A Thief Before Christmas

by Jennifer McGowan

  “Except it didn’t work.” I sighed. “These notes were never sent, never opened. And now that their letters are lost, who knows when Henry or Lucretia will have the nerve to write so openly again?”

  Master James was unwinding his scarf and peeling off his heavy cloak. “And this would not be our problem, now would it?” he chided. Then he saw my face. “Oh no, Meg. No.”

  “But why not?” I asked earnestly, holding the letters to my breast. “It is such a simple thing at that, isn’t it? We figure out who Henry and Lucretia are, find a way to get the right letters into the right hands, and let true love take its course! It would be a wonderful gift to give for Christmas, would it not?”

  “We may not even be here by Christmas,” James said severely. “You know as well as I do the lot we took today was unusually good. The townspeople of Leeds might well become suspicious if they start missing their Christmas presents and we’re still underfoot.”

  “Then we get a patron!” I insisted. “We’ve done it before.”

  “We’ve done it before because your grandfather was alive.” Master James’s lips tightened, and I instantly saw my mistake. James was a proud young man, and he ran our troupe ably, but he was not Grandfather. My grandfather had known the best and richest families in every shire and village, and we’d traded easily and often on the good nature of his long-term friends. But Grandfather was dead these three months’ past, and James had quickly learned that doors that had been open to any friends of Grandfather were not so easily breached by the old man’s troupe without him. The first refusal had been the hardest; the second had ended James’s attempts. We’d adjusted quickly, of course. We had always supplemented the patronage of families with our own thievery. Now we just had to consider ourselves more professional. But I still silently chafed that James had never put me forward to make the requests. As Grandfather’s offspring, I could at least have tried to preserve the thread of his goodwill.

  James, however, was male. Which meant that avenue of logic was hopeless to him. He would never believe that a woman could do any job as well as a man. At least not any job worth doing.

  Still, he was my troupe master, and I owed him loyalty.

  “Master James, I meant no disrespect,” I said. “I only suggested it as an idea.”

  “An’ it’s a poor one,” James replied, his tone as short as any I’d ever heard from him. Seeing my distress, he sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. “Meg, look. We are not long for this place. I give us a week, tops, less if Meredith has her baby and we can be on our way. If you can find your two young lovers and get them back their letters, I give you leave to do so. But you must be careful. You cannot get caught. And the moment I say we must leave this town, I will mean it. We must go.”

  I’d already started grinning well before he’d finished, and he knew the battle was lost. He sighed again with true remorse.

  “Just don’t get caught,” he said once more.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The sun broke clear and fine the next morning, Sunday, and my plan was set.

  Finding young lovers who were hidden even from themselves would normally not be easy. Leeds was a thriving town, never more so than now, it seemed, with the demand for woolen goods quite overwhelming the craftsmen who created them. Starting in the midst of the bustling industrial section of town would be madness. And, truth to tell, having the gentleman’s name—Henry—was not as much of a help as you might think. For thirty long years England had been ruled by a King Henry. . . . It had become the most favored name in the land for male babies. Most likely this Henry was a member of the Dobbs family, since his letter bore that seal, but even that was not a guarantee.

  I had other ideas though.

  James had done me the favor of reading the letters from Henry and Lucretia aloud, and so I knew that Lucretia’s family was of prominent stature in the area. That, and the mere facts that she was able to write and had the parchment and ink and wax with which to fashion a proper letter, reduced the pool of likely women significantly. I was also fairly certain that Lucretia was young, and had never been married. No widow would go on about the potential husbandship of a man she fancied. . . . She would be more savvy than that.

  I had no intention of ever marrying myself, of course, and couldn’t see the point of such unions in many cases. But love was a different thing altogether. Love was worth helping along, even if a marriage did not result in the end. The world could always use more love.

  Exuding an air of self-possessed confidence, I smoothed my hand down my skirts. I’d selected the smart green-and-black panel-slashed gown for this occasion. It looked more impressive than it was, given that the velvet was parchment thin and the woolen bits were frayed at the edges. But from a distance, in the shadows, or even to an undiscerning eye, in a gown such as this I could pass as a young woman of quality. If James had noticed my nicer garb this morning during the breaking of our fast, he didn’t mention it. He also didn’t raise a brow when I slipped out of the common room of the Cock’s Crow Inn, my hair brushed to a fine sheen and tucked beneath a lovely hat we’d acquired somewhere between Nottingham and Windsor last season. We used the hat mostly in our performances, but it would suit me well for the act I was about to play.

  I took the steps of the church quickly and slipped into a pew, not even taking a moment to admire the lovely hangings of spruce and berries that festooned the heavily carved doors in celebration of the season. As it was, I was late . . . and grateful that the service was about to come to an end. I could do pious with the best of them, but it still wore on a girl’s soul.

  I knelt and stood and bowed and prayed; I even sang when the occasion demanded it. Mostly, however, I watched the crowd.

  I drew some attention, of course. I was a woman alone, and even in a church that was a curious thing. Still, this was also Leeds, so no one looked too closely to see who was attending services and who was not. For every father in the building, another was either “taken ill” or “traveling to care for family” or whatever excuse he needed to justify his time spent working rather than celebrating the Lord’s Day. For every good wife kneeling in prayer, another was tending to what must be done to keep the family business running strong.

