The Gentleman and the Thief

by Sarah M. Eden

  “Mr. Thompson doesn’t usually garner your notice.” Ana crossed to the small bedside table in the corner. It had once resided in Mother’s rooms, its drawers proving a convenient place to store baubles. “What has our neighbor done differently today?”

  “Not just today. He’s in and out at all hours.”

  “Yes, you said that.” She opened the top drawer and pushed aside a few folded handkerchiefs and light wraps. They had been Mother’s more serviceable ones. Her finer silks and embroidered linens had been lost when Father’s company faltered. “Many ladies and gentlemen are out late attending balls and soirees and such. No doubt, the Thompsons are simply doing the same.”

  Father stood and leaned closer to the window, his forehead nearly touching the glass. “He stumbles in. I’d wager the bruiser’s drunk.”

  That was strange. Ana had known Mr. Thompson during her growing-up years. He was not a bounder nor a drunkard. Indeed, she’d always admired him, considered him an example of the sort of gentleman she would like to someday have as a permanent part of her life. She hoped he was not actually involved in anything disreputable. She’d been disillusioned enough the past three years.

  “I attended a musicale two nights ago,” she said as she pulled a small box from the back of the drawer to the front. “I played my violin.”

  His bushy brows drew together. He watched her a moment, as if sorting out what she’d said. “You were engaged as an entertainer?”

  She often dug through this particular drawer. Father neither seemed to notice nor worry about it. “No, Father. I was there as a guest. Most Society musicales call upon the guests themselves to provide music.”

  He turned from the window, but his gaze wandered around the room rather than settling on her. “Were you looked down on?”

  “No. I cannot say anyone was beside themselves with excitement to see me, but I was not treated poorly.”

  Father rubbed a hand over his forehead, leaving behind a smudge. “It wasn’t my fault—you losing your place among them.”

  “I know. Mr. Darby says Society is fickle. I think he is correct.”

  “Darby?” He pouted fiercely, something he’d done all her life when he was thinking particularly hard. “I remember the Darbys. Two brothers, I remember.”

  Ana smiled and nodded. “You always did have a very good memory.”

  He looked back out the window, no doubt watching for Mr. Thompson.

  Ana returned her attention to the box she’d pulled from the drawer, opening it carefully. It had once been full of the most beautiful jewelry: lovely, tasteful rings, pendants Mother wore on her favorite gold chain, necklaces boasting a variety of gems, earbobs, and bracelets. It was nearly empty now. Only two rings were there along with one necklace.

  And, now, a single silver bracelet.

  I will get them all back in time, Mother. She’d made the same silent vow on every visit since Mother died. She was slowly getting it all back from the people who’d taken so much from them. Jewelry, mementos, knickknacks, decorations. If she could have managed it, she would have reclaimed the furniture and paintings and books that had been snatched away as well. One could only hide so much in a violin case.

  Wallace, Father’s valet and the only servant left in the house, returned, having put away the food Ana brought.

  She nodded toward her father. “He’s very concerned about Mr. Thompson.”

  “I suspect he gets lonesome, miss. He watches the world around him, but he ain’t part of it. Wears on a soul, that does.”

  “He has you,” she said. “That’s worth a great deal.”

  “Thank you, Miss Newport.”

  “I’ll do a bit of straightening while I’m here. I have some time before I need to return to the school.”

  “I’m sorry I cain’t keep the ol’ place cleaner,” Wallace said. “Too much for one person, it is.”

  “You take care of Father and keep him company. That is far more important.”

  She spent another hour there, sweeping and straightening. She cleaned Father’s window, knowing how much time he spent there. He would be happier if he could see well.

  The man he’d been before his fortunes failed would not have spent his days looking out at the world; he would have been out in the world. He had retreated, and she’d lost hope of tugging him back. She could restore some of the things that had been stolen from them, but she couldn’t give him back his dignity or pride or good name.

