by Amanda Quick
“Mrs. Bryce, I do not take commissions for this sort of thing.”
“I understand.” She gave him her brightest, most encouraging smile. “But surely an intelligent businessman such as yourself would not turn down an offer of compensation from a grateful person.”
He said nothing at all for an extended length of time.
“Well, sir?” she prompted.
“You are an extraordinary female, Mrs. Bryce.”
“You are very much out of the ordinary, yourself, sir. I cannot imagine that there are a great many jewel thieves who move in Polite Circles.”
That remark appeared to amuse him. “You’d be surprised, madam. Statistically speaking, I’m sure it is safe to say that those who move in elevated circles are no more honest than people who move in other spheres.”
“On that we are agreed, sir,” she said, “but the difference between the two groups is that the highfliers are far less likely to pay for their crimes than are those in the lower classes.”
He cocked a brow. “You sound quite cynical, Mrs. Bryce.”
“I do not have any illusions about the wealthy and the powerful, sir. I know all too well the damage they can cause and how easy it is for them to escape justice. But I do not think this is the time to debate such matters, do you?”
“No,” he said. “We do appear to have more pressing problems.”
“You no doubt intend to go back to Hastings’s mansion later to finish your project. All I ask is that when you open his safe you look around for any documents dealing with Phoenix House. I will be quite happy to reimburse you for your trouble.”
“Assuming I do not get shot dead in the process.”
“Yes, well, I’m certain you are a very competent burglar, sir. After all, you have survived until now.”
“I appreciate your faith in my professional abilities.”
Hope surged through her. “Well? Will you agree to take the commission?”
“Why not?” he said, evidently resigned. “It’s not as though I have anything more interesting to do this evening.”
“Excellent.” She gave him another bright smile. “I’ll wait for you in this carriage.”
“No, you will not, madam. I will take you home first. We will discuss the results of my efforts tomorrow.”
“You do not appear to grasp a pertinent fact here, sir. I am paying you to do this job tonight. As your employer, I must insist on staying close by until you have finished the venture.”
“In other words, you do not entirely trust me.”
“My apologies, sir. I mean no offense. It is just that I have never had occasion to hire a professional thief. I would prefer to keep the arrangements as businesslike as possible.” She hesitated as another thought occurred. “By the way, how much do you charge for this sort of thing?”
His eyes tightened dangerously. “Rest assured, I will give that question close consideration, Mrs. Bryce.”
3
A businesslike arrangement. How in blazes had it come to this? He was about to crack Elwin Hastings’s safe while his new accomplice—make that client—waited for him in a closed carriage in a nearby lane. His already complicated life had developed a few new and decidedly convoluted twists tonight.
For the second time that evening Anthony studied the shadowed hallway outside Hastings’s bedchamber. The guard was gone. There was no indication that anyone else was lurking up here. He checked the alcove where he had hidden a short time earlier. It was empty.
Getting back inside the mansion had been simple enough. He had pulled on the long overcoat and low-crowned hat that he had brought along for the purpose. Louisa had watched closely, clearly intrigued by the sartorial transformation.
“If I am seen at a distance, it is unlikely that I will be recognized,” he explained.
“You look quite menacing in that coat and hat, sir. It is amazing how it affects your appearance. I vow, you could easily pass for a member of the criminal class.”
“The idea is to look like a respectable tradesman.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He had scaled the garden wall without incident, although he had been forced to crouch behind a hedge when the second guard, Royce, made what appeared to be a routine patrol of the grounds.
Guided by the floor plan he had studied that afternoon and what he had seen of the house earlier, he had no trouble locating the servants’ entrance. The back stairs that led to the upper floors were still clear. The harried staff was occupied on the ground floor dealing with the behind-the-scenes demands generated by a houseful of guests.
Satisfied that he had the hall to himself, he opened the door of Hastings’s bedroom. Inside he stood quietly for a moment, allowing himself to absorb the feel of the moonlit room. He had been studying Hastings for over a year. He knew a great deal about his quarry.
He raised the corner of the carpet and found the safe exactly where it was supposed to be. He did not need to strike a light to see what he was doing. When one opened an Apollo Patented Safe in a clandestine manner, one did it by touch, not sight.
He got the strongbox open very quickly. The small set of safecracking tools he had brought with him had been specially commissioned from one of the finest craftsmen in Birmingham. The implements were more delicate and more sensitive than a surgeon’s scalpels.
The interior of the Apollo was as dark as a small cave. He reached inside, pulled out all of the items, and placed them on the carpet in a shaft of bright moonlight. There were four velvet pouches of the sort used to hold jewelry, a number of business documents, five leather-bound journals, and an envelope containing three letters.
He flipped through the journals. Four were written by people other than Hastings or his wife. The fifth was a record of payments received from individuals who were identified only by initials. The letters in the envelope were signed by a young lady.
