Samuel stood his ground.
It would have been easy for him to bring his knee up into the man’s gut, but he didn’t have the heart for it. These men weren’t thugs or fighters by trade.
They were just idiots.
Besides, what satisfaction he lost in forgoing a proper fight, he gained in seeing his attacker finally give up and jump back to goggle at Samuel with baffled fury. “You’re a bloody mountain.”
Samuel shrugged. “Maybe you’d like to take a run-up.” He flexed his fist and gave the man a second to imagine the damage it could do to a man running toward it full-tilt. “Or maybe you’d like to take your seat.”
The man ran the back of his hand under his bleeding nose. He studied the blood on his fingers a moment, then studied Samuel’s fist. He took his seat.
Several feet away, Mr. Brown was still struggling to regain his feet. Samuel grabbed him by the back of his collar and shoved him into an empty chair.
“Where is your boy?”
“I ain’t tell—”
A third voice chimed in. “Leave him alone.”
Samuel looked over his shoulder and studied the young newcomer standing in the open door to the kitchen. Blond hair, slight of build, narrow face. “Are you Phineas Brown?”
The boy tipped his chin up even as he nervously wiped his hands over his apron. “I am.”
Son of a bitch. He was the wrong man. “You’re not who I’m looking for.” Releasing Mr. Brown, he pulled out the sketch Esther had made and held it up. “Do you recognize this man?”
Phineas crossed the room cautiously, then frowned at the sketch. “Looks a bit like me.”
“It’s not you.” He shoved the sketch back in his pocket, then shoved Mr. Brown back into his chair before he toppled to the floor. “Get your father home. Put him to bed.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode for the door.
Outside, he cleared the smoke and sour scent of spilled ale from his lungs with the marginally cleaner air of Whitechapel.
Bloody hell, he’d needed Phineas Brown to be the right man.
Esther was set on going to Paddington station tomorrow. Only an early capture of the mystery man would put the idea out of her head. There was still a chance Samuel might find the right man in the few hours he’d have to search tomorrow, but he wasn’t counting on it.
That left him with only two possible plans of action. Persuasion or force.
He absently slipped his hand into his pocket to touch the jeweler’s box he’d picked up between his visits to Scotland Yard and Whitechapel.
He’d try persuasion first.
Plan in place, he returned to his town house and was greeted by Esther almost immediately upon his entrance.
“Where the devil have you been?” she demanded.
This was, perhaps, not the homecoming he’d hoped for, but it wasn’t far from what he’d expected.
At least he’d found her waiting in the parlor, sitting in her little green chair, quite like he’d envisioned. The scowl marring her pretty features, however, was not from his daydreams.
He removed his gloves as he stepped into the room. “I—”
“Quickly as you can? Twelve hours is quickly as you can?”
Technically, yes. He’d finished the job and returned as quickly as he could. Noting this, however, was probably not the wisest course of action. “I was delayed.”
“Were you really?” she marveled. “I vow, I had not noticed.”
“Esther—”
“Where did you go?” she snapped.
“I spent the day chasing down informants,” he replied and crossed the room to his own seat.
“I could have helped.”
“No, not with this.” He held up a hand. “I swear, Esther, not with this. The men I met with today would have refused to speak a word in your presence. You would have spent the day sitting in the carriage.” In bloody Whitechapel. “The night ended in a tavern brawl.” He lifted a brow. “How well can you aim your blades with your veil down?”
“Quite well. I practiced,” she replied, but her voice now lacked the sharpest edge of anger. She leaned toward him. “Were you injured?”
“No.” And since the possibility of bodily harm seemed to soften her, he was a little sorry now that he’d blocked every blow. “Shoved about a bit.” Or very nearly.
Her eyes tracked from his head to his feet, taking careful inventory. Apparently satisfied he wasn’t bleeding anywhere, she sat back again with a huff. “I did not come to London to sit in your carriage or guard your parlor. I’ll accept that I could not have accompanied you today, but you shouldn’t have made me promise to stay here until you returned unless you were certain you would be back at a reasonable hour.” She gestured at the front door. “I could have been out searching on my own. I’ve wasted another day.”
“It wasn’t wasted. You were needed here. But if the lost time bothers you, stay an extra day to make up for it.”
Once the immediate danger to her was eliminated, there was no reason she couldn’t spend an additional day, or even two, in London. Hell, she could stay another week, now that he thought about it. Renderwell and her sister wouldn’t be back for another fortnight.
She looked genuinely surprised by his comment. “That’s not a suggestion I expected from you.”
“Why not?” Pleased with this new idea, he rose from his chair and took her hands to draw her to her feet. “I’m not exactly eager to be rid of you.”
“Neither were you eager to find me here in the first place.”
“That was before,” he said and slipped his arms around her waist and breathed in the clean scent of her.
She didn’t return the embrace. Instead, she placed the palms of her hands against his chest and tilted her head at him, her gaze speculative. “Before you liked me?”
