An Honorable Thief

by Anne Gracie

  He made a sudden stifled sound as he realised what she was about to say.

  "Well, to cut a long story short, it weren't no boy an it weren't no Indian—it was Miss Kit."

  "Why was she clutching her stomach? Was she ill?"

  Maggie blushed furiously and stared out the window at the fields rushing by, as she explained. "No, sir, she. ..she said she was...bleeding. I checked her over for injuries and that's when I discovered she was a girl. She were having her first attack of the cramps some women get with their monthly time. She, er...no one had told her about being a girl and what to expect, sir. He—her Pa—had dressed her as a boy most of her life. And treated her as a boy, too. So when she started having these pains, and found she was er, bleeding from the inside, she thought she was dying, poor little soul."

  Hugo swallowed, imagining the scene. He didn't know much about female society, but he imagined most girls would come to womanhood with the support of their older female relatives. His little Kit had been quite alone. She had spent too much time alone, coping with problems that he could only imagine...

  "She told me later her mother had died like that, bled and bled from the inside, after havin' a baby. The baby died too, poor little soul." Maggie heaved a sigh. "And Miss Kit, poor little tyke, were in a panic, because she knew she'd been caught thievin' and didn't know which was worse—a thief s punishment—that's havin your hand cut off—or bleedin' to death like her ma."

  Hugo closed his eyes for a moment, his fists clenched. "That swine of a father of hers should rot in Hell for his neglect. What the devil was he doing, letting her go out stealing?"

  Maggie's face soured. "Letting her? Had her taught to do it, didn't he? Like a little apprentice. From an early age. He couldn't earn a good enough living with the cards, and

  God forbid that a gentleman like him would lower himself to work!"

  "So he taught his child—his daughter—to steal?"

  "Not a pretty tale, is it?" agreed Maggie grimly. "But as an English gentleman, he ran tame in all the nobs* houses and palaces, and his innocent little 'son' too, going where they pleased, and learning the lay of the land. And then later, little Miss Kit would get into native dress and go back and thieve for him."

  "I put a stop to all that, mind. It weren't decent. I had Miss Kit into a bath and a nightgown as quick as you could say Jack Robinson. And by the time her worthless pa came a lookin' for her, I'd decided to stay with her and teach her right from wrong, seein' as nobody else had seen fit, and so I told him. And so he was stuck with me, and she be­came a girl instead of a boy for the first time in her life."

  "I begin to see why Kit said she would do anything for Maggie Bone," Hugo said softly.

  Maggie blushed. He leaned forward in the coach, took Maggie's hand and kissed it, quite as if she was a duchess or a queen.

  "Miss Bone, I thank you," he said formally. "If there is anything I can do for you, at any time, you need only ask."

  "Oh, pshaw!" Maggie said gruffly, puce with embar­rassment and pleasure. "Anyone would've done the same She were a grand little girl, so warm-hearted and good in­side, for all the bad habits she'd been taught. She's not hard to love, Miss Kit."

  "No, indeed," he agreed softly, which set Maggie grop-ing for the handkerchief again.

  She snuffled a moment, blew her nose and added in a watery voice, "And she never did steal so much as a pa from then on, until he got her to promise him on his death bed that she would come here and get all those things from those gentlemen. Oh, Mr Devenish, sir, I couldn't bear it if Miss Kit was to hang or get transported."

  "She won't," he said simply. "I won't allow it. We will sort everything out, Maggie, I promise you."

  "But how will we find her, sir? Miss Kit is very good at fading into the shadows and disappearing."

  "As long as she goes to London first, we have an ex­cellent chance of finding her. If you are wrong about Ire­land, and she goes there, then we will have more difficulty. But if she plans to leave from London and go to the con­tinent, I have the port of London well covered. I have men, too, in Dover and at Southampton."

  Maggie looked at him in surprise. "You knew, then, that she would run away? But how could you know a thing like that?"

  "No," he corrected her. "I thought she might need to flee—from the authorities. I took steps so ensure that if she was pursued, there would be a ship available to her—one of my ships, so that I would know where she went." He smiled faintly. "I have no intention of losing her, you un­derstand."