He tucked the journals, letters, and business papers into pockets on the inside of his overcoat. Turning to the jewelry pouches, he unlaced each in turn. The first three contained an assortment of bracelets, earrings, and necklaces fashioned of diamonds, pearls, and colored gems. All of the pieces were in the modern style. They had no doubt belonged to the first Mrs. Hastings. She had been much admired for her sense of fashion. He picked up the fourth sack and poured the contents into the palm of his hand. Moonlight glinted on an emerald-and-diamond necklace set in gold. The design was old-fashioned and very familiar.
A savage exhilaration roared through him. He had anticipated finding some answers tonight. He had not allowed himself to hope that he would be this fortunate.
He put the necklace back into the pouch, retied the cord, and placed the little sack in a pocket.
He tossed the other three sacks back into the safe, closed the door and locked it. Next he repositioned the carpet. There was no telling how soon Hastings would check the contents of his Apollo, but when he did, he was sure to get a well-deserved jolt of alarm. No ordinary thief would leave most of the jewelry behind. When Hastings realized precisely what items had been taken, he would know that someone was hunting him. With luck he would start to sweat.
Anthony went to the door and listened intently.
Outside in the hall a floorboard squeaked. The first creak was followed by another, closer this time. Someone was coming down the hall toward the bedroom. One of the guards, most likely. Would he open the door of his employer’s bedroom or was that forbidden territory? There was no way to know how thorough Quinby or Royce would be, but from what Anthony knew of Hastings’s temperament, it did not seem likely that he would authorize either man to prowl through his private sanctuary.
Voices sounded out in the hall. A man whispered something in soft, urgent tones. A woman responded, her voice equally low and eager.
Hastings had evidently brought one of the female guests up to his bedroom while his young bride was dutifully dealing with the crowd downstairs. The action certainly confirmed Louisa’s already low opinion of his charact
er. But the sensibilities of the very new Mrs. Hastings were not his primary concern at the moment. He had to get out of the room.
There were two alternatives: the window and the connecting door to Mrs. Hastings’s bedroom. He chose the latter. If he went out onto the ledge he might not be able to find another unlocked window to crawl back through.
His hand was on the knob of the adjoining bedroom door when he heard the outer door of that room open. He stilled, listening as the couple entered.
“This is so damned risky, Lilly.”
“Hastings and his guests have all had far too much champagne tonight. No one will notice that you and I have slipped away for a short time. In any event surely this is no more reckless than the way we used to meet before I was forced into this ghastly marriage.”
“But if anyone discovers us—”
“Darling, I have been so desperate for you. The past few weeks have been a nightmare. Hold me.”
There was a rustle of heavy skirts and some passionate-sounding moans.
“Oh, God, Lilly. You cannot know what it has been like for me. I lie awake every night thinking of you in Hastings’s bed. The image is driving me slowly mad.”
“Do not torment yourself, my love. He was unable to consummate our marriage on our wedding night, and he has not come to me since.”
“Hastings is impotent?”
“He says it is my fault. He claims I do not understand his special needs. I believe he goes elsewhere to satisfy those needs, and I am truly grateful, believe me.”
“So am I.”
Anthony released the knob and went back across the room to the door that opened onto the hall. He let himself out into the shadowed corridor and descended the rear stairs.
4
She did not realize how tense she had become waiting for Anthony to return until the carriage door opened abruptly. She nearly yelped in surprise when he vaulted up inside the darkened cab.
“Didn’t mean to startle you, Mrs. Bryce.”
He pushed open the trapdoor.
“Arden Square, Ned.”
“Aye, sir.”
The vehicle rumbled forward. Anthony dropped down onto the seat across from her.
She knew at once that something had happened. A hot, seething energy emanated from him. She felt as though she was sharing the carriage with a panther that had just scented prey.
“What kept you?” she said a good deal more sharply than she had intended. “I’ve been worried. You were gone for a very long time.”
“Twenty minutes at most. Most of that time was spent in the garden, waiting for an opportunity to gain access to the house.”
“Time does not pass quickly when one is waiting in a closed, unlit carriage.” She peered at him, trying to make out his features. “Are you all right? Was there a problem?”
“Thank you for your concern. I am quite well, thank you. The only problem, such as it was, proved to be quite minor.”
“You sound in remarkably good spirits for a man who has just risked his neck. Do you enjoy your work, sir?”
He gave the question some thought and then shrugged. “The exercise does seem to have elevated my mood. What of yourself, madam? Do you derive a bit of a thrill from creeping about in other people’s bedrooms?”
“No, I do not,” she said tightly. She raised her chin. “And there is no need to make it sound as though I am in the habit of doing that sort of thing.”
“I see. You only flit through strange bedrooms when the fancy strikes, is that it? When was the first time you invaded someone’s bedroom?” he asked.
A shiver of warning slithered down her spine.
You’ve said enough, she thought. In spite of his assistance this evening, the plain fact is you do not know this man. You cannot take the risk of revealing your secrets to him.
“Never mind,” she said. “Tell me what you found. Did you get the safe open?”