  Before leaving, she pressed a kiss to his sunken, stubbly cheek. “I will see you next Friday, Father.”

  He kept his gaze on the street below. Ana slipped out.

  It wasn’t my fault, he’d said. She knew it wasn’t. He’d been blamed and scapegoated, and the entire family had paid the price for that injustice.

  Society was fickle, yes. But so was Fate.

  Hollis stood in the entryway of Thurloe, watching the lady who had claim on his affections rush down the stairs toward him. If only her excitement was from seeing him rather than her new position. He didn’t mean to press his suit or want to cause her any degree of discomfort. They would make the journey to Randolph’s home as comfortable acquaintances. He’d require himself to be satisfied with that.

  “I am bringing with me a few sheets of very simple music that my beginning students use early in their lessons.” She took a quick, somewhat tight breath. No matter that she was smiling and clearly eager, Ana hadn’t entirely hidden her nervousness. “I’m not certain how much your niece has learned already. You said she has had some musical instruction.” She pressed her lips together, brow suddenly drawing low. “Perhaps I ought to have selected a few more difficult pieces as well. Her governess might feel insulted if I’ve underestimated what has already been taught. Do you suppose she’ll be upset? Eloise is only eight years old. My youngest students here are only a bit older than that. They are usually very amiable.”

  Hollis took her hand and held it gently. “My dear Miss Newport, set your mind at ease. Eloise loves music and will be delighted to continue learning to play her pianoforte. Her governess will be grateful to be relieved of responsibility for a subject matter on which she is not well versed. And know that I suggested you for the position because I have every confidence that you are equal to it.”

  Though her fingers were wrapped around his, he felt the warmth of her touch around his heart.

  “If this goes terribly, will you solemnly vow to not laugh at me when I cry in the carriage all the way back?”

  Did she truly think him so unfeeling as that? “I could never laugh at your tears.”

  “A gentleman through and through, I see.”

  His declaration was far more than the empty platitudes of social obligation. If only he were in a position to tell her as much.

  He tucked her arm through his, another thing she likely thought was done strictly out of good manners. They stepped out of the school, and he handed her up into his brother’s waiting carriage.

  “My brother lives near Belgrave Square,” he said, taking the rear-facing seat across from her. “The drive won’t be overly long, but neither will it be mere moments.”

  “I know the area,” she said. “I grew up in Pimlico.”

  Pimlico? The residents of that corner of London could be rather flush. And even those who weren’t drowning in money were well-off. She had spoken how her family had once been part of Society, but he’d been under the impression theirs had been a tentative hold. He’d wager the Newports had money—or did at one point. There was a mystery there. He never could resist a mystery.

  “My brother’s home was our family’s London home when we were children. If only we’d lived a bit further south, you and I might have known one another.”

  “I would have liked that,” she said. “I had no brothers or sisters, and I was a little older than your niece when our family acquired the house
I grew up in, so we hadn’t any established connections. I had very few friends as a child.”

  “You must have been lonely.” His heart ached for the little girl she’d once been.

  “Terribly at times.” Her fleeting smile was sweet but heavy. “Tell me about Eloise. I will be a better teacher if I know a little about my student.”

  Hollis accepted the change of topic. He shared insights with her about his eager and precocious niece. He also warned Ana that, should Addison leave the nursery and make an appearance, the little boy had a tendency to be standoffish.

  “Does he share that trait with either of his parents?” she asked.

  “His mother is a little timid, which can give the inaccurate impression of haughtiness.” Cora was a fine person, but not everyone was permitted to see that about her. “My brother is . . .” How did he explain this without being disloyal? “He can be aloof, but you mustn’t take that as a personal slight.”

  “He’ll not be unkind, will he?”

  He’d better not be. “No.”

  She wrapped her fingers more firmly around her small satchel containing her music. “I don’t wish to disappoint them.” Her eyes met his. “Or, goodness, you.”

