by Mia Marlowe
“Perhaps it was worth the cost, after all.” Roddy started to reach for it again.
“No, son. It’s going straight into the safe until you leave. Whatever you do, don’t breathe a word about it to anyone. You know what they say about secrets. Three can keep a secret—”
“Provided two of them are dead,” Roddy said. He left the room without another word. The viscount lovingly packed up his treasure and secreted it away in the wall safe behind a Joshua Reynolds landscape. Then Lord Bellefonte stopped and stared at the door to his study with a frown on his face. Garret couldn’t hear the man’s thoughts like Westfall would have been able to, but if his expression was any guide, Bellefonte was suddenly distrustful of his own son.
Perhaps that was the real danger of the Infinitum. The prospect of immortality was enough to cloud any man’s judgment and poison even his closest relationships with suspicion, envy, and fear.
Cassandra and Garret watched in silence until he left the study to rejoin his guests. Then Garret waited for the space of about ten heartbeats before he spoke.
“Now’s our chance,” Garret said. “We need to break into that safe.”
“How are we to do that? I’m not an accomplished thief. Are you? Why didn’t you Send him the thought that he should leave the Infinitum out on his desk?”
“Because however strong my Sendings are, they are merely suggestions. Humans always have free will. Lord Bellefonte wasn’t about to leave his precious treasure out where anyone might happen upon it. I can’t force anyone to do something they wouldn’t do on their own.”
“So last week when Lord Hopkins leaped up onto the stage at Drury Lane and launched into the soliloquy from Hamlet…”
“It was something he’d wanted to do all his life. He only needed the gentle nudge of my suggestion. You must admit, it was more entertaining than the actual play.” Garret moved along the corridor looking for the secret door that would give them access to the study. “Couldn’t you burn through the painting and the safe to get it?”
“I shouldn’t think so. Whatever I set ablaze must be combustible and that safe doesn’t qualify. It looked to be lead-lined steel. And I’d never desecrate a Reynolds canvas. What kind of Cretin do you take me for?”
“Sorry.”
Cassandra put a hand on his arm to stop his search. “Now that we know what it is, perhaps we don’t need to retrieve it. I mean, if somehow the Infinitum found its way into the Prince Regent’s hands, which is unlikely since Lord Bellefonte is so besotted with it, the Infinitum wouldn’t hurt His Royal Highness. Quite the opposite. It would extend his life.”
Garret shook his head. “There’s harm to the body and then there’s harm to the soul. The Infinitum is as tempting a deception as the apple was to Eve. Such a thing ought not be left in the hands of a single man, much less a future king, lest he live forever and become a terrible tyrant.”
“But what if he became a good king?”
Garret arched a skeptical brow at her. “Have you met Prinny?”
Cassandra had been presented at court, he knew. All good debutantes had, but she probably didn’t know the depths of scandal swirling around the Prince Regent. From his illicit relationship with Mrs. Fitzherbert and his bizarre marriage to Princess Caroline, to his astronomical debts and penchant for ordering his politics chiefly to irk his father the King, nothing about Prinny’s character boded well for England’s future. While Garret didn’t question the Divine Right of Kings and the royal succession, they certainly didn’t need George IV to remain in power for a preternaturally long time once his father passed.
It occurred to Garret that only a month ago, he’d have been perfectly happy to join the Prince’s court in its revels, devil take the rest of the country. Working with Cassandra and the Order of the M.U.S.E had steadied him, given him purpose.
And forced him to think about someone other than himself.
Garret wasn’t accustomed to altruism. He blamed the Duke of Camden for the streak of it he saw rising in his own character.
“The duke will agree with me. We must retrieve the Infinitum and secure it in a safe location,” Garret said. “But how?”
“We’ve been invited to a masquerade at the Bellefonte country estate,” Cassandra said. “I hadn’t intended to accept, but I suppose we must now.”
“We? The invitation included me?”
“Only because I hesitated to accept. Roddy evidently thought I was more likely to come with you on my arm. But it seems you are not his favorite person.”
“No surprise to me.” No matter how civil their public discourse, Garret sensed the other man despised him utterly. There was something feral about it. As if he and Roderick Bellefonte were dogs with their ruffs up and their polite smiles were no more than baring one’s teeth. “He’ll never make my circle of intimate friends either.”
If Roderick was going to be wearing the Infinitum as his pocket watch, it meant one of them would have to get awfully close to him in order to pinch it. Garret rather doubted Bellefonte would allow him to slip a hand down his pants.
As much as it pained him, it would have to be Cassie.
“Come,” he said, grasping her arm. “We need to find another new tutor for you.”
“To learn to do what?”
“Pick Roderick’s pocket, of course.”
…
The duke called all the Sensory Extraordinaires quartered in Camden House to meet in his parlor within half an hour of Miss Darkin and Garret Sterling’s return. Camden was gratified that they’d located the Infinitum so quickly, but was equally dismayed when he learned of its power. Sterling was right about how dangerous it was.
