Lady Lightfingers

by Janet Woods

  ‘Harriet . . . Miss Price . . . is here for my advice, Chas.’

  ‘I see; then I won’t take up your time any further. My pardon, Miss Price.’ He hesitated for a mere second before saying, ‘Did you travel to Poole by yourself, Miss Price?’

  ‘Celia accompanied me.’

  ‘Ah . . . yes, Celia . . . I had almost forgotten her.’

  James rolled his eyes.

  ‘I imagine she’s shopping then.’

  ‘No . . . she had some business to conduct. She’s looking for a pawn . . . a silversmith. Oh dear!’ She brought her hand to her mouth. ‘I meant . . . yes, I imagine she is shopping with Christmas so near.’ She shrugged and gazed at James, unaware of the appeal in her eyes, or the melting effect it had on him.

  ‘With your permission I’d like to entrust my partner with your problem a little later, Harriet,’ he said. ‘I guarantee that he is discreet and trustworthy, and he can be quite the terrier when called upon.’

  When his partner raised an elegant eyebrow, chuckled and stated, ‘I’d rather be compared to a greyhound,’ Harriet nodded.

  ‘The description does suit you much better, Mr Curtis. Greyhounds are so hungry-looking though. You should eat more.’

  Now it was James’ turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘Before you tuck into a rabbit or two, Chas, perhaps you’d chase Celia down and bring her back here.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said, and his smile told them that he meant it.

  Harriet’s hand flew to her mouth and she gave a nervous laugh. ‘That was awful of me. I’m so sorry.’

  James patted her hand. ‘Nonsense, Harriet. It was totally apt.’

  After Charles had gone, James said, ‘You do realize that I cannot charge Mr Avery with the misuse of your funds without proof, don’t you? However, if you employ my company to handle what remains of them, I can insist on a proper audit. Do you have copies of your mother’s will; also your father’s if that’s possible, since you have given me to understand there were some trust funds, and Celia might have been entitled to anything that was due to her mother. And I must ask you to sign a request form, giving me permission to access your accounts.’

  ‘That will be the less painful option than becoming Arthur Avery’s wife.’ She opened her bag and removed a wad of paper. ‘Here are copies of the wills. Mr Avery has the originals.’ Her eyes met his and she grinned, mainly because his were filled with amusement. ‘Now, I must ask you how much this will cost, James.’

  ‘A penny,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘Celia said you wouldn’t charge me for your advice, and I must flutter my eyelashes at you if you do. She said you’d probably swoon and fall over with your legs kicking in the air.’

  ‘Celia has a fine sense of melodrama, I’m afraid. Are you too sensible to flirt with me, Harriet, my dear? I’ll waive the penny fee if you do.’

  She fluttered them, laughing. ‘There, will that do?’

  ‘Will you marry me?’ he said, and her eyes widened and she couldn’t prevent a blush from creeping into her cheeks.

  ‘But we’ve only just met.’

  ‘Does that matter? This might sound conceited, but I do think I’d be an improvement on Arthur Avery.’

  Head to one side she regarded him with the beginnings of a smile. ‘No, James, I suppose it doesn’t matter, and yes, you’d definitely be an improvement on Mr Avery.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘You’re acting on impulse, so I’ll overlook your odd behaviour. You must take time to consider this course of action. If your sentiments remain constant and you are in the same mind in the future, then you may ask me again.’

  ‘My cautious little mouse; I fell in love with you the moment I set eyes on you. You must all come and spend Christmas and Boxing Day with us. I’ll propose marriage to you with proper decorum, and you can give me your answer then.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ she cried out. ‘Celia is making plans to steal a duck from the pond and strangle it to cook for Christmas dinner.’

  ‘I surrender my freedom to you, and all you can think of is food?’ James burst out laughing. ‘Surely your finances haven’t reached the stage where you’re obliged to hunt down your Christmas dinner.’

  ‘According to Mr Avery, I’m very much afraid they have,’ she said soberly. ‘Celia is such a practical girl, and says we’ll manage.’