  He leaned forward, hoping his easy demeanor and quiet smile would reassure her. “I haven’t the least worry on that score.”

  “I will enjoy being inside a home again,” she said, “especially one so near to where I grew up. Thurloe is a lovely place, and I’m not unhappy there, but I miss the feeling of home and family.”

  Home and family. Hollis longed for those things as well. His rented rooms weren’t exactly all the crack, but they’d not have put any sticklers to the blush. Considering his penniless, prospectless situation upon first arriving in Town, he wasn’t ungrateful. But he lived alone. The Dreadfuls were something like a family, but it wasn’t the same, likely because his place among them felt so trivial and unnecessary.

  The carriage stopped directly in front of Randolph’s house. Ana’s shoulders squared, though Hollis could see her hands shaking as she took up her satchel.

  “Courage, Miss Newport,” he whispered. “You are equal to this.”

  The smile she bestowed on him would, he felt certain, make regular appearances in his thoughts and dreams.

  The butler—newly installed after Randolph’s marriage, their childhood butler having long ago quit his post for not being paid by their father—opened the door.

  “Good afternoon, Parker,” Hollis greeted. He pressed his gloved palm to Ana’s back and nudged her inside. “Would you send word to the nursery that Miss Eloise’s music instructor has arrived?”

  “Very good, sir.”

  While the man went to deliver the message, Hollis accompanied his lovely companion to the music room. The space was less sparse and depressing than it had been during the years Hollis had lived there. Father had sold nearly all their belongings, but Randolph had managed to acquire some replacements.

  Ana moved directly to the pianoforte. She set her satchel on the floor beside it and plunked a few of the keys. It was a smaller and more humble instrument than most houses in this area could boast. It was, no doubt, all his brother had been able to procure with his all-but-empty pockets.

  Hollis wandered to the tall, curtained windows. The world outside was as quiet here as it was in his corner of London. He’d wanted to make his townhome in a more bustling and exciting location. Being part of the Dreadfuls had ruined him for peace and quiet. But Randolph had balked loudly and colorfully when he’d heard the address where Hollis had originally meant to live. Compromise had seemed best. It had also proved boring.

  “Uncle Hollis!”

  He spun around at the sound of Eloise’s voice. “Sweetie!”

  She rushed to him and jumped into his open arms. Soon enough she’d be too big for such things. He meant to cherish her littleness while it lasted.

  “Have you brought me flowers?” she asked. “I like it when you bring me flowers.”

  “I have brought you Miss Newport. She is my friend and a music teacher.”

  Eloise turned bright eyes on Ana, who stood by the pianoforte, watching her newest student with unmistakable delight.

  He set Eloise on her feet and pushed her toward Ana, though she didn’t actually need the encouragement.

  The little girl rushed to her new teacher. “Good morning, Miss Newport.” She offered a very prettily executed courtesy.

  “Good morning to you, Miss Eloise.” Ana motioned to the stool. “Please have a seat, and let’s begin.”

  For all her uncertainty during the journey from Thurloe, Ana was immediately in her element. Hollis sat in a chair under one of the windows as the lesson began.

  Eloise plunked her way through a very simple piece she’d learned, while Ana listened with an encouraging smile. He could have happily sat there all day long, no matter the lack of polish in Eloise’s performance, but he heard his brother’s voice in the corridor and felt it best to offer a greeting.

  He slipped from the music room and came face-to-face with more than he’d anticipated. Randolph was deep in conversation with Alistair Headley.

  The two gentlemen noticed him at the same time, and the conversation immediately halted.

  “Headley,” Hollis greeted with the tiniest dip of his head.

  “Darby,” was the equally unenthusiastic reply.

  “Mrs. Kennard was disappointed not to see you at her musicale.”

  Headley offered a small shrug. “I was otherwise occupied.”

  “Is that what it’s being called now?” Four-Finger Mike was not known for the propriety of his pursuits.