Men killed for much less power. Wars would be fought to control something that artificially extended the bearer’s life. If Helen of Troy’s charms had launched a thousand ships, how much more would be spent trying to possess the Infinitum?
The duke looked around at his assembled league. Vesta might be able to seduce the Infinitum from young Bellefonte. Lord Westfall could hear Roderick’s thoughts about his plans for the item. Meg Anthony could locate its exact whereabouts now that she knew what the Infinitum was and what it looked like. The Finder’s ability to target small objects was uncanny. Cassandra Darkin and Sterling had the invitation to the masquerade, which presented them with a unique opportunity to get close to the relic.
But who among them could steal it from the son of the viscount without him being any the wiser?
“Regrettably, this must be done on the sly. If Roderick Bellefonte knows who relieved him of the treasure, he will not rest until he’s regained it,” Camden said after he outlined the situation for them. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“The simplest solution is the best.” Garret Sterling rose from his customary lounging in one of Camden’s wing chairs and stood before the fireplace, arms folded across his chest. “I’ll stay close enough to distract Bellefonte’s thoughts while Cassandra slips the Infinitum from his pocket.”
Miss Darkin shook her head. “I don’t think I can do it. What if he catches me?”
“Then I’ll clout him over the head,” Sterling said. “We nick the thing and run like the devil.”
“But in that case, there will be repercussions. Harsh ones,” Camden said, looking intently at Miss Darkin. She was far too new to his Order to throw to the wolves. “You and your entire family might be in jeopardy.”
Color drained from her face, even though the fire in the grate flared. “I can’t allow that.”
“Then we need to find someone who can teach Cassandra to pick a pocket, and do it well, before the masquerade,” Sterling said.
Camden disliked using such pedestrian means to accomplish the Order’s goals. It cheapened his noble intent. “Do you have those sorts of companions, Sterling, for I confess I do not.”
“Yes, you do, Your Grace,” Meg Anthony said softly. “You have me.”
Chapter Ten
I have a tree, a graft of Love,
That in my heart has taken root;
Sad are the buds and blooms thereof,
And bitter sorrow is its fruit.
—Francois Villon, poet and pickpocket, from “Arbor Amoris”
“What nonsense are you speaking?” Camden demanded in a harsher tone than he intended. Miss Anthony flinched. She still required a gentle hand, given her past. He continued more softly. “You were Lady Dalton’s chambermaid before I discovered your ability to Find.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I was. And right grateful to be in service, too.” She pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and twisted it in obvious anxiety. “But before Lady Dalton took me on, I was part of a gang of footpads led by my uncle.”
Meg rose and stood next to Garret Sterling by the fireplace as if he’d offer her protection in case the duke meant to turn her over to the magistrate. “If my uncle couldn’t use my gift to trick people into paying ridiculous fees so that I would Find things for them, then he’d help himself to their purses on the sly. And taught me to do it, too.”
She nervously dusted the mantel with her hanky.
Camden had never suspected he was harboring a petty criminal in his home. “Miss Anthony, I won’t believe you can do such a thing.”
“I know. That’s why I lifted Mr. Sterling’s cuff link just now.” She held out the glittering silver stud on her open palm. Sterling accepted it back from her with a surprised grin. “Just so you’d know I’m telling the truth. I can teach Miss Darkin to do it too, easy as pie. I believe she’ll pick it up in no time. She’s ever so much cleverer than I am.”
“I seriously doubt that, Miss Anthony,” Cassandra said, her eyes wide with wonderment. “Come. Let’s adjourn to my chamber and you can show me how you did that.”
Meg nodded shyly. “I’ll be happy to oblige, Miss Darkin, provided His Grace approves.” She crossed over to Camden and ducked in an awkward curtsy. She was still so in awe of him and his station that she nearly lost her balance. Camden had to grasp her elbow to steady her lest she topple over completely.
“I suppose this is the best plan we can come up with on such short notice,” he said with a grimace. “Very well, Miss Anthony. You have my permission to train Miss Darkin in the arts of the cutpurse.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, I’m ever so sure,” she said with every appearance of meekness.
“Wait a moment,” Camden said. “In order for this to work, won’t Miss Darkin need to do a double sleight of hand? She’ll have to substitute an item of similar size and weight for the Infinitum so Bellefonte won’t realize when it goes missing.”
“You’re right, Duke. The ladies will need something to work with,” Garret said as he affixed his stud back into his cuff. Then he rummaged in his pocket and came up with a watch. He handed it to Cassandra. “Use this for practice.”
“Well done, Sterling,” Camden said, reaching into his own pocket. “But the ladies will require two watches with which to train, one to stand in for the Infinitum and the other to be the decoy, so…confound it, where did…”
“Are you looking for this, Your Grace?” Miss Anthony dangled the duke’s gold watch and fob before him. For the first time since he’d brought her to Camden House, her smile seemed impish rather than timid.