  Once the service ended, I easily fell in with the knot of young women who exited the church in a cluster of bobbing heads and wagging tongues. I trailed after them but hesitantly. These were not the women I wanted, exactly. I did not think my lovelorn miss would be holding her own in a gaggle of geese. But anywhere young women gathered, there was the hope that Lucretia might be somewhere close by.

  “What, ho, who are you?”

  I was startled by the sharp voice and craning neck of the young woman closest to me, an unfortunately gowned girl of middling height and spotty complexion. Her hair was a riotous red that was currently forced into submission beneath a smart if ill-hued hat, and her matching sickly green gown looked expensive, for all that it was ugly. “I haven’t seen you before.”

  “Mathilda Mathison,” I said quickly, turning full to face her with a flounce of my gown. I drew the attention of all the girls, of course. I felt their keen eyes on me, stripping my gown bare. Could they see the flaws in the fabric? Ordinarily, I would say yes. But the trick was to keep moving, and so move I did, flapping my arms with vigor. “Oh, do go on and enjoy your day! I did not mean to intrude. You are all so sweet seeming, though, and I’ve been traveling for such an age. I confess, I just wanted to hear some pleasant conversation for a bit before I returned home to my father’s rooms. We’re in town to sell our—”

  “Yes, yes, well, you may certainly accompany us.” I was interrupted by the most regal girl in the bunch, her gown jet-black and velvet and looking as if she’d finished sewing it only that morning, and her cloak a fur-lined vision. “Just pop along to the back, shall you?” And keep quiet, came the unspoken command. This was the leader of the group, and for good
reason. She was lovely: slender and blond with sky blue eyes and a rose-petal mouth. I put her age at about eighteen, and that made her a bit older than most of the girls in her entourage.

  “Oh, la! Thank you! I can tarry for only a bit!” The others smiled easily enough but returned their attention to their leader, and I pivoted on my toes, searching for the back of the group. The tall girl’s name was Annabelle, I learned, and she was the best and the brightest at all things. The gossip of the day was already boring me, but I needed to see if any of these girls spoke of Lucretia. A name such as that would be easy enough to note. As I worked my way toward the edge of the group, however, I saw her all on my own.

  Standing off to one side of the courtyard was the young woman from yesterday’s unfortunate horse-tangle, who had tried so hard and so ineffectually to extract her aunt’s hair from certain ruination. I remembered the girl’s startled gasp when she’d realized she’d lost something precious on the ground in the scuffle, her deliberately smoothed features as she told her aunt that no, she had not misplaced anything and they could be on their way.

  I had found Lucretia.

  And even if I wasn’t certain, everything about the girl proclaimed her as my mark.

  Oh, I’m not saying an average person would have known her quarry so quickly. But I was not only a thief of no small skill, I was an actress, as good at reading people as some could read books. I could tell by the shift of a torso who was truly engaged in a conversation and who was straining away. I could tell by the tilt of a head who was pondering important business and who didn’t think at all. I could tell who had a secret and who didn’t, and I could spot well-hidden misery a mile away.

  The girl at the edge of the courtyard was well and truly miserable.

  She was striking, though, I’d give her that. Not quite beautiful, but . . . interesting. Today her hair was pulled back into a tidy wrap, nearly covered by her hooded hat. Her eyes were almost a startling light blue, and her skin was fair. Her cape looked well made, snugly drawn as it was around her, and I saw her touch her hip not once but three times in the space of the few seconds I watched her—a habitual reassuring response. Only now her lips dropped farther down at the corners, and I saw her mouth tighten in self-reproach. I could almost hear the words as if I had scripted them myself. “Stop being so stupid,” the girl was chastising herself, I was sure of it. “What’s lost is lost.”

  Still, when her gaze strayed toward the group of girls of which she was most assuredly not a part, I saw the panicked look in her eyes and my stomach twisted. With her letter lost, she had no idea who might scoop it up and read it, I realized. Did she believe that her secret had fallen into the wrong hands?

  I couldn’t set her mind at ease completely on that score, but I could help.

  When the group swung wide and to the right, I stepped toward the young woman and smiled. “Are you Lucretia?” I asked shyly.

  “Yes,” she responded, startled. “Do I— Do I know you?”

  “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “One of the girls mentioned your name and . . .” I waved my hand vaguely back to the group. “I don’t know who, though, I am new in town.”

  “Well, I don’t know that they would have said anything in kindness.” Lucretia grimaced, her gaze darting over to where the girls now giggled in a tight knot around Annabelle. “They aren’t bad girls, just . . . I don’t fit in well with them. I spend most of my days tending to my aunt.” It was her turn to give a little half gesture, and I followed the movement to the far end of the courtyard. There, sure enough, was the fat noblewoman from yesterday afternoon, with a completely new wig and hat ensemble, and a purple stone the size of a fist looped about her throat.

  My eyes widened. What was she thinking? I had given her that stone yesterday morning as if I’d picked it up from the ground. Surely she realized that this meant someone had lost the thing. Why would she display it so prominently?