  How they would manage he could only imagine . . . would Lady Lightfingers be forced to fall back on her specialized skills? ‘She’s certainly inventive . . . a duck from the pond? Good grief!’ Leaning across his desk he took her face between his palms and tenderly kissed her.

  It was Harriet’s first kiss, and was special because the man who’d given it to her had declared that he loved her. Harriet forgot Celia and her Christmas duck when joy swept through her.

  Charles ran Celia to earth just after she’d exited the pawnbroker’s shop. There had been no questions asked. She’d done her best, but she’d been unable to push the broker up in price.

  She gazed at the money in her hand with some dismay, hoping she could do better with the christening mug and the silversmith – if she could find one.

  ‘Ah . . . the lovely and talented Miss Laws, there you are,’ somebody said against her ear, and she jumped backwards. A shilling fell from her hand and rolled towards the road. The toe of Charles’ soft leather boot came down on it. Picking it up he flipped it, spinning through the air, exactly like the time when he’d given her the one guinea reward, followed by offering her the one hundred pounds. Exactly like the last time, she plucked the coin safely from the air. Habit made her swiftly slide the coin with one smooth motion into the pocket inside her skirt.

  ‘You have a good eye and quick reflexes.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Curtis.’

  ‘You can call me Charles if you wish, and I shall call you Celia from now on, if you’d permit.’

  She would wish, and she would permit, but her aunt might think it too familiar on such a short acquaintance. He’d kissed her on a shorter one, she reflected, and when a tease of a grin flirted around his mouth, she wished he’d kiss her again.

  Her gaze moved to the satchel he was carrying. ‘If you have business to conduct, please don’t allow me to detain you.’

  ‘I’ve already conducted it. What about you, Celia?’

  She was pleased he hadn’t sought to embarrass her by saying he saw her emerge from the pawnbroker. Did it matter that they were not well off? Did she mind if he knew that? She gazed at the wrapped mug in her hand. It didn’t, because she’d been poor since she could remember. ‘I was looking for a silversmith to discover what this object might be worth.’

  ‘May I see it?’

  Unwrapping the item he gazed at the inscription and gazed from under his dark brows, an enquiry in his eyes. ‘Jane Price?’

  ‘Harriet’s deceased sister. You see, a chimney fell down in the storm and damaged the roof, and her lawyer said . . . well, I shouldn’t disclose Harriet’s business, but she needed advice, so I suggested she consult with James. We couldn’t afford the repairs just at the moment. Harriet didn’t know how to go about selling things to a pawnbroker, and I thought a silversmith might be better, if I could find one.’ Her eyes widened. ‘I didn’t steal the mug . . . Is that what you think?’

  He nodded, trying not to laugh and thinking to himself, so this was what Harriet Price was all about, cosily closeted with James. ‘I don’t recall thinking that you’d stolen it?’

  Her grin had a shamefaced feel to it because she’d misjudged him. ‘You gave me a sort of legal-looking frown that suggested it was a possibility.’

  He frowned at her. ‘Like this?’

  ‘No, it was more like this.’ She lowered her chin, screwed up her face and looked up at him.

  He chuckled. ‘That’s how my horse looks when he’s got the gripe. Actually, I was thinking how lovely a young woman you are. Stop glowering at once, else I shall change my mind.’ He held out his arm to her. ‘Sh
all we walk?’

  He was an elegant man in a suit of dark grey with seamed cuffs. Under it was a light-grey brocade waistcoat displaying twinkling ruby-coloured buttons.

  Tucking her hand into the warm crook of his elbow, she said, ‘I must find a silversmith, else we won’t be able to pay for the roof repairs. Do you know of one?’

  ‘Not in Poole, or on the quay, which is not an entirely safe place for a young woman to be unaccompanied.’

  ‘I’ve been in worse places.’ Indeed, she found the quay to be an interesting place with the ships swaying in the harbour, the cockle and eel sellers and people with carts coming and going.

  ‘The place is full of thieves. It’s a wonder you haven’t had your pocket picked, or been abducted and taken on board one of the ships.’