  “What what is being called?” Headley asked.

  “Whatever it was you were doing.” Hollis shrugged as if it were terribly unimportant. Playing the fool tended to upend people enough they often revealed more than they intended.

  “I don’t believe I said what I was doing.”

  “Odd.” Hollis pretended to ponder the point. “I could have sworn I had an inkling what you’ve been up to.”

  Headley didn’t answer. He turned his attention back to Randolph. “I’d best be on my way.”

  “I’ll see you out,” Randolph said. “You can tell me more of . . . what we were discussing.”

  Headley spared Hollis a quick glance as he stepped out. The man didn’t seem truly suspicious, but there was definite concern in his expression. Interesting.

  The butler stood near the now-closed door, watching through the narrow window so he could anticipate his employer’s return.

  “How often is Mr. Headley here?” Hollis asked, moving to join him.

  “Increasingly often, sir.”

  Hollis didn’t care for that answer. “Does he seem to be a bad influence on my brother?”

  Parker’s eyes darted to him. “Are you asking your brother’s butler?”

  “No, I’m asking one of my best spies.”

  Parker nodded once, firmly. “Oy, then.” His posture slumped from the rigidness required of a proper servant. “That bloke Headley’s a rum customer if you’re asking me.”

  “You think he’s dangerous?” Hollis eyed Headley through the narrow window.

  “I hear things.” When Parker wasn’t “on duty,” he had as much swagger as any of the Dreadfuls, and a far more colorful vocabulary.

  “I’m aware of your acute hearing, Parker. Thankful for it, even.” While Fletcher had his network of street children who brought him word of difficulties and danger, Hollis knew almost everything going on in more exalted circles because he had his own network among the servants. “I’ve heard some whispers about Headley. Have you?”

  Parker nodded. “His footman says he’s hardly ever home. Out ’til all hours, he is.”

  “Not unheard-of for gentlemen of means.”

  “I asked the hac
k driver who comes by for him regular-like,” Parker said. “Mr. Headley’s not lazing about at any respectable places. Few days back, the driver dropped the gen’lman at a copper hell in Lambeth.”

  Lambeth? Jumpin’ Moses. “Does he frequent the slums?”

  Parker shook his head. “But wandering out to the seedier side of things even ‘sometimes’ ain’t exactly the sort o’ thing an up-and-upper oughtta be doing.”

  “Have you heard any whispers of him hanging about with a man called Four-Finger—”

  “Mike.” Parker nodded. “A shady bruiser if ever there was one.”

  “Keep your ears out, man,” Hollis said. “I don’t like that Headley’s cozying up to my brother.”

  “You want me to send whispers your way?”

  Hollis nodded. “Get word to my man, Ambrose.” His valet was part of Hollis’s network of serving-class spies. “You still have your penny?”

  Parker pulled a coin from his waistcoat pocket and gave it a toss in the air. “I know what to do with a calling card.”

  As the butler, he’d likely collected thousands of actual calling cards. That the marked penny, an identifier used by nearly all the Dreadfuls’ informants, had come to be called that amongst Hollis’s servant spies delighted him to no end.

  “If Headley makes any trouble for my sister-in-law or her children—”

  “I ain’t gonna stand back and watch any of ’em get hurt,” Parker said.

  Hollis nodded. He had every faith in the butler-turned-informant.

  Outside, Randolph was walking back toward the house, alone.

  “Summon your respectability, Parker. Time to play butler.”

  Though Hollis would have liked to discover what he could from his brother, Randolph was particular about appearances, and that bled into class distinctions. He would have been frustrated to know Hollis had spent the past minutes amiably chatting with the butler.

  So he returned to the music room. Eloise was bouncing excitedly on her stool. Ana sat on a chair beside her, grinning from ear to ear. He’d known the two would take to each other straight off.

  “I’m ‘naturally inclined to music,’ Uncle Hollis,” Eloise said. “Miss Newport said so.”