“No.” Her voice sounded small to her own ears. All this time she’d been looking for her natural father, making plans, imagining what he might be like, what she would say to him when they met…and he was gone.
She’d never had the courage to tell Will Walker to go to the devil, and she’d lost the chance to give George Smith his six pounds. She’d waited too long for both.
“Me mum’s passed, too,” Edmund said quietly. “You’re the only family I got.”
His admission pulled her from her own sense of loss and disappointment. “There’s no one else? We’ve no other siblings? Aunts or uncles? Distant cousins?”
“Just our grandda.”
“I see. How old are you, Edmund?”
“I’ll be seventeen in three weeks.”
She was afraid to ask her next question. “And how long ago did your mother die?”
“Four years back.”
On his own since the age of twelve. Oh, she had waited far, far too long. “I’m very sorry,” she said quietly. Sorry for so many reasons. Feeling sick, she reached for her bag and the coins inside.
Edmund shook his head at her. “You keep what’s in there to yourself. That’s not why I came here. That’s not why I sought you out. Wanted to meet you, was all.”
Wanted or not, he’d have her help, but she set the money aside for now. “Then why the note? Why didn’t you speak with me that first day in Spitalfields?”
“Right. Well. The thing is…” His expression turned sheepish. “The thing is, I might have shown your picture to a few of the lads, now and then. I didn’t mean no harm by it. I was proud, was all. Pretty lady for a sister. I didn’t…” He made the face again. “I thought you was out of the country.”
“I’m only in London on a visit,” she replied evasively.
“Might be a couple of the lads were with me when I saw you in Spitalfields.”
There were a great many might bes in Edmund’s world. “Did they recognize me?” she asked carefully. “Did they know me, Edmund?”
“I don’t know. I pretended like I didn’t. And they pretended like they didn’t. But then John made excuses to be off right quick, and Victor and Danny followed. That’s why I sent the note instead of introducing myself proper. In case someone was watching. I think you should get out of London. Just in case. John’s older brother, Clarence, was hanged next to Horatio Gage, and some people say Will Walker had something to do with it. That he brought the police to Gage’s door.”
“Gage kidnapped a duchess. That’s what brought the police to his door.”
“Aye, no arguing it. But Gage paid his men well. When Clarence hanged, John lost a brother and the money to feed his ma and sisters. His mum took to the streets. He’s got to blame someone.”
“And he blames me?”
Edmund scratched behind his ear and shifted in his seat again. “Your da more. But he weren’t taken by the picture of you, I can tell you that. Sorry. I didn’t know his way of thinking just then.”
“How long ago did he see the picture?”
“Few months back. Maybe two? Said you looked familiar, but I told him you couldn’t. Then I told him who you were.” He cringed a little. “He tried to spit on the picture.”
Esther thought of the rats. The men in the park. Three men. It might not be a coincidence.
She hoped Samuel was able to hear through the window. She briefly considered calling for him now so they could ask Edmund questions about his friends together. There was no way of knowing, however, if Edmund would stay or run the moment he learned they weren’t alone. He was growing more fidgety by the second. She couldn’t take the chance he would bolt before she had answers, and before she convinced him to accept her help.
“Tell me about them,” she pressed Edmund. “John and his friends. What are their full names? What do they look like?”
“John Porter, Victor Norby, and Danny Mapp. They’ve some years on me, and some size. That’s why I took up with them. It helps having big friends in Spitalfields. Or so I thought. John and Victor are dark. Brown hair and eyes. Danny’s like me.” He tugged on a lock of blond hair. “And a bit skinnier than the others. John got a few teeth knocked out of him in a brawl last year. Some people took to calling him Gaping John. Victor’s got pockmarks.”
Esther couldn’t recall if any of the men from the park had spots—the dim light hadn’t allowed for a clear look at all of them. But the one with his hands around her throat had leaned in close and bared his teeth. There had been several missing. “Where do they live?”
“Here and there. Move about a fair bit. I don’t know where they are now.”
“Do you know how to find them? Do they have other friends, or employers? Do you know where their families are?”
“I couldn’t find John if I wanted to. I hardly know any of ’em, really, just the story John told me about his brother after he saw your picture. But none of ’em got proper work. I know that.” He threw another nervous glance over his shoulder. “I can’t stay long. Out in the open like this. It ain’t safe.”
He was in more trouble than he was letting on. “Edmund, answer me honestly. Are you wanted for a crime?”
“No. It ain’t that. I done some things…but no one’s looking for me. Except maybe Victor and John, and some of their ilk. I owe ’em favors. They can’t collect if they can’t find me.” He rubbed the heels of his hands up and down his thighs in agitation. “I should go.”
“If you would agree to meet with me and Sir Samuel somewhere—”
“Maybe ’nother time,” he replied in a tone that clearly said probably not ever. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you again, though.”
He stopped rubbing his hands to resettle the cap on his head.
