A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers)

by Alissa Johnson

  “There’s too many people,” she told Gabriel. “And they’re all talking at once. I won’t be able to understand them.”

  “You don’t have to understand. Not if they do. Why not tell them the truth?”

  A fine bit of advice coming from him, she thought sullenly. “I can’t just…tell them.”

  “The Bales sisters are in no position to pass judgment on someone else’s eccentricities. Believe me.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s not my secret to give away. But I can promise you, you’re not the most unusual character they’ve met, and they’d not think less of you if you were.” Stepping closer, he lifted a hand and gently stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, Jane. Tell them.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I can. I’ve never tried to explain it to anyone but you before, and I don’t… I don’t want to…”

  “Perhaps the Harmons have already explained?”

  “No, they wouldn’t. They’d not presume.” And if for some reason they’d had to, Mrs. Harmon would have mentioned it straightaway.

  “Would you like me to do it?”

  “I don’t think that would be any easier, listening to someone else describe my affliction.”

  “We’ve discussed this. It’s not an affliction. It’s a quirk.”

  “One can be afflicted with a quirk,” she muttered.

  “That’s an argument for another time. I know these ladies well, Jane. Trust me?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?”

  “Well you don’t always make it easy, do you?” She gave him a hard look. “Edinburgh?”

  There was a pause before he asked, with a clear hint of worry, “You do trust me to keep the promise I made to you at the inn?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “Good.” He nodded once. “That’s good. We’ll talk about the rest tonight. For now, trust me to handle my friends.”

  “Are they particularly good friends of yours?”

  “I suppose they are. I’ve known Lady Brass since she was fifteen.”

  Since she was a child? Good heavens. “You’ve known me for considerably less time.”

  “And yet I know you better and like you more than either of them.”

  “Really?” How lovely.

  “Really,” he affirmed, and then bobbed his head once to the side. “Although, to be fair, there was an eight-year period when the Bales family wouldn’t speak to us.”

  “I… You’re being funny. That’s not helpful.” She took another look at the group in the parlor. “What if the ladies say something funny and I don’t realize it? What if I offend them?” And embarrass herself, the Harmons, and Gabriel?

  “These women can’t hurt you, Jane. And after this is done, if you wish to never see them again, you don’t have to.”

  “But they’re your friends.”

  He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t follow that they have to be yours. I have a number of friends that don’t get on. I enjoy their company separately, simple as that.”

  She considered that, and the fact that she had precious few options at present. She could stand in the hallway indefinitely, or try to bluff her way through the evening.

  Or she could try honesty.

  She swallowed hard. “All right. You can tell them.”

  And tell them Gabriel did. In four quick, concise sentences.

  “Jane has some trouble with her hearing,” he announced after ushering her into the room and into a large leather chair. “Don’t repeat things if she asks for clarification. It won’t help. Just reword them.”

  That was it. That was all he offered.

  Jane stared at him, aghast. Some trouble with her hearing? That wasn’t an explanation. How could Lady Brass and Lady Renderwell possibly understand if that was all the information they were given? How could he sound so dismissive? As if it were nothing, really.

  Jane glanced about the room. Mr. Harmon’s bushy brows were raised, but he didn’t appear displeased. Mrs. Harmon’s expression was one of guarded curiosity, as if she were reserving judgment. And the ladies appeared…curious.

  “She mixes up her words on occasion, as well,” Gabriel added.

  Five sentences. A veritable speech.

  “Like Eliza?” Lady Brass inquired.

  “A bit like Eliza, yes.”

  If Lady Brass had a response to that, Jane never heard it. Lord Renderwell’s head popped in the doorway. “Arkwright.”

  “In a minute,” Gabriel replied without bothering to look at him. He kept his gaze focused on Jane. “All right, Jane?”

  “Er… Yes,” she returned, because what else could she say when every eye in the room was focused on her?

  Gabriel’s hand settled on her shoulder for a moment, then he turned and left. Jane wanted to watch him go, if for no other reason than to stare daggers at his back, but she couldn’t risk taking her eyes off the ladies.

  “You have trouble hearing?” Lady Renderwell inquired.

  Jane blinked at the woman’s casual tone and wondered if perhaps Gabriel’s tack hadn’t been theabsolute worst he might have chosen. Maybe starting out with a simple, straightforward announcement was preferable to a long, drawn-out explanation. Better a molehill than a mountain, she thought. And one could always fill in the details as needed.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I do, but it’s…” Out of habit, she looked to Mrs. Harmon for assistance. But before the woman could intervene, Jane gave a slight shake of her head, turned her attention back to Lady Renderwell, and answered for herself. “It’s not quite as simple a matter as Sir Gabriel indicated.”

  “Does it help if we speak up?” Lady Brass asked.

  “No. Well, sometimes. It can be difficult to hear someone in a noisy environment.”

  Lady Brass nodded at her sister. “Like your mother-in-law.”

  “There is nothing wrong with the dowager’s hearing. She just likes to ignore people who displease her.”

  “Really?” Lady Brass’s mouth fell open. “That horrible woman. I’ve been repeating myself all this time.”

