“Max, didn’t you see me trying to signal you over?”
“Sorry? I was pouring tea for Susanna and—”
“Never mind.” Charles took the china pot from Max, set it upon the tray and dragged him over to a corner of the parlour. “Listen. My friend Jonathan, who works for the Yard, was just here. I told him how to get to that Den you spoke of. Tonight, he and half of Scotland Yard are going to lead a raid and bring Brenner in. Therefore, neither you nor I need be in attendance.”
“Brilliant. Your presence at said event was exactly what I wanted to avoid, now that everyone will be watching every move you make, owing to this morning’s publicity.”
“Yes, well, now you don’t have to go, either.” Charles blew out a breath. “I’ll draft the appropriate papers so that the timing coincides. If we’re lucky, they won’t let that bastard Brenner out of jail before the trial.”
Max knew Katrina would be apprehensive about the raid, but he’d do his best to assure her that all would be well. Perhaps he’d buy her some scented bath oils—he knew how much she enjoyed her baths. Such a gift would surely take her mind off her troubles.
* * * *
Max’s carriage pulled up to the front of his town house and he alighted without the help of his driver. “Stay put, Martin. You’re to take Cook shopping, I believe.” Then Max took the stairs to his door two at a time, excited to see Katrina.
Once inside, Simmons greeted Max.
“Where is Miss Harwood?”
“Out back, taking the air, sir.”
* * * *
Across the pavement and beyond the garden, the same horse nickered from inside the stable as it had just minutes ago. “There now. Settle down, lass,” came a lilting Irish-accented voice from inside the shelter.
Katrina cocked her head to the side, ignoring all other noises but the utterance, and she froze. “That sounded like—no, it couldn’t be.” Her mind was playing tricks on her.
Still, she had to be certain. Picking up her skirts she then rushed through the door where Maxwell’s horses were kept. At the sight of the new groom, Katrina lost the breath from her lungs.
“Have you seen a ghost, then?” Jimmy grinned and tossed the horse brush to the floor. The horse he’d been brushing swished its tail and stepped forward to investigate the contents of his trough.
She flew into Jimmy’s embrace, hugging him fiercely, running her hands across his shoulders, up and down his arms and finally landing on either side of his face. “My God. I thought you were dead!” she sobbed. Utterly elated, she pulled his head towards hers, planting a kiss smack upon his parted lips.
He pulled her closer still, at first only letting her kiss him. Then he began to participate and in moments, he took over, running his hands up and down her back, kissing her as if they were lovers.
After allowing him to return her greeting, Katrina realised her mistake and, to avoid being rude—for it was she who had initiated the kiss, started to speak to him. “Susanna, that is, Lady Kendrick, said you’d been brutally beaten and stabbed. What happened?”
Jimmy wouldn’t release her. “Oh, they did pummel me a bit, and it’s likely I’ll have a nasty scar from Brenner’s knife, but I recovered just fine, as you can see.” He bent his head to hers and kissed her cheeks. “Did you miss me, cousin?”
“Of course I did. I even went so far as to search for your body in a morgue.”
“Me darlin’ little heroine.” He kissed her again on the mouth.
Katrina gently pushed at his shoulders and, after a noticeable effort, he finally permitted a draught of air between their bodies. “That will be quite enough,” she whispered.
“Never enough. You’re the only joy I’ve known in the last week.” And he buried his face into the crook between her shoulder and ear.
“Come now. Tell me exactly what happened.” She attempted to wiggle out of his arms but to no avail.
“Only if you quit your squirmin’ an’ be still.”
Katrina huffed out a sigh. “Very well. Talk.”
Jimmy pulled her over to a bale of hay and sat, taking her down onto his lap. “After Brenner tried to gut me, Artie and Oliver apparently tossed me into the Thames. I woke up in a shack. Some woman had bound my wound and nursed me. A few days later, the two brutes came around, stirring things up. So I figured I’d better get out before they found me.”
“Good heavens. So how did you end up here?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I was havin’ a pint in the darkest corner of some shoddy pub when I heard a job had opened up at a fine town house on Hamilton Place. I came straight away and talked to some bloke named Simmons.”
“So you lied to him?”
“Lied? Me?”
“Well surely you’ve never worked with horses before.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Katrina, but groom was one of my first legit jobs as a young lad. As I said before, I wasn’t always a pilfering scamp.”
She laughed. “I’m so very happy you’re all right, Jimmy. And your wound—you didn’t contract a fever?”
“I did, indeed. It didn’t last long, though. And as luck would have it, the gash hasn’t done any bleedin’ since yesterday.” Jimmy lifted his shirt up and over his head and tossed it to the ground. “See? Me bandages are yet clean.”
Katrina gingerly ran her hand across the white linen binding that covered his lower abdomen when, from the door to the stable, someone cleared his throat.
Chapter Nineteen
Max watched Katrina’s mouth open and close while in the arms of her lover like a carp out of water. He’d not paid any notice when Brenner had made the observation that Katrina and the boy had been ‘chummy’.
“Maxwell.” She leapt from Jimmy’s lap. The boy grabbed up his shirt and hastily shrugged into it. “This is my friend Jimmy—the man we thought had been killed.”