“I should like to see you again, too.” She’d like to see more of him right now. Their meeting was too quick. She still had so many questions. But he was sixteen, frightened, and determined to leave. There was nothing she could say that would convince him to stay. She could, however, make certain he was safe. She reached into her bag again and grabbed her coins. “I want you to take this.”
“I told you, I don’t want your help. I’ll take care of my own troubles.”
She took his hand and pressed the money into it. “I have another little brother, very near your own age. Right now, he is at a very fine school acquiring a very fine education, whilst wearing very fine clothes and eating very fine food. This coin comes from the same coffers that pay for all his finery. You are also my brother, Edmund. Please, let me help you.”
He stared at their joined hands a long time, his brow furrowed. At last, he nodded and curled his fingers around the coins. “All right.”
“I do have some conditions. I want you to go to Brighton. Alone.” The cleaner air would do him good, and the distance from London would keep him safe. “Take rooms there and write to me as soon as you are settled. We’ll decide together what is to be done next.”
“I don’t know where to find you.”
“Send the letter to the offices of Sir Samuel Brass and Sir Gabriel Arkwright. They’ll see it reaches me.”
“The Thief Takers?”
“They’re my friends. They’ll not open your letter. I promise.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I have trusted you. Now you must trust me.”
“Aye. I suppose I can…” He opened his palm and glanced down at the coins. His eyes flared wide. “Jesus.” He quickly closed his hand again. “I can’t take this. It’s too much. It’d take me years to pay you back.”
“It’s not meant to be paid back. You will take it, go to Brighton straightaway, and write me. Promise me.”
“Aye.” He nodded rapidly, shoved the coins in a pocket, then placed his palm over the pocket as if concerned the coins might jump out again. “Aye, I promise. I’ll not disappoint you. I swear it.”
“Good. Go
od. Now, I’m very sorry, but I have to ask for the picture.”
“Right. Right.” He gave her the folded image. “That’s for the best, isn’t it?”
“It is. I was—” She broke off at the loud grind and huff of an engine. The sound of it nearly scared Edmund off the bench.
He stood up, nervous eyes darting about the station. “I can’t stay any longer. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I understand. Wait.” She reached out and snagged his arm when he tried to turn. “One more question. What was he like, our father?”
For a brief second, the fear and sadness left his face. “Oh, he was a good sort, he was. A proper da. Took care of me and my mum. I never went hungry, and I never felt the back of his hand. He even made an honest woman of her before he died. He was a good sort.” He shrugged and smiled. “For a thief.”
“For a thief? Wasn’t he in shipping? Or a grocer?”
“Our da?” He shook his head. “Might have played the part of a tradesman now and then, but he were a trickster through and through. Old man Smith were the grocer. Had himself a place in Spitalfields for a time and another in Whapping and Shadwell. I have to go now.” He slipped free of her grasp. “I’ll write. I promise.”
“But—” She reached for him again, but it was no use. He’d already turned his back. A few more steps and he disappeared into the crowd.
* * *
Samuel stepped out of the office and, for a full minute, did nothing but stare at Esther’s profile. Slowly, the sick worry he’d carried since their argument the day before faded away. He wanted to sweep her up into his arms, run his hands over every inch of her, but watching her would have to do.
She was safe. She was completely, utterly unharmed.
Maybe not entirely unharmed, he corrected. One didn’t come away from such an encounter wholly unscathed. She was sitting still as a statue, staring off into the throng of travelers. But she wasn’t watching them. He could tell from the way she held herself that she was looking without seeing. She was lost in her own thoughts.
He approached her slowly, giving her plenty of time to notice him before he placed his hand on her shoulder.
She tipped her head back to look at him. “Samuel.”
Her voice sounded distant and a little hollow.
“Are you ready to leave?” he asked.
She turned to look in the direction Edmund had gone, then gave a little shake of her head, as if dragging herself back to the present. “Yes. Yes, of course. No point lingering about here, is there?”
When she stood, he took her hand and guided it to his elbow. He kept his peace as they walked from the station to his waiting carriage. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to learn of the existence of an adult sibling and the death of a parent in the course of a single conversation, but one could assume it was, at the very least, unsettling. Whatever needed to be said would wait until he was certain Esther was all right.
Expecting a silent carriage ride, he was surprised when Esther pulled up her veil the moment the door was closed. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it. I was on the other side of the window, you’ll recall.” And nearly dove out of it when the young man had suggested the two of them board the train.
“I wasn’t sure how well you could hear.”
“I heard perfectly.” He studied her a moment before continuing. She was paler than he’d like, but her eyes were clear and dry, and the hands in her lap were still and relaxed. He didn’t need to wait. “You gave him the six pounds.”
“Yes.”
“Did it occur to you he might be lying?”
“I’m a Walker,” she reminded him as the carriage jolted forward. “Of course it occurred to me.”
“And still you gave him the six pounds.”
“It was the best option at hand. At worst, he is a liar and I’ve allowed myself to be swindled out of six pounds. That would be galling, but hardly the stupidest thing I’ve done in my life. Had I not given him the six pounds, then the stupidest thing I will have ever done in my life is to turn my back on my own brother just so I could put my six pounds back in my chest.”
