A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers)

by Alissa Johnson

  There had to be more than a dozen. Her stomach knotted at the realization. A handful of strangers prowling about her woods was bad enough, but fifteen or twenty armed men? That wasn’t a guard. It was an invasion. It wouldn’t do.

  Before she could make her displeasure known, however, Gabriel turned from the window and gave her a relaxed smile. “You’re all the safer for it,” he assured her with such easy confidence that the worst of her misgivings immediately dimmed.

  She still didn’t like the idea of so many people intruding on her sanctuary, but if Sir Gabriel of the Thief Takers trusted these men, then surely there was nothing to fear.

  ***

  Jane and the Harmons were in danger.

  Gabriel stood on the drive and watched the approaching riders with a growing sense of unease.

  These were not the men he had requested.

  He recognized their leader. Tall, sharp-eyed, and whippet-lean, Oscar Kray had briefly worked for Scotland Yard before being forced out amidst rumors of corruption. His questionable sense of morality had made him a better fit for the Foreign Office, where there was a need for men who were willing to accept coin slipped under the table for work best done in the shadows.

  Gabriel wasn’t so hypocritical as to judge a man for his past, nor so naive as to believe the country could function without the unsavory services men like Kray provided. But he’d never personally worked with Kray, and he’d never wanted to. He didn’t trust the man. His smile was too quick, his manners too studied, his temper too obvious beneath his jovial facade. And then there were the big teeth. Kray had always struck him as a biter.

  The riders came to a stop in front of him, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  Kray slid from his horse, handed his reins to one of his men, and came forward to offer an abbreviated bow. “Arkwright. You look surprised to see me.”

  No, he looked mildly curious. He’d adopted the expression long before he’d come outside. “You’re not the gentleman I was expecting. Where’s Fulberg?”

  “Right here,” a voice announced from the back of the group. A muscular, middle-aged man with a thick beard pushed his way to the front, and Gabriel allowed himself to relax a fraction.This was the man he’d wanted to see. Skilled, experienced, unfailingly loyal and trustworthy, Fulberg had proven his worth a dozen times over the years.

  “Where are your men, Fulberg?”

  “Foreign Office wanted men of their own choosing,” Fulberg explained. “I’d have sent word ahead, but there wasn’t time.” He offered Gabriel a smile that didn’t quite reach his dark brown eyes, and lifted his voice for all to hear. “Don’t worry yourself, Arkwright. These are fine lads, all. They’ll see the job done proper, eh?”

  A tense, muted chorus of agreement arose from the group.

  Gabriel forced a smile of his own. “If you’ve earned the respect of Mr. Fulberg, I’ll count myself fortunate to have you. Welcome to Twillins Cottage, gentlemen!”

  “What there is of it,” Kray said with a cynical glance at the house. He flicked a hand at the men, sending Fulberg and the rest off toward the stables. “Ballenger didn’t do well by his sister, did he? Wouldn’t have taken him for a skinflint.”

  “Did you know him well?”

  Kray shook his head. “We met once years ago. Nice enough fellow. Never mentioned a sister.”

  “I don’t think they were close. Did Jones tell you what to expect inside?” He asked the question carelessly, hoping Kray would confirm or deny that Mr. Gregory Jones was still the man at the Foreign Office issuing orders.

  “One woman, two servants, and Ballenger’s effects. Fairly straightforward.” He lifted his eyes to the second-floor windows. “Can you get them out of the house for a time?”

  “You want to search it,” Gabriel guessed. “As I explained to Jones in my telegram, Miss Ballenger has agreed to allow us access after one or two conditions have been met.”

  Kray looked at him sharply. “It wasn’t mentioned to me. What sort of conditions?”

  “Nothing significant. I’ll take care of them by the end of the day, and then you’ll be free to remove Mr. Ballenger’s effects from the cottage.”

  Kray’s lips spread into a tight, toothless smile. “My orders are to conduct a preliminary search before their removal.”

  Gabriel glanced at the group of men who’d moved off to mill about the stables. Even with Fulberg, and possibly Mr. Harmon, he was outnumbered and out-armed. This was not the time to make a stand.