“We’ve met,” Max said sharply, hiding his surprise.
“Yes—and now I gotta get back to these horses.”
“Just a moment.” Regardless of his rioting emotions, Max knew Charles could use Jimmy’s cooperation to bring down Brenner. “There’s going to be a raid on the Den tonight and I’d like your help, Jimmy.”
Katrina jumped into the conversation. “Oh, but, Maxwell, he can’t possibly go—”
“I’m not asking him to go back,” he said without looking at Katrina. “My brother-in-law is going to be the prosecuting attorney and we’d be most grateful if you would testify against Brenner.”
Jimmy eyed Max. “And will I be implicated in the process as well?”
“No. Quite the opposite. In fact, I am convinced you’ll get a full pardon for your participation.”
“If you could guarantee that—”
“I will. So do we have an agreement?”
Jimmy glanced at Katrina who nodded her encouragement. “All right, I’ll do it.”
“Great. I’ll get a message to Charles.” Max turned to go.
“Might I stay on here then?”
Max smiled but wasn’t concerned whether it looked sincere or not. Katrina’s young paramour was back from the dead, and Max had lost the only woman he had ever loved. “Of course you can.” He quit the stables and strode for the house.
“Wait, Maxwell.”
He didn’t heed the feminine request but increased his pace.
“Stop, Maxwell. Please.”
Max sighed and paused on the path.
“In spite of what that might have looked like, it’s not what you think.”
Without looking at her, he replied, “You have no idea what I think, Miss Harwood.”
* * * *
It was nearly breakfast time and Katrina’s throat was raw from crying. She couldn’t get Maxwell to listen to her no matter what approach she took, and it plagued her like the Devil. Last night, after she had heard him retire, she’d slipped a note under his door, but within minutes it had been shoved back under the door to her room, unopened. Yesterday he’d told her she h
ad no idea what he was thinking, and that was the rub. If she knew what was going through his mind—however wrong he was, she was confident that she could convince him otherwise—convince him that she was not in love with Jimmy, but with him. All she needed from him was an admittance of his suspicions and she could clear things up with one sentence.
She leaned her head on the mantelpiece. Maxwell.
A knock came at the door. “Yes?” Katrina croaked, her voice sounding just like a bullfrog.
“It’s me, Mrs Dillard.”
She cleared her throat the best she could. “Come in.”
The woman brought in a tray Katrina was determined to once again refuse. “I—”
“No you don’t. I let you turn away the last two meals and Mr Simmons will have my head if this one comes back untouched.” She placed the food upon a small table between the fireplace and a comfortable blue brocade-covered chair.
Katrina sighed in surrender. “All right. But I’m not hungry.”
“Be that as it may, you’ll have to eat or I’ll be sacked.”
Knowing very well Simmons wouldn’t sack Mrs Dillard, Katrina sat down and Mrs Dillard pushed the table close to her.
She’d have to admit, the hot tea soothed her throat, but her stomach felt too occupied with apprehension about Maxwell. “Mrs Dillard, have you seen Mr Courtland yet today?”
“I did. He ate early and went directly to his study.”
Katrina set her tea cup down and inched closer to the edge of her chair. The downstairs rooms were connected by arches and doorways. Perhaps if she took the book she’d borrowed to read back to the library, she could inadvertently wander into the study. Then Maxwell would have to listen to her!
Pretending to be occupied with stirring her tea, she asked, “And… He’s there now?”
Mrs Dillard folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll answer that when half of your plate is clean.”
This is what it must be like to have a gaoler. Determined to get her answer, Katrina carelessly shovelled the scrambled eggs into her mouth—not paying any mind that she’d used her tea spoon to do so. She practically swallowed one of the sausages whole, and by the second potato, Mrs Dillard gained her attention.
“Careful now, or it’ll come right back up.”
“Half. You said half!” A piece of food went flying out of her mouth, but she didn’t care.
“Och. Chew that and swallow it properly.” She handed Katrina a napkin. “I don’t need to see the contents of your mouth while ya eat.”
Katrina took the napkin, unfolded it with a shake and wiped her mouth. “There, see? Half.”
“Open that napkin, young lady.” Mrs Dillard pointed to the linen in her hands.
“What, do you think I’d spit my food out?”
“Just open it. We’ll discuss it when I see what you’ve done.”
Katrina hesitated, thankful that she’d decided to swallow her food instead of leaving the chewed contents of her mouth tucked inside the linen. She reached out her hand and opened the napkin. “See?”
Her smug tone didn’t move Mrs Dillard in the least. “I’ve had three sons. They’re grown now, but I know all the tricks.”
“So is Mr Courtland in his study or not?”
Mrs Dillard smiled as if she’d got her way. “Last I looked, he was.”
Katrina nearly overturned the tray as she ran to her bedside to grab her book. Mrs Dillard caught the edge just in time.
“Thank you, Mrs Dillard. You’re a dear!”
Mrs Dillard railed at her, but Katrina couldn’t hear the words as she was in the midst of dashing downstairs to find Maxwell. She’d clear up this misunderstanding if she had to follow him all the way to the necessary.