  A few moments later he said, "I might have to go abroad for a short time. I trust you will remain with Griffin?"

  Maggie blushed. Hugo glanced forward, at his groom. Griffin's ears had gone bright red. They almost matched Maggie's cheeks.

  "Yes sir," mumbled Maggie.

  "You'll take good care of Miss Bone in my absence, Griffin?"

  Griffin turned around. His face split in a grin. "I will indeed, sir. I'll not let her out of me sight one minute."

  Scarlet-faced, Maggie tossed her head. "I'm a decent woman, I'll have you know."

  "Aye," said Griffin. "I wouldn't marry any other." Maggie sniffed. But a smile grew on her face to match the one on Griffin's.

  It was a good omen, thought Hugo.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kit paced the small cabin. Oh, when would this wretched ship leave? Each small delay was unendurable. Once she had decided to leave, she wished to be gone. It was un­bearable, waiting, gazing out of the tiny porthole at what would be her last sight of England. England, the land she had spent only a few short months in but which had come to feel like home.

  If she craned her neck and peered from the side of the porthole, she could see the prison hulks moored on the river, rotting low in the water, their cargo one of misery and wretchedness. From time to time a scream or a moan or a coarse, brutal shout wafted across the water to her ears and she shivered. If she didn't get out of England soon, she may well end up there. If she was lucky, that is. If her luck failed her, as it had so far, she would end up at Tyburn.

  The gallows. Every hour that passed and the ship failed to depart chafed at her nerves. Her helplessness gnawed at her. First the captain had said he had to wait for the tides. But the tide came and went, and still the ship didn't leave. Then he said the wind was in the wrong direction, and only an hour or two later, the wind had changed and freshened and

  She’d expected that any moment she would see the wharf drifting away, as they moved off down towards the sea.

  But no! She'd gone up on deck and found the captain and asked him what the delay was this time! And he'd shrugged his shoulders and apologised profusely and ex­plained that he'd received a message from the ship's owner, who was sending an important package for delivery. "Only a short wait longer, Miss Smith," he'd said, as he'd said to her at least a dozen times previously. "Only a short wait."

  Fuming with impatience and anxiety, Kit had returned to her cabin. For two pins she'd have marched down the gang­way and boarded the next departing ship, but she'd already tried and she hadn't been able to get passage on any other ship currently in port. Not one single ship's master had been able to squeeze her in. So she was stuck with this wretched ship and Captain Short-wait!

  She heard some church bells chime and gazed out of the porthole again, listening to the mellow golden notes. Home. What was home anyway? Any place could become a home; you just had to make up your mind to it.

  What was that English proverb about home? Home was where the heart— No, she wasn't going to think about hearts. She was leaving hers behind, with the ones she loved. Maggie, and Aunt Rose. And him...

  He'd offered her marriage...and money, as much as she'd wanted. It had not been too difficult to refuse that.

  He hadn't spoken of love.

  She told herself she was glad he hadn't. If he'd spoken of love, it would have been that much more impossible to refuse him, and she had to refuse him, because she wasn't the right sort of girl to marry any honest m
an, let alone a fine, honourable gentleman like Hugo. She couldn't bear to drag him down to the gutter she'd spent her life manag­ing—just—to stay out of.

  There was that look in his eyes some times when she caught him watching her...

  Oh, it wasn't significant, he didn't mean anything by it, he was just trying to keep her honest.

  She could make a home in Italy. Italy was beautiful, the weather was warm and the Italian people were very friendly. She had vague memories of it from when she was a small child, before Mama had died. Yes, Italy, where Mama and little Jamie were buried. She could make a per­fectly satisfactory home there, if only this wretched ship would move!

  Time spent waiting meant time available to think, and she didn't want to think any more about anything, or she'd weaken and change her mind and then where would she be? In a mess, that's where. Ruining more people's lives.

  There was a sudden knock at her cabin door.

  Kit froze. "Who is it?"

  "It's the captain, Miss Smith."

