away like a sleepy, ill-tempered kitten.
Laughter rumbled in his chest. He caught her hands in his own and kissed her softly until her eyes fluttered open. She offered a drowsy smile, mumbled something incoherent, and tugged one of her hands free so she could brush her fingertips along his jaw. Then she fell right back asleep.
Four hours later, Samuel was still fighting back a grin at the memory as he climbed the front steps to his house. He’d managed to keep the smile in check while he’d gone about his business in town, but he gave up the fight the moment he stepped inside and found Esther waiting for him in the parlor.
There she was, sitting in that ridiculous green chair. God she was beautiful. Even in her severe black widow’s weeds, she was perfect.
She glanced up from the book in her hands and blushed as their eyes met from across the room. Ah, he liked that. He could get used to watching Esther color at the memory of a night spent in his arms.
“Good morning, Esther.” He could get used to saying that.
The blush faded, and she twisted her lips in mild irritation. “You went out without me. Again.”
“You were sleeping.”
“I’ve been up for over an hour,” she replied, rising. “And now—”
“And now I’m back,” he cut in and held up the hatbox he’d carried in from the carriage. “With this.”
“Another present?” She softened a little. “That wasn’t necessary.”
A new and unwelcome thought occurred to him. “I intended to purchase this yesterday. I want you to know that. It’s not because we…” He motioned in the general direction of the stairs. “It’s not for… That is…”
Laughing, she rose from her chair. “Duly noted.”
Relieved she’d not mistaken the purpose of his gift, he closed the distance between them and handed her the box. “Strictly speaking, it’s not an appropriate item for a gentleman to gift a lady.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” After a brief inspection of the box, she untied the twine and lifted the lid. She pulled out a small green bonnet he’d purchased at the shop down the street from where Esther had found the badminton set. “Oh, it’s lovely.”
He thought it a bit dark for her coloring, but what did he know of fashion?
“Green with velvet ribbons. That is what you said?” He hated to think he’d made yet another error after the debacle with the rope. “It’s the right one?”
“It is. You remembered.” She laughed a little at her comment. “You always remember. Oh, it’s perfect. Isn’t it perfect? It was made for her, really.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
She turned the bonnet in her hands to study the back. “Lottie’s hair is so silky, it slips out of its pins and the perch hats that are so fashionable, but see how this one comes down a bit farther in the back? It won’t give her nearly as much trouble. And the color will flatter her tremendously. I wish I could wear this shade of green.”
Lottie. The damned bonnet was for Esther’s sister. “I see.”
“Pity I can’t give it to her straightaway. But I don’t want her to think I’m trying to bribe her for forgiveness. I want her to enjoy… Where are you going?”
He was headed for the door. “Shopping.”
“Whatever for? Samuel, stop.” She chased after him and pulled on his arm. “I want to go to speak to the family who employed my father’s old housekeeper. I know it’s unlikely they can help, but—”
They both came to an abrupt stop as a high-pitched scream rent the air.
Samuel recognized it as Sarah’s, coming from the direction of the kitchen.
He spun on his heel, even as he pushed Esther toward the parlor. “Stay in there. Lock the doors.”
She didn’t of course—she followed his dash through the house and down the stairs. He shoved her behind him as they entered the kitchen.
Sarah stood in front of an open door that led to a shallow set of steps into the garden. She held a pair of boots in one hand and struggled to keep hold of the beast’s collar with the other.
“Sarah? What is it?” Samuel demanded. “Are you hurt?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to make such a fuss. Startled, that’s all.” Her cheeks bloomed pink with embarrassment. “I was going outside to clean me boots and…” She jerked her chin at the doorstep. “Just a dead rat, sir.”
As Sarah backed away from the door with the dog, Samuel and Esther stepped closer to investigate the admittedly rather large, but definitely very dead, rodent.
Samuel glanced over his shoulder. “You screamed because of a dead rat?” The girl was a Londoner. This couldn’t possibly be the first one she’d come across.
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I stepped on it a bit. In me bare feet.”
Next to him, Esther gave a little shudder. “Ew.”
“Aye, mum.”
Samuel sighed at the dead rodent, then took a small step back as the stench of death hit him. “The beast’s doing, I presume?”
“I imagine so, sir. Third one in as many days. I don’t know where he’s finding them.”
Esther leaned a little closer, then reared back and threw her hand over her mouth and nose. “Good Lord,” she said through her fingers. “That rat has been dead for a while.”