  “I know,” Lady Renderwell replied with a rather wicked smile that made Jane want to laugh despite her terrible nerves.

  Lady Brass gave her sister a good-natured scowl before returning her attention to Jane. Only she didn’t return it quickly enough. Her face was still half turned away when she said, “A magician you tackle intrepid.”

  “I…” Jane’s first instinct was to try to decipher what she’d heard, rearrange the sounds and words into something that had meaning. But she ignored the impulse. She wasn’t going to find sense in that statement. More important, there was no point in telling the truth if she was just going to lie right after it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that.”

  “I said a magician you tackle intrepid.”

  She wanted to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “I’m sorry, I—”

  Mrs. Harmon looked to Jane and opened her mouth, clearly intending to reword the comment for her. But at the last second, she seemed to think better of it, and turned back to Lady Brass. “Repeating doesn’t help. I’m sorry. If you would be so kind—”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I apologize, Miss Bales. I asked…” Lady Brass paused briefly. “I assume an ear trumpet is something you’ve tried in the past.”

  Jane nodded, relieved. “Thank you. Yes, I did for a time. They’re not consistently helpful, and not always practical.” They worked somewhat like sitting close to Gabriel on the horse had worked. The amplification of the speaker’s voice helped to minimize other distractions. But in her experience, it also had a tendency to distort sound a little, increasing the likelihood she would hear words incorrectly. She found being able to watch an individual’s mouth more useful.

  “Some of them do look as if they would be unwieldy to carry about,” Lady Renderwell commented. “But quite interesting to look at. We had a neighb
or once who used a trumpet made with the likeness of her favorite poodle carved into the side.”

  “Mr. Stanway,” Lady Brass laughed. “Lovely, peculiar woman. She had animal heads carved into everything. I think you would have liked her immensely, Mrs. Harmon. She adored a well-told story.”

  Mrs. Harmon blushed at the praise and neatly complimented Lady Brass in turn.

  And that, it would seem, was that. Jane consciously loosened the death grip she had on the arms of her chair. She was fine. Everyone seemed to be fine. She had stumbled in front of strangers and righted herself again with no one the worse off because of it. At least not as far as she could see.

  As the conversation progressed to other topics, Jane kept alert for signs of annoyance or derision from the ladies, but she found nothing of the sort. If Lady Brass was put out by having to repeat herself, it didn’t show. And if Jane confused her words on occasion, no one made mention of it.

  It became evident very quickly that the sisters were not typical ladies. They were unusually bold in their speech, liberal with their opinions, and took an interest in topics that even Jane knew were considered by many to be too vulgar for well-bred women to discuss. Also, they didn’t seem particularly perturbed that they were hosting a family of strangers running from a murderous spy.

  In fact, Lady Brass appeared to relish the idea.

  “He made you jump off a moving train?” She rubbed her hands together in glee. “Oh, I should like to try that.”

  “Whatever for?” Lady Renderwell demanded.

  “To say I have, of course.” She looked back to Jane. “What was it like?”

  “It was terrifying.”

  “Well, yes, naturally it was that. But wasn’t it exciting as well?”

  “Not at the time, but…” Jane gave it some thought. She’d leapt from a moving train. Surely there were very few people who could say the same. It wasn’t exactly an achievement, but it certainly held an element of adventure. The sort she’d only read about in books. “I suppose, looking back, itwas a little exciting.”

  “Iknew it.”

  Yes, definitely not typical, well-bred ladies. But ladies nonetheless. And she wasconversing with them.

  It was a difficult reality for her to accept. Jane had always assumed that, somewhere in the world, there had to be more people like the Harmons. People who were not so quick to judge and condemn those who were different from themselves.

  But she’d never thought to actually meet them. It had always been too great a risk to seek them out.

  But then Gabriel had come, and now here were the ladies Brass and Renderwell. And she would hazard to guess that their husbands were much the same in temperament, else they’d not be such good friends of Gabriel’s.

  This afternoon she had shared her darkest secret. Then she had slept with Gabriel. Now she was taking refreshments with a pair of actual ladies in a strange parlor an unknown number of miles from her home. And she was enjoying herself.

  It was astonishing. It was liberating.

  It was life, Jane thought, and she had to bite back the sudden urge to grin like a fool.

  Jane Ballenger, the recluse of Twillins Cottage, was living in the world.

  And it feltglorious.

  ***

  The atmosphere in the study was somewhat less festive.

  Renderwell finished pouring drinks at the sideboard and handed one to Gabriel with a scowl. “You took a risk, sending Fulberg and the Harmons here. They might have recognized Lottie and Esther.”

  Gabriel used his free hand to point at Samuel. “You, I didn’t expect to be home, and you—” he pointed at Renderwell. “I expected to come alone.”

  “Change of plans,” Samuel said simply.

  Gabriel threw a look over his shoulder in the direction of the front parlor. “I’d not have brought any of them here if I’d known Lottie and Esther were in residence. You know that. Why the devil did you bring Lottie along?”

  “I didn’t. She heard Esther had returned and came of her own accord.”

  “Couldn’t either of you be bothered to find biddable wives?” Gabriel inquired.