“No.” He dipped his head for a quick kiss. She tasted like tea liberally sweetened, and for one fleeting second, he considered putting off the discussion about Paddington station until tomorrow. “Before you liked me.”
Before he’d realized he didn’t want to spend a day without her. Before he’d realized he would do whatever it took to make her happy.
Before he realized he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.
Her mouth curved in begrudging amusement. “Were you looking for the young man from the station? Or the mysterious gifter of dead rodents?”
“I suspect they are one and the same.”
She relaxed a little in his hold but still wouldn’t put her arms around him. “If he knows I am here, then why would he bother meeting me at the station?”
“Because he imagines you’ll be alone.” Only she wasn’t going to be alone. With any luck, she wasn’t going to be there at all. “Esther…” He released her reluctantly and produced a small box from his pocket. To cover a sudden and inexplicable case of nerves, he shoved it at her with less finesse than he intended. “Here.”
Esther accepted it but looked somewhat less excited than she had with the other gifts.
Still angry, he thought. And she was only going to get angrier.
Lifting the velvet lid, she revealed the sapphire pendant necklace he’d purchased between his visits to Scotland Yard and Whitechapel.
She ran her finger over the deep blue gem and finely wrought gold chain. “It’s beautiful, Samuel. It is. But you could have just said you were sorry.”
He hadn’t really thought of it as an apology. “To be honest, I was hoping it might put you in an agreeable frame of mind.”
“And why do you need me to be agreeable?” she inquired, slipping the necklace from its box and lifting it to her neck.
Anything to keep her safe, he reminded himself. “Esther, I’m sorry. You cannot go to Paddington station tomorrow.”
* * *
Esther paused briefly with her hands behind her neck, then lowered her arms, the necklace still in her fingers. When she’d accepted it, she’d also accepted the fact that it was part of an apology. It wasn’t the sort of apology she wanted. It certainly didn’t make up for having been left to wait all day, but she’d been willing to consider the necklace as a kind of peace offering. But now… It didn’t feel like a gift. It felt like manipulation. She carefully laid the necklace back in its velvet lined box. “That is not your decision to make.”
He scowled at the box as she set it aside on the chair. “What are you doing?”
“I am declining the necklace, thank you.”
“Why?”
“Because you bought it to ensure my cooperation,” she replied calmly, “and I am not going to cooperate. You shouldn’t have to pay for something you’ll not receive. You… No, I’ll not take it,” she insisted when he retrieved the box and tried to hand it to her again.
“It’s not a bribe.” He took her hand and pressed the box into her palm. “I bought it because it suits you, and I hoped it might please you.”
“You thought to gain my compliance.” She put the gift right back on the chair. “I am not a twit to be distracted with a pretty bauble, Samuel.”
“I don’t think you’re…” He scowled at the box again, then dismissed it with an impatient gesture of his hand. “Fine. Don’t accept the necklace, if it displeases you. It changes nothing. I know you want to outwit the man at the station, Esther. God knows, you’re capable of it, but I am asking you to let me do it. I have the experience, the training—”
“This isn’t a matter of tracking and capturing someone,” she cut in. “All I want is to meet with him.”
“Meet with a potentially dangerous criminal.”
“Well, I have some experience with that, haven’t I?”
He sucked in a breath as if to argue, then snapped his mouth shut, effectively ceding the point.
“I can do this, Samuel.”
“How?” he demanded. “What, exactly, do you intend to say to this man?”
She calmly brushed her hands down her skirts, determined to remain composed in the face of his mounting temper. “As I see it, I’ve three options. First, I could meet him as myself and ask him what he wants. If it’s ten pence, or even ten pounds, he’s after, I’ll pay it and inform him that if he wishes to collect more in the future, he’ll need to follow me out of the country to obtain it.”
“And if he wants more on the spot?”
“That brings us to the second option. You apprehend him for blackmail and turn him over to the police.” If the young man thought to threaten the Walkers, he could lament his error in prison. “We can tell the authorities my visit to England is temporary.”
“And the third option?”
She sucked in the corner of her lip, hesitant to share an idea she knew would not impress him. “I considered pretending to be someone else. I might convince him that he is mistaken in my identity.”
He looked at her like she’d spouted complete gibberish. “Why the devil would another woman agree to meet him at the station?”
“The Walker daughters can’t be the only women in London with secrets to keep. I might be Mrs. Winslow, hiding from my brute of a husband and willing to pay to keep my existence in London a secret.”
“And you just happen to resemble another woman he’s looking for? For God’s sake, no one would believe such a preposterous coincidence.”