  She slanted him a glance, wondering if his mention of picking pockets meant he’d remembered who she was, and had a barb attached. But no, the expression on his face told her he was oblivious to any connection. ‘That is a hideous suggestion. For what reason would anyone take me on board a ship?’

  The next moment she could have bitten her tongue off, for he gave an entirely wicked grin. She blushed.

  Gently he changed the subject. ‘If you’d like to leave the mug with me, I’ll be going to London to visit for the New Year and I’ll see what I can do. I could advance you a sum to cover the repairs if you like.’

  Her heart squeezed at the thought of owing him more money, when she had the one hundred pounds he’d given her safely tucked away. They’d have to be desperate before she gave in to spending any of it though, for then she’d have to repay it in kind, something that was now a more attractive proposition than she liked to admit. The more she saw of Charles, the more she liked him and wanted him to think well of her.

  The money had become the price of her downfall, and she’d labelled Charles as the devil himself for advancing it to her on such a promise. She smiled to herself. How odd then, that despite half of her not wanting to disappoint him by becoming what he’d wanted then – his whore – the other half of her wantonly craved such attention from him, as she imagined it would be.

  She’d reached a fork in the road of her life on that day of the loan. Taking it had been the first step on a downward path. She had since decided to give the money back to him. Until she could do so, whilst still remaining undetected, the money mocked her, tempting her to use it.

  ‘The house belongs to my aunt, and I can’t incur a debt on her behalf.’

  ‘Then allow me to give you an advance on the sale of the silver, which I’ll sell to a dealer in London, one who I know will pay a fair price for it.’

  ‘It may embarrass my aunt to know what I’ve done.’

  ‘Embarrassment is a small loss of pride when compared to the pains of hunger. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t see it.’

  ‘Thank you, Charles.’ When she handed him the mug, he took a note from an inside pocket and placed it in her hand. ‘This is too much.’

  ‘Since when have you been an expert on the value of silver?’

  ‘Never . . . when have you?’

  He laughed. ‘Stop arguing.’

  Her eyes slanted to him as he escorted her back along to the town hall and beyond to the High Street, where, halfway along, the suite of offices Charles shared with James was situated. How handsome and confident he looked. He certainly drew the eyes of women and Celia felt proud to be paraded on his arm.

  His eyes met hers, dark and unfathomable. She was absorbed into the liquid of them, and saw herself reflected there. ‘You have a pretty mouth, Celia. Like a ripe peach. I’d like to kiss you until you went crazy from it.’

  He’d said before that her mouth was like a peach – before he’d kissed her that last time. Her mouth began to tingle and her knees felt weak, as if her body was falling apart like grains of sugar melting into sweet rivulets of honey.

  ‘Charles, please don’t talk to me like that,’ she whispered, wanting to lean into the strength of his firm body and be consumed by it.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Celia my little innocent, I won’t kiss you here in the street with the world looking on. But before too long, I’ll find the opportunity.’

  Celia knew she’d die from the pleasure of it if he did. She dragged in a deep, ragged breath as Charles held open the door to the offices for her to pass through, and he said against her ear as he followed her through, his voice as delicate as a strand of golden silk, ‘That’s a promise.’

  She couldn’t allow it, because it couldn’t be. They couldn’t be. Charles was a fine man. He was sensitive to the needs of others, honest, and he represented the law of the land.

  The day would come when she’d have to tell him of her background – of the way she’d deceived him. No matter that she’d shed her rags and now knew which fork and spoon to use, she was a child of the London slums – one who’d stolen from him, and who would steal again to keep herself and Lottie alive if it became necessary.

  Women with her background might attract professional gentlemen, but professional gentlemen didn’t marry them. And she craved Charles’ admiration, his respect and his attention. She was damned if she confessed her past, and damned if she didn’t, because secrets had a way of getting out once they’d become the property of another.

  Because of that she could never become a companion of any sort to Charles Curtis, no matter how much money he offered her.