Sarah nodded in agreement. “I think he hides them for a bit first. Then leaves ’em by the kitchen door for me to find.” She slanted the dog a look. “You’re worse’n me grannie’s cat, you are.”
The beast thumped his massive tail against the floor.
Ignoring the stench, Samuel studied the dead animal. No bite marks were discernible. The beast must have simply grabbed hold once and snapped its neck with a good shake. It made sense that
the dog was the culprit, and yet…
He stepped over the rat and looked up into the garden. He’d never had problems with rats before. There’d never been any sign of them in the garden. And the signs would not have gone unnoticed in such a small space.
It was possible that a few rodents had begun working their way in from the alleyway behind the house. The garden was walled, but there was a small wooden gate in the corner. They could be digging their way under it.
It was possible. But the explanation felt wrong somehow. He preferred logic over gut feelings, but he wasn’t one to discount instinct out of hand. It had served him well a time or two in the past.
“Stay here,” he ordered Sarah and Esther.
He turned the problem over in his mind while he disposed of the rat himself. He considered all the possibilities, all the variables, and the nagging instinct that something was off.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, he’d made up his mind.
“You’ll stay inside whilst I’m out,” he told the women. “All of you. Everyone in the house. The beast can be put out in the garden when necessary, but I want you to keep an eye on him from the windows upstairs. Keep the doors locked at all times.”
His orders issued, he strode from the room.
He wasn’t particularly surprised when Esther followed him, demanding an explanation. He was a little surprised Sarah followed suit.
“Sir? I don’t understand.”
“It’s only a rat, Samuel. Where are you going?”
He flicked a glance over his shoulder. “I said stay inside.”
The two women began talking at once, trailing him through the house. “But the beast needs his walk,” Sarah insisted, “and Mrs. Lanchor needs flour and eggs—”
“I stayed inside yesterday,” Esther reminded him. “If you think for one moment—”
“—and I promised Mary she could come to the market with me. And Tom—”
“—that I’ll sit about twiddling my thumbs for another, you are woefully—”
“—wants to bring a basket to his mum.”
“—woefully mistaken.”
He stopped in the foyer, turned, and gave each of them a look designed to quell the struggles of violent, uncooperative criminals.
“Inside,” he bit off. “All of you. Until I return. Am I understood?”
Sarah snapped her mouth shut, then opened it again for a very quick, “Yes, sir.”
Esther planted her hands on her hips. “Not the least bit.”
He counted to five for patience. “Sarah, inform Mrs. Lanchor of my instructions.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” Eyes wide, she bobbed a quick curtsey and dashed away.
Esther watched her go, then gave him a withering look. “Was it absolutely necessary to scare the girl?”
“To keep her safe? Yes.”
She dropped her hands, blond brows drawing together. “I don’t understand. It’s a rat.”
“It’s three rats in three days.”
“You have a dog—”
“I’ve had a dog for nearly three weeks. And he only now begins hunting rodents and leaving them on the doorstep?”
He saw the first flash of misgiving cross her features. “It must be a new habit.”
“One he adopted just days after you’re recognized in Spitalfields and after we were attacked in the park?”
“You think someone left them there?”
“I’ll not take chances.” Stepping close, he cupped her face in his hands. “Not with you.” He leaned down and gave her a soft kiss. “Stay inside, Esther. Promise me.”
“Where are you going?”
“To check on a few things.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You can’t. I need to speak with Inspector Jeffries.” There weren’t many in Scotland Yard who knew the Walker children even existed. But most of those who did believed the family had left the country nine years ago. “You know he can’t see you. Besides, I need you to look after the staff. Where are your daggers?”
She looked a little surprised at the question. “You want me to protect your staff?”
“If it comes to it, yes.” And he expected his staff to watch over her in return. As long as they all stayed inside and stayed together, however, the danger would remain limited. “Do you have them on you?”
“Yes, but it’s just the one, remember?”
One wasn’t good enough. Twelve wouldn’t be good enough as far as he was concerned. “Do you know how to shoot?” He waited for her nod. “Then have Mrs. Lanchor show you where the rifles are kept. Make certain she passes them out to the footmen as well.”
Her eyes went wide. “Do you want us to march about your house like soldiers on patrol?”
“No, just stay alert.” He had fine servants, but he’d wager Esther would spot someone tampering with a door or window before any of them. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
“You know this is likely for nothing.” She pointed in the general direction of the kitchen. “Harry killed that rat.”