  “Someone like your Miss Ballenger?” Renderwell asked. “She’s a shy one, isn’t she?”

  “Not once you get to know her.”

  “And have you…” Renderwell took a sip of his drink and looked over the rim of his glass. “Known her?”

  “I fail to see how that’s any of your—”

  “God damn it, man.” Renderwell’s face took on the hard-bitten expression Gabriel imagined he once used to cow the soldiers under his command. “She’s under your care.”

  “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant Hypocrite.”

  “That was different,” he snapped. “My intentions toward Lottie were honorable. I wouldn’t have…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing in speculation. “Whatare your intentions toward Miss Ballenger?”

  “Good of you to ask,” Gabriel said dryly. “I’m—”

  “He’s smitten,” Samuel answered for him.

  “I am not bloody smitten.”

  “Besotted, then. Enamored. Gone over.”

  He was all those things and more. But a man did have his pride. “Do you know what I’m enamored of right now, Brass? The prospect of breaking your teeth.”

  Samuel merely grinned at him. “The only question is: marriage or mistress?”

  Gabriel opened his mouth to issue a scathing reply, then snapped it shut, gave up, and sagged back in his seat. If he couldn’t talk to his friends about a woman, what was the damned point of them?

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “Yes to which?” Samuel asked.

  “Either. Both. However I can have her.”

  Renderwell set down his drink. “Youare besotted.”

  “What of it?” Gabriel snapped.

  “You mean to offer for her?” Renderwell pressed.

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  He resisted the urge to shift in his chair. “Soon.”

  “Any particular reason to wait?” Renderwell inquired.

  Samuel’s grin broadened. “He’s afraid she’ll say no.”

  “I’m beginning to regret coming here,” he muttered, and was roundly ignored.

  Renderwell took another sip of his drink. “Any particular reason she would?”

  “There are some obstacles,” Gabriel admitted. She was fairly put out with him, for one. And there was her attachment to Twillins. But the reasons Jane might refuse him worried him less than the reasons sheshould. He would be asking her to spend her life with him, to share his world. Which would be all well and good if that life, and that world, had not been built on a lie.

  Samuel shrugged. “You’ll find a way around them.”

  “Thank you,” Gabriel drawled. “That’s exceedingly helpful.”

  “Did you help me with Esther? Or did you enjoy watching me squirm like a landed trout?”

  Gabriel barked out a laugh at the memory. He’d not spent a good deal of time with them, but the little he had… “God, that was fun.”

  “Arse.”

  Gabriel raised his glass to him. “Vindictive bastard.”

  “If you’re done,” Renderwell cut in. “Perhaps we should proceed to the business of not being murdered in our sleep by an army of convicts and their deranged keeper.”

  “If you insist,” Gabriel replied, though he was in no hurry to alter the course of the conversation, such as it was. Nothing relaxed him quite so well as the familiar exchange of barbs and threats with his closest friends.

  Nonetheless, he nodded and pulled the list Kray was after from his pocket and handed it to Renderwell. He spent the next quarter hour explaining what he knew of the situation, which wasn’t a great deal more than what Fulberg had been able to tell them, except for the fact that Kray had taken to conscripting prisoners.

  Renderwell swore at that bit of news. “What was the Foreign Office thinking, allowing Kray to bring in men like that?”

&
nbsp; “Do you know Mr. Jones well?” Gabriel asked.

  “No one knows Mr. Jones well,” Renderwell replied, before his expression took on a hard edge. “But I know the men to whom he answers. I can wire them tomorrow.”

  “Do you trust them?”

  “With this? I’m not certain. There’s no telling how far the treachery extends. It might be best if we focus on Kray and Mr. Jones first and move up from there.”

  “We need to fetch Esther before we begin making any decisions,” Samuel said, setting down his drink.

  Renderwell stayed him with a hand. “I’ll do it. Lottie will want to help as well.”

  “Jane, too,” Gabriel said after a moment’s hesitation. Jane would no doubt prefer not to be dragged from one group discussion to another. On the other hand, she was unlikely to appreciate being excluded any better. He would keep an eye on her and, if need be, make excuses for both of them to leave.

  Renderwell shook his head and strode from the room mumbling something about when there had been only three Thief Takers.

  Gabriel turned to Samuel the moment their former commander was gone. “How did you know?”

  “Know what? About your feelings for Miss Ballenger?” he asked when Gabriel gave him a pointed look. “How did I know that you’re smitten?”

  He swallowed an oath at the word. Women were smitten. Young boys were smitten. Grown men were…something else. Captivated, maybe.

  “Yes. Is it the way I look at her?” That’s how he’d known Renderwell and Samuel weregone over. They’d walked around with appallingly lovesick expressions on their faces. Like lost puppies. He sincerely hoped he didn’t look like that.

  “No. Well, there is a bit of that. But mostly…” Samuel raised his glass to gesture. “Your shirt cuff is caught on your coat sleeve.”

  “What?”

  “It’s been there since you walked into the house. You didn’t notice. And the only time I’ve ever seen you fail to notice something like that is after you’ve drowned your vanity in a vat of scotch.”

  “I’ve been preoccupied.”