A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (21 page)

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.”

“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.

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.”