Katrina knew exactly which shelf she’d originally pulled the sentimental volume from. In fact, she could see the empty spot from across the room. But she needed to kill some time in order to peek into the study—entirely by mistake, of course. She’d feign surprise—maybe even drop her book, startled by his presence.
She slid her finger along the ‘A’ authors, mumbled along the ‘B’ and ‘C’ authors as if reading the names—the ‘D and E’ authors went by in a blur, until she stood one bookcase away from the entrance to Maxwell’s study.
Here we go.
She took a deep breath and crossed the path that led to the study.
Her book fell to the floor—towards the study. “Oops!” She stepped through the doorway and picked up the book.
But Maxwell wasn’t there. Simmons was, and in the process of filling the desk lamp with oil.
“Oh. Simmons.”
He paused. “Miss Harwood. Can I help you?”
“I—I was looking for Mr Courtland.”
“Mr Courtland has gone to run some errands. Anything I can do?”
“No, no. I was just…putting this book away.” She turned back to the library and shoved the book back into place.
Shite.
Even if she decided to pick up another book, it wouldn’t do any good. She couldn’t concentrate on reading a street sign right now. Turning on her heel, she stormed out and up the stairs to wait out the day in her room.
Mrs Dillard was still there, making the bed. “So, did you see him?”
“No,” she said, deflated. “He’s gone out.” She sat back down in the blue chair, the remains of her cold, unfinished breakfast mocking her pain from the tray.
“If it’s any solace, I know for a fact that he’s expecting you for supper.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard him tell Simmons to make sure he had a place set for you for tonight.”
Well, I suppose that’s some sort of step towards an actual conversation with Maxwell. “Thank you, Mrs Dillard.”
* * * *
The staff were in the process of clearing Maxwell’s dessert plate as she entered the dining room at five minutes to eight. His seat was vacant.
This was beginning to get ridiculous. She turned to find Simmons when he entered. “Ah, Simmons. Where is Mr Courtland?”
“Mr Courtland has gone to see Lord and Lady Kendrick.”
“Thank you.” She made to exit the room when he stopped her.
“Please, Miss Harwood. Sit and have something to eat. You’ve hardly partaken of anything in the last two days. Is it the cooking?”
She owed Simmons some sort of explanation. “No, of course not. I guess I’m just in a nervous state, is all.”
His shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “It must be going around.” He indicated the open newspaper next to Max’s place. “That is the same excuse Mr Courtland gave just before he left this evening. Will that be all, Miss Harwood?”
Katrina’s gaze fell upon the headline, ‘Thief Ring Exposed, Linchpin Taken Into Custody’. She took up the paper to read the article. “No, Simmons, thank you.”
Barely able to breathe, she fell into Max’s chair and absorbed every word. The article noted that Scotland Yard had raided ‘a nest of thievery’ and a man named Larson Brenner had been brought in. All sorts of charges had been named, and many items had been confiscated from the warehouse where the raid had taken place. The Yard asked anyone who had been robbed within the last two months to come forward, and if their description matched any of the evidence procured, they would be allowed to press additional charges.
This could very well be the end of Brenner, if things went right. Odd, but the article didn’t mention whether any of the others had been brought in. Did they know Brenner had been taken in? Had Scotland Yard placed officers near the Den in order to bring in the rest of the thieves at a later time?
No, this wouldn’t do at all. Some of those men were there because they had nowhere else to go—just as she’d had nowhere else to go after her father died. If Maxwell hadn’t come along when he had, that could very well have been her about to be pounced on by the authorities.
Something needed to be done—someone had to go and warn the rest of them—tonight.
Chapter Twenty
Having donned her mourning gown, Katrina slipped out of the front door. The evening air was cold. She wondered at the fact that after only a few days with access to a warm, comfortable bed, she wasn’t used to the gnawing dampness of a night on the streets.
Despite her circumstances, she knew it wouldn’t have been prudent to depart for the Den from the back of the house, because Jimmy was sure to try to talk her out of the scheme. He’d likely insist on tagging along, but who knew what would befall him this time if he confronted the thieves—if there were any that had lingered after the raid.
Alternatively, her former associates might have all scattered once they found out that Brenner was gone. Endless scenarios progressed through her mind as if she were reading them aloud from a list. Whatever the reason turned out to be, Katrina had to make sure the place was abandoned. Her conscience demanded that she do so.
She’d kept to the waterfront for a good mile or more, looking behind her every now and again as to be positive she hadn’t been followed. Discovering one of the ways that led to an entrance to the Den, she tiptoed inside and made her way through the labyrinth of corridors until she reached the inner sanctum. It seemed deserted—dark. Not even a glimmer of light. They must have got the hint and scattered. She peered up at the catwalks that led to the rooms above, when she was seized by the arm. A scream rose up in her throat, but bitter fear hindered its release.
“What the ‘ell are you doin’ ‘ere?”
“I—I—” She gasped for air. “You scared the Devil out of me, Oliver.”
“I asked you a question.”
The flame of a match flared, ignited a candle wick, and in the small circle of light Katrina saw about a dozen familiar faces.
“Returnin’ to the scene of the crime, I’ll wager,” one of the men accused.
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