  Still, an easy capitulation would be suspicious. “I won’t let it be known I backed out of a deal.”

  Kray studied him speculatively a moment, then grinned as if he’d solved a puzzle. “She must be pretty. What’s the matter, Arkwright? Don’t like the idea of me going through Miss Ballenger’s wardrobe?”

  “I don’t care if you find something that catches your fancy and wear it home. I can’t have it said that one of the Thief Takers broke his word. I eat by my reputation.”

  “You’re in no danger of starving, from what I hear.”

  “As I said, I eat by my reputation. Men of means prefer to hire other men of means.” He allowed the faintest hint of mockery to enter his voice. “The prevailing opinion is that wealth makes one less susceptible to bribery.”

  As Gabriel expected, Kray snorted in shared amusement. “Every man is susceptible to bribery.” He gave Gabriel a pointed look. “The only question is, what does the man want?”

  “In this instance, a chance to earn his commission and keep his reputation. I’ll take Miss Ballenger and her staff out of the house, but I want your word you’ll be careful in your search. She can’t know you were there.”

  Kray shrugged, and his eyes drifted back to the house. “I hear the lady is a little mad. Any truth to it?”

  “They’re all a little mad. The ones worth having, anyway.” He chuckled when Kray did, and let his smile linger after the laughter was gone. “Do we have a deal?”

  “I don’t see why not. It’s easily done. I’ll be in and out in twenty minutes.”

  So short a time? Even if Kray was under the impression the cottage was in good order, he’d still need more than twice that for a proper search. Unless he knew exactly what he was looking for, and exactly where to find it.

  Gabriel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Regardless of what you find, it would be best if we continued on as if nothing has changed. We take Ballenger’s things to London as planned. And Fulberg can’t catch wind of this. It’ll get back to Renderwell.”

  “The viscount still pulling the strings, eh? Some men aren’t cut out for retirement.”

  Gabriel shrugged as if it didn’t really matter. “He likes to keep a finger in. And Fulberg isn’t a bad sort.”

  “But not the sort to take a bribe.”

  “Or paw through a lady’s wardrobe. Make sure he doesn’t see you go inside the cottage. Better yet, let me handle him. I’ll find something for him to do for an hour or two.” He took a step in Fulberg’s direction, then made a show of hesitating. “Damn it, was it Fulberg’s sister who married last month, or his niece?”

  “I don’t know,” Kray replied in a tone that clearly implied he didn’t care.

  It was exactly what Gabriel wanted to hear. “Devil take it,” he muttered. “I’ll figure it out as I go.”

  He strode away, only to hear Kray call out to his back.

  “Sheis pretty, isn’t she? Miss Ballenger?”

  He wasn’t going to give Kray the chance to find out. He was taking Jane out the side door of the cottage, and she wasn’t coming back until Kray and his men were gone.

  “They’re all pretty, Kray,” he tossed over his shoulder, then strode to where Fulberg was adjusting his mount’s saddle a good distance from the rest of Kray’s men. “Fulberg. How was Mary’s wedding?”

  The man beamed at the mention of his only child. “Ah, she was a lovely bride. The loveliest.”

  “Is Mrs. Fulberg still planning to join the happy pair in Paris?”
/>
  “She left three days ago. I was sorry to see her go at first, but now…” He flicked a glance in Kray’s direction and lowered his voice. “Now I’m of a different mind. This smells, Arkwright. I sent word to the men you requested. Not one of them arrived.”

  “Do you think your messages were intercepted?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe the men were. I’ll be honest, if it had been anyone else but you asking for my help, I’d have washed my hands of the whole business once I saw Mr. Kray. I don’t work with his sort if I can help it.”

  “I’m in your debt. Kray hasn’t looked into your affairs, if that eases your mind. Your family’s in no danger.”

  Fulberg ran a hand down the horse’s flank. “He may not have had time.”

  “Or he doesn’t think you’re a threat.” Gabriel jerked his chin subtly toward Kray’s men. “Do you know any of them?”