“Certainly.” He turned up one of the lamps, reached into the voluminous coat and brought out a handful of papers. “These were all that were inside the safe.”
She stared at him, astonished. “You took all of his personal papers?”
“Yes. There wasn’t time to sort through them to find the specific papers you wanted so I grabbed the lot.”
“Good grief.” What had she expected? He was a thief, after all. “I, uh, just wanted to know if there were any papers relating to the brothel inside the safe. I didn’t actually intend—” She broke off. “Never mind.”
“Here.” He handed the papers to her. “See if you can find what you’re looking for in that bunch.”
Gingerly she took the papers and held them up to the light.
“They all appear to be business-related,” she said, rifling through them. “Most deal with his new investment scheme. I don’t see any relating to—” She stopped when she caught sight of a familiar address. Excitement stirred her pulse. “Ah, here we are. This one mentions the property at Number Twenty-two Winslow Lane.”
She read through the document quickly and then looked up. “You have found the very document I was looking for, sir. According to this, Hastings recently invested a large sum of money in Phoenix House.”
“Nothing like a satisfied client, I always say.” He took several small, leather-bound books out of various pockets. “May I hope for repeat business?”
She ignored the teasing and examined the small books. “What have you got there?”
“I’m not sure yet. I took them because most of them did not appear to belong to Hastings or his wife.”
He handed a volume to her and opened one of the others to examine it.
“This is a private journal,” Louisa said. She paused when she saw the name inscribed on one of the pages. “Good heavens, you’re right. It cannot possibly belong to Hastings. According to this, it is the diary of Miss Sara Brindle. She is set to marry Lord Mallenby at the end of the month. How on earth did it end up in Hastings’s safe?”
“An excellent question.” He held up the book he had been perusing. “This journal belongs to a young lady named Julia Montrose.”
“I’ve met her. She was recently engaged to Richard Plumstead. It is considered a spectacular match. Plumstead is in line for his father’s title.” She frowned. “This is all quite bizarre. Why would Hastings have these diaries?”
“I can think of one very good reason off hand.”
She took a quick breath. “Do you think that he is blackmailing those people?”
“I doubt if young Julia or Sara has sufficient income of her own to pay blackmail. They likely receive only quarterly allowances. If Hastings is extorting money from anyone, it would be from someone else in the family. In the case of Julia, it would have to be her great-grandmother, Lady Penfield. She still controls the fortune in that family.” Anthony paused. “She is quite elderly and not in good health.”
“Lady Ashton said something about Sara Brindle’s elderly aunt having control of Sara’s inheritance.”
Anthony opened the last of the small volumes. “This, I suspect, will prove to be a record of extortion payments.”
“We must return those items to their rightful owners immediately,” Louisa said.
“I agree. But some discretion will be required.”
“Yes, of course. We cannot reveal our own identities.” She paused. “What of the business papers?”
“Those I will keep,” Anthony said coolly.
“But they belong to Hastings. It is one thing to take the blackmail items, but I think we should restore the papers to the safe.”
He looked at her, his eyes pitiless in the soft light. “The bastard is not only a blackmailer, he is also a cold-blooded murderer. I feel under no obligation to return anything to him.”
She felt everything inside her turn to ice. “That is the second time you have said you believe him to be a murderer. Do you have any evidence?”
“I didn’t until tonight.”
He withdrew a black velvet pouch, opened
it, and turned it upside down. She watched a cascade of gold and blazing gems spill into his fingers.
“Good heavens,” she whispered. “It must be worth a fortune.”
“It is. And it also proves that Hastings is guilty of murder.”
“I don’t understand. You took that from his safe tonight?”
“Yes.”
She stared at the glittering pool, stunned in spite of herself. “You really are a jewel thief.”
“This necklace belonged to a woman named Fiona Risby.”
She jerked her gaze back up to his grim face. “Your fiancée? The woman who threw herself off a bridge?”
“I was never completely convinced that Fiona committed suicide. Finding this necklace in Hastings’s safe proves I was right. He killed her.”
“You’re certain that is her necklace?”
He poured the necklace back into the pouch. “Yes. It is quite distinctive. A family heirloom. Fiona wore it the night she died.”
“What are you going to do? Now that you have taken it from Hastings’s safe, it is no longer evidence against him because it is not in his possession.” She paused delicately. “I hesitate to point this out, sir, but if the police discover that you have the necklace they might well consider you a suspect.”
“I couldn’t leave it behind in the safe; it would never be found there. Hastings would never allow the police to search his mansion.”
“I see what you mean. But what are you going to do with it?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “But by the time I call on you tomorrow, I hope to have a plan.”
“You are going to visit me in Arden Square tomorrow?” she asked, suddenly cautious.
“Of course.” Anthony’s smile was dangerously enigmatic. “I have yet to collect my fee for this night’s work.”
5
Anthony let himself into the darkened town house. There was no one around to open the door. His small staff knew that they were not expected to wait up for him.