  "Oh." Kit slipped off her narrow bunk and opened the door.

  The captain stood in the doorway, an odd look on his face. "It seems you're wanted, Miss Smith. There's some­one here for you." He stepped aside.

  Kit panicked. It was the Runners come to take her to prison. She glanced wildly at the porthole. Too small!

  "Miss Singleton, I believe," said a deep voice.

  Kit froze. She turned. "Mr...Mr Devenish," she man­aged.

  "Thank you, Captain. I'll take her into custody now."

  Custody! "No!" she flashed. "You cannot let him take me, Captain. He—he has no authority over anyone an racially not me. He—he is a vile kidnapper, trying to kid-nap me! Please, I beg of you, Captain."

  The captain gave Mr Devenish a searching glance. "I

  dunno, miss, he don't look like a kidnapper. He looks un­common like a gentleman to me."

  "Oh, that is just a disguise," she said desperately. "He is a dreadful man. He wants to steal me away, for... for—"

  "For your inheritance?" suggested Hugo drily.

  "Yes, for my inheritance. And who knows what else?" she added wildly, sending a pleading look in the captain's direction.

  Hugo shrugged, looking every inch the respectable man. “In fact, Captain Patchett, she has taken something which belongs to me. She is a wanted woman."

  "Has she now, sir? Well, I can't say that surprises me, now I come to look at her..."

  "I'm not," said Kit in a small, desperate voice. "I haven't got anything that is not truly mine, honestly I haven't. You can search, Captain. Anything that was stolen has been returned, I promise you. Send a message to your home, Mr Devenish. You will find your tie-pin there."

  The captain looked doubtfully at her. She could under­stand why. Hugo just stood there, positively exuding re­spectability and authority,

  "Sorry, miss, I reckon I'll have to hand you over to him."

  Kit's heart plummeted. "But he has no authority over you! You are the captain—on this ship, you make all the decisions. No one can make you do anything!"

  The Captain shrugged, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Got no choice, miss. Mr Devenish here owns this ship. I been waiting all day for him to get here. Sorry, miss." He patted her hand and left, closing the cabin door behind him.

  Defeated, Kit subsided onto her bunk. She could feel the faint breeze through the open porthole. It brought an echo of the stench of the prison hulks.

  The wages of sin.

  She could not complain that it was not just. But why, oh, why did her captor have to be him? The one man in the world whom she could not bear to face. The one man in the world whom she loved with all her heart.

  She swallowed convulsively. He'd called her a thief. It was true. He was come to take her into custody. He'd said so. He'd called her a wanted woman.

  Would he take her to Bow Street first? Or straight to prison? She wasn't sure of the procedure here. She swal­lowed again. She knew one thing about English justice. They hanged people. A petty thief might get transportation, but a jewel thief...

  It was justice, after all.

  Kit took a deep breath and stood up to face her fate. She forced herself to look him in the eye. He had the oddest look on his face.

  Hugo stared at her. "You will not deny, I hope, that you've taken something of mine."

  Her eyes were huge and miserable, her face chalky white, her firm little chin set to take her punishment.

  "Your beautiful phoenix tie-pin," she whispered. "But I did return it—it is at your town house, I promise you." She looked up at him beseechingly. And then bit her lip. "I know you think my promise is worthless, but indeed it is—"

  "I'm not talking about my phoenix tie-pin," he said gruffly. "I have it here." He took it from his pocket and handed it to her. "It is yours. And your promise is not worthless. Your promise is the most precious thing in the world to me."

  Hot dry sobs threatened to choke her. She forced them rack.

  "No, no. I don't want it." She refused to take it from him and after a moment he pocketed the pin again.

  "You say you believe my promise; I promise you, I have stolen nothing else of yours—of anyone's. I gave back ev­erything I took, truly I did."

  "No. There is one more thing. A small hardened lump of rock, worthless to most, but still..."

  She looked at him bewildered, distressed. "But I didn't—"

  "My heart," he said. "You have stolen my heart."

  She stared at him for a long long moment. The silence stretched between them. Then her face suddenly crumpled.