The hint of ridicule in his voice set her teeth on edge. “He has asked for ten pence. How astute do you imagine him to be?” She planted her hands on her hips. “And don’t speak to me as if I’m a fool. I know the third option is flawed. That’s why it’s the third option. And it is no less preposterous than the idea that this young man recognized me in a shop after so great a time. He can’t be more than sixteen, which means he could not have been more than seven years of age the last time I was in London. How well could he possibly remember me? Do you really think a seven-year-old who caught a glimpse of me nine years ago would recognize me in the few minutes I lifted my veil?”
Clearly aggravated, Samuel dragged a hand down his face. “You think he is mistaken.”
“He might very well be. But if he is not, it is because someone has described me to him or…”
“Or there is a picture of you somewhere,” he finished for her.
“Father didn’t allow portraits.” There were no photographs of the Walker children and, to the best of her knowledge, the only sketch of her in existence was in one of her father’s old journals, safely locked away in Derbyshire.
“People can sketch from memory,” Samuel reminded her. “You worked with your father. People saw you.”
“Yes, I know.” Will had never introduced her as his daughter, but it was likely that some people guessed or suspected the truth. “If this man has a sketch of me, I need to know it. We need to find it.”
“I can find it,” Samuel pressed. “I can go to Paddington station and bring the man out. Let me—”
She cut him off with a shake of her head. “He is unlikely to show himself to you. He is expecting me.”
“Then disappoint him,” he snapped, his agitation all but palpable now. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But only for me?”
“For any number of people. Including you.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Damn it, especially you.”
Especially her? Insult warred with disbelief. When she managed to speak again, it was through a jaw clenched tight with anger. “I am clever. I am quick. And I am capable of defending myself from one man in a crowded railway station.” One man in broad daylight, for pity’s sake. Not a bloodthirsty pack of murderers in a dark alley. “The only reason, the only reason, you’ll not agree to my going is because I am a woman.”
“That is not… We don’t know there will only be one. We don’t know anything about this man, what he knows, or what he has planned. And you’re not just any woman,” he bit off. “You’re…important. You’re…” He made a sound that was half snarl, half-frustrated groan as he clearly struggled to find the words he wanted. He swore viciously, then spun about to stalk to the window and back again. When he stood before her once more, his features were hard as stone, and his voice was lowered with barely restrained fury. “What sort of man would allow his woman to put herself in danger whilst he hides away?”
Esther took a steadying breath in an attempt to rein in her anger. It mostly failed.
Allow his woman, indeed.
“The sort of man who does not mistake his woman for his child,” she replied in the coolest tone she could manage. “Allow me to be perfectly clear, Samuel, as you appear to have trouble grasping the concept. You do not allow me anything. I make my own choices. I choose my own actions.”
“Your own mistakes.”
“Those as well. And when I am in error, I will take responsibility for the consequences.”
“Is that what this is about?” he demanded, throwing an arm up. “Your quest for atonement? This man isn’t your father, and you cannot make up for one mistake by throwing yourself into another.”
“It is not a mistake!”
He dragged his hand through his hair again and looked for a moment as if he might stalk to the window and back again as well, but he stepped closer instead, looking over her like a wrathful bear. “Do you honestly not realize how selfish you are being? Can you not trouble yourself with one thought for the people who care about what might happen to you? Who worry about you?”
It was an accusation, not a question, and it infuriated her. “Oh, you hypocrite. You’ve been a soldier and a police officer and now you are here, telling me you should go to Paddington station and meet this man alone whilst I wait here and worry. But that’s not the least bit selfish, is it?”
“I was a police officer when you
met me,” he returned, “and I have been a private investigator for nine years. You knew what you were taking on before any of this began.”
“I was Will Walker’s daughter when you met me,” she shot back. “You knew what you were taking on.”
“I thought you were trying to be someone else, someone other than Will Walker’s daughter. I thought you had left that woman behind.”
That woman? She gaped at him, shocked beyond anger. Someone else? “That is not what I am trying to do.” That was the exact opposite of what she was trying to do. “I am Will Walker’s daughter. I’ve never claimed otherwise. Not to you.”
She was Esther Walker. Not Esther Bales. Not Esther Smith. Not Mrs. Ellison. Walker. She had learned to pick a lock when she was six and escape a set of manacles at eight. She’d had a dagger strapped to her ankle since the age of twelve. She had accidently kidnapped a duchess at nineteen. And she had learned from Will Walker the consequences of allowing a man to bend her will to his own.
For better or for worse, she was a Walker. She could be more than the name. She could be better than what she once was. But she could not pretend to be someone else. Not even for Samuel.
He stared at her, looking every bit as stunned as she felt.
The silence between them stretched out for so long that the very air around her felt strained. She was on the verge of saying something, anything to break the tension so they might move past it to an understanding, but then his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a hard line.
And she realized in that terrible moment that someone else was exactly who Samuel had imaged her to be.
He had never liked her just as she was. He had liked a version of her that never existed.
He wanted Miss Bales. The woman who had never degraded others to elevate herself. The woman who would meekly follow his order to wait at home.
A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) Page 22