“You’ll investigate his claim, of course.”
“Certainly I will.” She looked down and began tugging off her gloves. “I’ll ask Renderwell to hire a private investigator directly.”
He cleared his throat. Ask Renderwell indeed.
She glanced up and made a face. “Well, not you.”
“Not me? Why not me?”
A corner of her mouth curved up. “You’ve far too many scruples.”
“Too many?” How the devil did a man have too many scruples? Far too many?
“Yes. I want a man who will look into the affairs of my possible brother without passing judgment on him.”
“What do you expect will be found?”
“I’ve no idea,” she replied, tucking her gloves away into her bag. “He said only that he had lost his job and fallen in with a bad lot.”
Which meant a gang of criminals, no doubt. “I’m not the police, you know.”
“You were a police officer once.”
“Yes, and a good one.”
The half smile returned. “I daresay you were.”
“Do you know what makes a man a good police officer, Esther?”
She thought about it, shrugged. “Courage, a strong sense of duty, and strict adherence to the law of the land.”
“Sound judgment guided by compassion,” he informed her. “That’s all. If this young man is your brother, then it would be foolish, cruel, and a detriment to society to deny him the opportunity to become a productive citizen in favor of punishing him for a stolen trinket or crust of bread.”
It occurred to him that he’d given more speeches in the last week than he had in the last decade. Esther did have a talent for…drawing him out, he supposed.
“But what if his crime was more severe than a stolen crust of bread?” she asked.
“I’ll not turn a blind eye to murder, if that’s what you’re asking. Would you?”
“Of course not. But there is quite a bit in between.”
“That’s where the sound judgment comes in.”
She cocked her head at him, her expression thoughtful. “Is it important to you that I should ask you to see to this?”
He didn’t know how to answer that. It damned well was important to him. But not because of the boy. And it had nothing to do with judgment and compassion. Everything he’d said about both was true, but it wasn’t why he wanted the job.
He wanted it for one reason, and one reason only. Because it was important to her.
“Is it?” she asked again.
“Yes.”
“I see…” Smiling a little for the first time since their argument, she stuck out her hand like a man of business. “Then you have the job.”
Seventeen
Samuel sat at his desk in the study and stared at the glass of whiskey in his hand. He scarcely remembered pouring it. He didn’t even remember wanting it. It had just been something to do, a mindless act to occupy his hands, when what he’d really wanted to do was grab Esther before she could dart upstairs and lock herself away in her chambers.
He’d wanted a word. Maybe more than a word. Instead he’d poured himself a drink.
He didn’t understand it. For a moment or two in the station, and again in the carriage, he’d felt as if the gap between them had narrowed, the roughest edges of their argument had dulled. But the moment they’d arrived at the house, she’d withdrawn without a word, without so much as a backward glance.
It was as if she’d given up.
We are not compatible people.
I should like to be friends.
To hell with that. Twice. Ill-matched or not, they weren’t going to be just friends.<
br />
He took a long swallow of his drink and reveled in the angry burn of liquid in his throat.
Why the devil had she given up? Because she was still angry? That was no excuse. He was still angry—furious in fact, and growing more agitated by the second. But he’d not given up. Surely she didn’t believe that a single heated argument meant the end of them. She couldn’t possibly imagine he would let her go so easily.
She had to be waiting for an apology. Probably she took the innocuous events at the station as proof that she’d been right to insist on going in the first place. She’d come home without a scratch, after all. Obviously he’d worried over nothing. To hell with that as well.
He took another sip before setting his drink aside and decided that, no, she wasn’t getting an apology.
She was, however, going to talk to him. They didn’t have to argue. Neither of them needed to apologize. All he wanted was a promise that she’d never again ask him to hide behind her damned skirts. And then they’d put the absurd business of being just friends behind them.
Samuel clung to his righteous anger for a solid six seconds. Which was exactly how long it took him to reach Esther’s room…and discover the sound of her crying.
Her door was barely ajar, but he could hear her every sob, every hiccup. He could feel them, like sharp stabs to his chest.
Damn it. Damn it.
The door opened silently at the gentle nudge of his hand, and he saw her sitting on the foot of the bed with the dog, her legs curled into her chest and her forehead resting on her knees. She had a piece of paper gripped in her hand, and her other arm draped over the beast’s hulking form. Her shoulders shook with every jagged breath. It tore at him.
As he crossed the room, he had to remind himself that he was good at this sort of thing. He had an inordinate amount of experience patting hands and offering condolences. He’d held Esther in the carriage after the attack in the park, hadn’t he? He knew how to comfort.
And yet his hand was shaking a little as he reached for her shoulder. She hadn’t been crying in the carriage.
As he leaned closer, he saw the paper she held was the record of events she’d been working on. It was half crumpled in her hand, but he could clearly make out where she’d marked her father’s death.
A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) Page 24