  "Do not make sport of me, I beg you, for I cannot bear it."

  "Oh, my poor darling," he said, crossing the cabin in two great strides and taking her into his arms. "I am sorry. I did not mean to make sport of you. You have led me on such a dance, I could not resist teasing you a little. But now I've found you, minx, and I'm giving you fair warning, I will never let you go."

  He cupped her firm little chin in his hand and raised her face to his. "You have stolen my heart, Kit Singleton, and I offer you the complete set: my heart, my body and my soul. Marry me." His voice cracked with emotion and he lowered his mouth to hers in a brief, tender kiss.

  She half-heartedly pushed him away, her face crumpled. "Oh, no, you must not. I am all wrong for you. I am more like my father than you could possibly imagine. I have been a thief most of my life. I lie, I cheat, I steal, I deceive."

  "Hush." He kissed her again. "You have a beautiful, loving heart and you are the bravest, most honourable per­son I have ever known."

  "Oh, no," she wailed. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "You must not say such terrible lies."

  He kissed her tears away. "They are not lies, I do not care what you were made to do as a child—"

  "Oh, but—"

  "—nor what you were tricked into doing as an adult

  The past is full of pain, most of which neither you nor I could help. We can dwell amongst the ashes of the past and be miserable, or we can rise up and build the future we choose, together. Which is it to be for us, Kit?"

  She gazed up into his eyes, her face wet with tears, her eyes shining.

  "You truly want to marry me?"

  "I truly do, more than anything in the world." He ac­companied his words with a rib-crushing embrace and a series of tender kisses beginning with the tears spilling from her eyes and ending in the searing possession of her mouth.

  "Oh. Oh, dear, what a lovely thing to say to me," she sobbed, kissing him back. Then she pulled away, dolefully. "Of course, I cannot marry you. But, oh! I do thank you for asking me."

  "What the devil do you mean, you cannot marry me? Of course you can marry me!" Hugo growled, pulling her back against his chest.

  She pulled away, a determined set to her jaws. "No. No—please, Hugo, do not make it any harder than it is for me. You know it as well as I do. All chance of marriage was ruined when I was caught with Sir William's chess set." She touched him on the cheek, softly
. "The future Mrs Devenish must bring her husband and children honour, not a tarnished past, full of shameful secrets." She turned away from him and walked to the porthole.

  "You will bring me hono—"

  "No!" She shook her head and stared out the tiny port­hole, fighting for composure. The grey oily water slapped, listless and regular against the hull of the ship. Seabirds circled and called on the grimy air, their cries piercing and mournful, like souls risen from their bodies, stranded for­ever in limbo.

  A long moment passed. Hugo watched her silhouetted in the circle of light. His one particular woman, fighting herself, fighting him. Finally he said, "You said in your letter that you left behind you the three people you loved most in all the world."

  She stilled.

  "Did you mean that I was one of the three?" he said, his voice low.

  She said in a low, intense voice, "How can you even ask such a thing? Do you not know? You are the best of the three. I love you with all my heart, more than anyone or anything in the world. You are everything to me, and that is why I cannot—"

  "Turn around, minx."

  Slowly she turned.

  "Come here." He held out his arms to her.

  She came, flying across the cabin like an arrow. His arms closed around her and the force of her flight sent them tumbling back on to the cabin bunk. They did not notice; their lips met in desperation and passion. She closed her eyes and simply gave herself up to the moment, the man.

  His mouth moved over hers, pouring into her the words he could not say; his passion, his desire, his possession. They engulfed her like flames devouring tinder. The knowl­edge burned through her, leaving her changed forever in her understanding of what is a man, what is love.

  His arms embraced her, holding, enfolding, staking his claim.

  She relished the power of the body that cradled her against him, the long hard limbs lying hot and heavy across hers, holding her with a leashed strength. In his arms she felt cherished, wanted, protected, loved. There was pleasure even in the slightly scratchy fabric of his coat against her skin, the damp woolly smell of it. She learned the scent of his skin, the texture of his hair. And the feel of his mouth fitted to hers in a way she had never believed possible.