  “Aye, the scrawny one with the muttonchops. I saw him at Coldbath Fields not a month ago.”

  “A gaoler?” He swore when Fulberg shook his head. “Convict? You’re certain?”

  “I know faces, don’t I? A man can’t get by in this profession if he can’t remember faces. I remember him in particular because he was in a skirmish with another prisoner.”

  “Does he remember you?”

  Fulberg shook his head again. “He was too busy trying to gut his opponent and fight off the gaolers. He didn’t see me.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Not completely,” Fulberg admitted. “How much does it matter, do you suppose? Nothing says a man can’t earn his release in the proper manner and take a job.”

  Gabriel gave him a dubious look. “A job with the Foreign Office six weeks after he tried to stab someone?”

  “Like I said, it smells. But it was Kray who hired him, and Mr. Jones seems to trust Kray.”

  “Is Jones still in charge, then?”

  “Seemed to be. Hard to say with him. He’s a squirrelly sort.”

  “You don’t trust him,” Gabriel translated.

  “I don’t trust any of them.”

  Gabriel looked from Kray, to his men, to the small, isolated cottage. “Neither do I.”

  “Well then…” Fulberg rubbed his beard philosophically. “What’s the plan?”

  ***

  Gabriel had Jane and the Harmons out the door in under twenty minutes. It would have been ten, but Jane had been very resistant to the idea of leaving. She’d begged off, claiming everything from a need to go over the household accounts to a sudden headache. But then Mrs. Harmon had taken her aside, said something he’d not been able to hear, and now here they were, walking down the road side by side.

  They were just out of earshot of the Harmons up ahead, but the privacy was wasted. Jane hadn’t spoken two words since they’d left. She marched silently toward the village of Ardbaile with her chin up, her eyes straight ahead, her mouth firmly shut, and her arms stuck down straight at her sides.

  It was, he thought, the stride of the proud and the damned.

  “Anne Boleyn,” he mused aloud. “Mary Queen of Scots. Marie Antoinette.”

  She turned to give him that wide-eyed, fascinated stare. “Beg your pardon?”

  “I’m imagining all the women who have looked just as you do now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You look as if you’re headed to the gallows, Jane.” He reached out and lightly tapped his knuckle beneath her chin. “With your head held high.”

  She sniffed and rolled her shoulders in an obvious bid to relax them. “There is nothing wrong with the way I look.”

  “You’re stiff as a board.”

  “Well, I’ve a dozen strangers lurking about my house, haven’t I?”

  “That’s not what’s troubling you.” That’s what was troublinghim. That, and the fact that Twillins Cottage had only two horses and one, currently defunct, pony cart for transportation. He threw a watchful eye over his shoulder. He really wished they’d been able to ride to town. “Not exclusively.”

  “I had other plans for the day. I don’t see why it was necessary for me to come along.”

  “Because the solicitor insists the contract be signed in his office.” Another lie. The solicitor had made a suggestion, not a demand. “And you must have a great many plans for a great many days.” He looked over and met her gaze. “You never go into Ardbaile.”

  “That’s not true,” she retorted. “I’ve been many times.”

  “Not recently.” Not in ages, according to the villagers.

  Her brows lowered. “Have you been gossiping about me with the villagers?”

  “A bit, yes,” he admitted and watched her frown. “I came here to do a job.”

  “And you like to know the sort of person with whom you’re working, I suppose,” she said quietly. She chewed her bottom lip and looked away for a long time before speaking again. “Did the villagers tell you what you needed to know?”

  “No. They scarcely know you,” he replied and wondered why that answer seemed to make her feel better. “Don’t you have any friends in town?”

  “No one in particular.”

  Orat all, if he had to guess. That was going to make it even harder to convince her to stay once they arrived. On the other hand, it could make it easier to send her out of the area completely. “Do you have friends outside of Ardbaile?”

  “No. There’s just the Harmons.” She glanced ahead at the older couple. “We should catch up,” she muttered and resumed her determined stride toward certain doom.