  I noticed something else, too. As the men disgorged from the church in knots of three and four, Lucretia would quickly glance up, scan the groups, and then return her attention to me. I fought not to grin, and hoped Henry was a God-fearing man.

  “Your family is in the trade?” she was asking now, and I nodded quickly, remembering my role.

  “Yes. We’re in town but for a little while, and then off again. My father trusts precious few people, and so the task of managing his appointments falls to me. But today he is, ah . . . well, we’ve been traveling so much.”

  “I understand,” Lucretia said, her smile kind. I did not have to explain my father’s non-churchgoing ways further. “Men who are dedicated to their work seldom take the time to rest, until it all comes up on them at once.”

  She lifted her eyes to make another quick scan of the courtyard, and this time she flinched.

  I turned to see just what this Henry fellow was all about.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t alone.

  “Henry David Dobbs!” Annabelle cried out, her voice clear and melodious. “Pray, come over and give me a proper greeting!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  My eyes popped wide to see Annabelle flounce across the courtyard, the other girls trailing her like ducklings. Beside me, Lucretia gave an unhappy sigh. “Who is that?” I asked, my curiosity clear. Just a simple traveling miss, out enjoying the scenery.

  “Henry Dobbs is the third son of the Dobbs Milliners, one of the most prolific craftsmen in Leeds.” She frowned at me. “I am surprised you don’t know the name.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve only just begun assisting my father. I don’t think he has ever mentioned a Henry Dobbs before.”

  “Well, no, he wouldn’t have.” Lucretia shook her head. “Henry hates the work, I tell you plain. Or, at least, I never see him actually working.”

  I frowned at her. “He’s a wastrel?” Why would she lose her heart to a shiftless fool?

  “Oh, never that.” She shook her head again, firmly. “But he is such a kind and loving young man. Always willing to help, always willing to give his time when he can spare it from his work. He has no taste for commerce, though that is where his commitment lies. And, as you can see, he is quite a favorite with the girls.”

  “Well, if his family is rich, that would account for some of the attention, I’m sure,” I said dryly. “Even if he is the third son.”

  “Oh, his father has made much over his love for all his sons. They and their families will be well cared for.” She grimaced. “Annabelle is quite certain he will marry her and keep her in the style and luxury of her current life. And perhaps he will. They would make a lovely couple.”

  “It doesn’t look like he has much of a choice,” I said, frowning. Annabelle and her girls had nearly surrounded poor Henry, along with a few other young men of apparent high standing. Henry looked chagrined, but he held his ground, responding to Annabelle’s questions with smiles and easy banter. “Why don’t you go over and talk to him? It looks as if he could use rescuing.”

  “From Annabelle Farthington? Not likely,” Lucretia scoffed with the first hint of real fire I’d seen in her. “She is barely eighteen, and yet you would think she ruled the city. Her family has an estate east of Leeds, and their money doesn’t come from commerce. ’Tis said old King Henry had them in line for the peerage, and now they hope to further their interests in that direction with the ascension of Princess Elizabeth to the throne.” She crossed herself quickly. “God rest Queen Mary’s soul.”

  “Yes, God rest,” I murmured. In truth, I had no love for our dearly departed monarch. From all accounts, Mary Tudor had been as dour in person as in policy, and she’d painted the country in blood trying to force her people to cleave to Catholic ways when verily half the land was now Protestant. I prayed Elizabeth would have a lighter hand with her rule, though I doubted I’d ever see the woman. Grandfather had long warned us away from performing in any city so grand as London. “Still, ah .
. . is not your family also well placed?” The question was a bit pointed, but I didn’t have much time here. The socializing hour after services gave me the best opportunity to determine how to proceed. But it seemed my work was more complicated than I had expected.

  Finding Lucretia had been easy, and her young would-be lover seemed a nice enough sort. But if Henry was already promised to another, then that was no good. Master James was right: The Golden Rose had only a few more days’ respite here in Leeds before we would head off for more southern climes. Not only did we have to sell the goods we’d stolen, but we could not afford to be caught with our pockets full of gold.

  But still, Henry . . . I frowned at the young man Annabelle was plying with her feminine wiles. Then I noted Annabelle’s expression, the movements of her hands. I was so intent that Lucretia’s next words all but startled me into my next life. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Are you memorizing Annabelle’s movements?”

  “What? No!” I said hastily, dropping my hands to smooth my gown. Of course I had been doing that very thing. I was constantly studying other women, as I would be doubtless asked to portray the type at one time or another. Who didn’t want to be prepared? “She is just a bit . . . distracting, I guess,” I said lamely.

  “Oh, I don’t blame you,” Lucretia said, even her irritability charming. “She has half the world in her sway, and the other half envious. I tell you plain, she is not a woman you would wish to have as your competition.” She smiled at me. “We’ve not been formally introduced, though. I’m Lucretia Williams.” She held out her hand.

  “Mathilda Mathison,” I said, taking her hand as I considered her words. I watched Henry’s attention move beyond Annabelle and to the newest group exiting the doors of the church. Instantly he took his leave of the young woman and made his way to the knot of clergymen as if he actually liked them.