  So let this meeting be the end of it, she thought, feeling the warmth of him at her back as he closed the door behind them. He took off his top hat, placed the mug inside it and laid it on the hallstand with his gloves over the top, to conceal it from the sight of Harriet.

  The secretive smile he winged her way endeared him to her.

  Fourteen

  It seemed to Celia that everyone turned up for the Christmas morning service.

  The church was decorated with holly and mistletoe, and they sang carols. Celia had read the nativity lesson about the three wise men, her voice suitably hushed as the miracle of Christmas was revealed – and the congregation equally hushed because word had spread about her literary alliance with the famous poet Thomas Hambert, and he now smiled at her from the second pew, despite some of the villagers having thought it was one of Celia Laws’ highly unlikely tales.

  After Celia introduced him to the presiding reverend, a rather serious younger man, they left the church and walked to the carriage through a line of curious people.

  Mrs Hardy was overheard to say softly to her neighbour when Celia was in range, ‘I don’t know what she’s got to be so fancy about, when her father was a rogue. Where is he, that’s what I want to know?’

  ‘I heard he’d died; and there’s no smoke without fire.’

  ‘I told you that. But the girl tells me he’s coming back. I wouldn’t be surprised since I saw him in London; he was working under the name of Daniel Laws. There can’t be another man on this earth who looks and sounds like him, can there? And Alice Price was too proud of him as she walked down the aisle. There was something fishy about that marriage right from the start. Nobody can say any different.’

  ‘My Rob said that Celia Laws stole into the village after dark, as though she didn’t want to be seen. He said she was dressed in rags and pushing a cart with that small girl in, just like a beggar.’

  ‘And how did he see that in the dark?’

  ‘He thought she was a robber, and he followed her to see what she were up to. Miss Price and her servant opened the door, and Miss Price let her in. Rob tried to see what were going on through the windows, but the curtains were drawn across.’

  ‘I’d better make sure I keep mine closed from now on then if your Rob is prone to sneaking round the village at night peering through windows at folks. Where did that small girl come from, that’s what I’d like to know.’

  No doubt she would, Celia thought, but she wasn’t going to satisfy her curiosity. A quick glance revealed that the second woman had turned away in affront a
t the disparaging remark aimed at her Rob’s nocturnal activity.

  Not by a flicker of an eyebrow did Celia reveal that she’d overheard the spiteful remarks, though flags of red flew into her cheeks and her fists bunched. She would have liked to snatch the silly pink feather from Mrs Hardy’s even sillier bonnet – which had more decorations than a Christmas tree – and snap it in half under her nose.

  But although the woman didn’t know it, her comments had done Celia a favour by giving cause to reawaken her almost dormant desire, which was to confront her father. It was all right settling cosily here like a hen on a nest, but there were issues from her past she had to resolve, and finding out about her father was only one of them.

  All the same, she thought ruefully, managing with great effort to keep her temper under control, it was easier to hide in the crowd in London. Here in the village of Hanbury Cross, anything out of the ordinary attracted comment and rumour – and Celia knew she was out of the ordinary, even after all this time.

  Harriet gave no indication that she’d heard anything amiss, but offered her a sympathetic smile when she was assisted into the carriage. The hood was up, a fur rug spread over their knees to keep them warm. James took a place on top with the coachman, and they were off.

  They spent pleasant Christmas and Boxing days with Thomas, Abigail and James. Patricia, the daughter of the Kent household, was blue-eyed and fair-haired. Her quiet husband and two boisterous children were introduced. Even Millie had been invited to the festivities.

  Celia had half-hoped that Charles Curtis would be there, but he’d gone to London to spend some time with his family.

  ‘He’s left a gift for you under the tree,’ Thomas told her.

  The gift was a prettily enamelled bird in a cage of silver gilt, which whistled a tune when it was wound up. How pretty it was, and she wished she had something to give him in return. But for his own sake he mustn’t be encouraged.

  After dinner, Thomas drowsed in the chair in front of the library fire, while the women helped the servants – who’d dined with them on this special day – to clear the dishes from the dining room and wash them up.