  ***

  Janefelt as if she were headed to the gallows. She was fighting a terrible sense of dreadful inevitability that grew with every step she took in the direction of the village. She desperately wanted to turn back, and once or twice she’d come very near to doing just that. But then Mrs. Harmon’s words played over in her mind.

  One brief visit to town is unlikely to reveal your secrets, Jane. An absolute refusal to leave the grounds, however, is nothing if not deeply suspicious.

  There was no question Mrs. Harmon was right. Jane’s reputation as a recluse had already sparked Gabriel’s interest. If she didn’t endure the trip into town, he would simply assume she was a lunatic incapable of leaving her home.

  That wasn’t true at all. She was perfectly capable. She just hated it. And she couldn’t help but think that a trip to town was an awful lot of work and risk just to keep a secret from a man she’d known less than two days and would likely never see again once his business at Twillins was concluded.

  Still, she marched onward, hoping to get it all done as quickly as possible.

  “Jane?” Gabriel said her name softly and waited for her to look at him. “What are you afraid of in the village?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she lied. “I simply don’t like it.”

  “What is it about Ardbaile you don’t like?”

  She racked her brain for a suitable answer, any excuse that might explain away the nerves she was evidently doing such a poor job of hiding.

  “I don’t fit well into any part of it,” she said, and told herself it wasn’t entirely deceitful. The last time she’d tried to make a life for herself in Ardbaile society, she had found it difficult to find her proper place. “I’m a Ballenger. If I am to socialize, then it is to be with members of my own social standing. The Kinards, the Hamleys, the vicar and his wife. But they are not the people I would necessarily choose for my friends.” She bobbed her head once to the side as she reconsidered. “Except for the vicar’s wife. She’s quite nice, really.”

  “Who would you choose instead?”

  “Mrs. Harmon’s friends. The butcher and his wife. The Landowns. Mrs. Whitburger, the schoolteacher. Most of the other prestigious families in the area would not have the Harmons at their tables. Given how far the Ballengers have fallen, I doubt they’re eager to have me, either. How could I be friends with people who don’t like me and snub the people I love?”

  “You don’t have
to be. Make friends with Mrs. Harmon’s friends.”

  “I can’t. I might live in a cottage now, but as far as Ardbaile is concerned, the Ballengers are still the grand family of Fourgate Hall. The butcher’s wife would never presume to invite the mistress of Fourgate Hall to tea.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “So presume to invite yourself.”

  “I can only assume you’re jesting.”

  “I’m not suggesting you let yourself in and pour your own cup,” he explained. “I’m suggesting you visit the village and make conversation with these people. Allow the friendships to develop naturally, without the formality of invites.”

  And now they were right back to where they’d started—the central reason she didn’t come to the village. Whether she was invited into a conversation or started one up for herself didn’t matter. In the end, the conversations simply didn’t go well. She looked away. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Dilute snow water knee,” Gabriel said after a moment.

  Her eyes snapped back to his face. “What?”

  “To relocate.”

  “I don’t understand.” She really, really didn’t.

  “You need to start over someplace new, someplace where you and the Ballenger name aren’t quite so welcome. Animosity can be liberating.”

  “Animosity?” Not welcome? That couldn’t be right. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting she move someplace she wasn’t wanted.

  It was his turn to look confused. “What? Animosity?” He blinked twice, and then realization lit his face. “Ah. No.Animosity. I said animosity. Not animosity.”

  Damn it, he was just repeating himself. That rarely helped.

  To hide her rising fear, she dug her fingers into the side of her thigh, where he couldn’t see them, then quickly parsed his comments in search of any fragments she might have heard correctly. He’d mentioned relocating, and then starting over anew. Two similar sentiments. That probably wasn’t coincidence.

  “Relocation is certainly something to consider,” she tried with a smile that probably looked as strained as it felt.

  “I hope you will, though the notion is clearly an uncomfortable one for you.”

  Her fingers relaxed as the nerves subsided. If Gabriel wanted to attribute the source of her unease to the notion of moving, who was she to argue? Frankly, it made her queasy. She could never leave Twillins. It was her sanctuary.