“Goliath,” he corrected and felt a bit of anxiety slip away when her lips twitched. “And you’re right. It is likely nothing. Humor me, anyway. Keep your eyes open and your dagger ready. And promise you’ll stay inside until I return.”
She pressed her lips together in obvious annoyance. “Oh, very well. I promise.”
Fifteen
“What do you want with my boy?” Mr. Phineas Brown squinted at Samuel over the rim of his mug. Though the tavern light was dim, and the air hazy with smoke, Samuel could see the man’s eyes were both brimming with hatred and glazed with copious amounts of ale.
Standing next to the table, Samuel took care to keep his voice calm and even. “I just want to ask him a few questions.”
Mr. Brown slammed his tankard on the table. “One mistake. The boy made one mistake and he paid the price. Now any nob in London turns up without his purse, and you bastards come looking for him. You won’t give him a moment’s peace.” His fingers tightened on the mug until his knuckles turned white. “Rabid dogs, that’s what you are. Someone ought to put the lot of you down.”
Though Mr. Brown was clearly hoping to be that someone, Samuel wasn’t particularly worried about him. The man was too drunk to pose a threat.
The men sharing his table, however, were another matter. Those two seemed sober enough.
A tall, reedy man with thick muttonchop sideburns looked to the ceiling with a resigned sigh. Samuel guessed this wasn’t the first time Mr. Brown had overindulged and caused a scene. The stout man sitting next to him didn’t seem surprised either, but he did look pleased. His fat lips were curled in a grim smile. He was every bit as eager for a fight as Mr. Brown.
Samuel was a little tempted to oblige the both of them. It had taken him the entire day and nearly four pounds in bribes to track down the Brown family.
Quickly as I can had turned into possibly before the end of the night.
That hadn’t been his aim. He’d met with Jeffries to discuss the attack in the park, and to learn if there had been any recent reports of pranks involving rats in Belgravia or the surrounding neighborhoods. Jeffries had been unable to help with either matter. But he did have the name of a new informant in Whitechapel who might know something about the Phineas Brown Samuel had been asking after. That informant had pointed Samuel in the direction of another man in another dangerous area of the city. And that man had sent Samuel off in search of yet another man. On and on it had gone, until Samuel had finally learned that Phineas Brown could be found at the White Loom Tavern every evening.
It had taken Samuel all damned day to learn the young man’s whereabouts, but when he’d asked one of the barmaids for the boy, he’d been pointed in the direction of Mr. Phineas Brown, the elder.
He was running out of
time and patience. A good brawl might be just what he needed to dull his mounting frustration. But he didn’t like the look of the eager friend. One armed man with a fuse, he thought. That’s all it took.
“I’m not the police,” he said, subtly shifting to widen his stance. “I just want to know where your son was last Wednesday evening.”
“If you ain’t police, then I don’t have to talk to you, do I?” Mr. Brown shoved back his chair and took a few stumbling steps forward. “Bugger you.”
The tall man swiped a grab for his drunk friend, but missed. “Don’t be an idiot, Phineas. Sit down.”
Samuel held up a hand. “I only want a word, Mr. Brown. There’s no need—”
“I gave you two words.” He retracted his arm, then swung out in a loose, drunken arc. “Bugger you.”
Samuel took a step back, letting Mr. Brown’s fist fly harmlessly by. He caught the back of the man’s arm as it sailed past and gave it a quick yank to the side. Under normal circumstances, the tug would do little but send a man stumbling a couple of feet, but the drunken Mr. Brown stumbled four, then tripped, then caught the edge of a chair and crashed to the ground.
Damn it.
The tall man with the muttonchops set down his ale and pushed back from the table with another beleaguered sigh. “Hell. Now you’ve done it.”
Indeed he had.
The eager friend launched himself from his chair with a wild cry and swung his mug at Samuel’s head. Samuel blocked the blow, threw an elbow into the man’s nose, then grabbed him by the shirtfront and tossed him onto the table.
The tall man used the moment of distraction to charge, but Samuel was faster, and he had a longer reach. He swung once, but not nearly as hard as he might. The man was only defending his friends, and reluctantly at that. Still, the blow was sufficient to knock the man to the ground, where he had the good sense to remain.
His eager friend was not as prudent. He pushed off from the table and rushed again, ramming a shoulder into Samuel’s chest in an attempt to shove him off-balance. When Samuel didn’t budge, he leaped back and tried again. Then again. Then finally he put his head down, let out a roar of anger, and charged like a bull. He caught Samuel around the waist, but he lacked both the momentum and the weight to make an impact.
A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) Page 21