Camden suppressed his irritation at being so easily duped. “Go with them, Sterling. You can stand in for Bellefonte.” Then he cast an assessing look at Meg Anthony. There was clearly more to his shy little Finder than he had first supposed. What else had she hidden from him? “Try not to steal the fellow’s eyeteeth, will you? It would quite spoil Sterling’s looks and he’s more useful to the Order as a peacock than he’d be as a scruffy rooster.”
Camden waved Miss Anthony off, but then held up an admonitory finger. “And I want my pocket watch back when you are finished.”
He narrowly resisted the urge to check on whether his diamond studs were still at his wrists.
…
“Light and quick, them’s the watchwords.” The proper grammar Meg struggled to use at Camden House faded the longer she talked to Cassandra about how to relieve Garret of the contents of his pocket. “Give it another go, eh?”
Cassandra tried once more. Garret was blindfolded so he couldn’t see what she was doing. But each time, he seemed to feel the exact moment when she slipped her fingers in to lift the watch.
He reached down and grasped her wrist again.
“I give up.” Cassandra threw her hands into the air and plopped into one of the overstuffed chairs by her fireplace. “I can’t do it.”
“This isn’t a fair test of whether you can or not,” Garret said, peeking out from under his blindfold. “I’m expecting it, so naturally, I’ll catch you each time.”
“Mr. Sterling,” Meg Anthony said softly, “would you please step into the hallway and let me speak with Miss Darkin alone for a moment?”
“Certainly.” He took the blindfold off completely, gave Meg a respectful bow from the neck, and headed for the door.
“But don’t wander, if you please. We’ll call you back when Miss Darkin is ready to begin afresh.” As soon as he was gone, Meg came and sat in the other chair opposite her. “He’s right. It’s not a fair test. O’course, I’m also not teaching you everything I know.
“Why? Do you want me to fail?”
Meg twiddled her thumbs on her lap. “No, I’m just not sure how far a lady like you is willing to go to make this scheme work.”
“What do you mean?”
“Picking a pocket is an art. Not every thief can rob a man blind and not have him know when or where the theft even happened. You need two things to make it work—nimble fingers and distraction.”
“Mr. Sterling has already said he can provide distraction by flooding Roderick Bellefonte’s mind with other thoughts.” If Cassie called him Mr. Sterling instead of by his Christian name, it helped her shove away the truth of how much she was coming to need him.
“While I don’t doubt that’ll be helpful, it would be best if you do a bit of distracting yourself. The mind knows what the mind knows and the body knows what it knows. No matter how much Mr. Sterling keeps the mark’s mind occupied, his body can break through if it feels it’s been trifled with,” Meg explained. “Obviously, if he invited you to his party, Mr. Bellefonte fancies you.”
“He is engaged to another lady, you know.”
“Which don’t make him dead, do it? A man can always be distracted by a woman he fancies.”
“All right.” Cassie leaned forward. “Let us suppose you’re right. Roderick fancies me. What do you propose?”
“Well, if you was passing him on the street, you might bump into him and nearly send him tail-over-teakettle. The surprise of that might be enough. But he’s not likely to be surprised to see you at a party he invited you to, is he?”
“Actually, since I’ll be in disguise, I hope he won’t even recognize me.”
“Would he be surprised if a guest at his party was to…get more friendly-like with him?”
“How do you mean?” Cassie was afraid she knew exactly what Meg Anthony meant and it curdled her stomach a bit.
“Close to where a man stows his pocket watch, there’s summat more important to him than anything he might carry.” Meg blushed to the tips of her ears. The girl might be worldly when it came to larceny, but Cassandra suspected she was less well acquainted with matters sensual.
“Oh. I see.” While she wanted more than anything to be able to touch Garret like that, the thought of touching Roddy left her feeling dirty.
“If you was to…well, if you brush your hand over his… Oh, I’m ever so sorry, I’m sure. I don’t mean to say… A lady like you would never…”
“Don’t be so sure I’d never,” Cassandra said with sickly determination. This might work very well indeed if she could overcome her reluctance and screw up her courage to do it. She owed the Duke of Camden. She just never dreamed she might have to repay him like this. “Tell, me. Do you think what the Order does is impor
tant?”
“Yes, indeed. Ever so. I never dreamed I’d be part of something so grand.”
“Well, I think it’s important, too and you’d be surprised what a lady like me might attempt for a cause as worthy as this.” Or for a not so worthy cause, for that matter. Her past behavior with Roderick had been far from ladylike. But, she’d be wearing a mask. Perhaps he’d never know it was her. “What if I also acted as if I were a bit tipsy?”
“Tipsy? Just the thing. Better than tipsy, act as if you’re totally foxed and you can put your hands anywhere on his body you want,” Meg said. “Er, not that you want to put your hands on… Oh, hang it all, I don’t mean—”
“It’s all right, Meg. May I call you Meg?” When the Finder nodded, Cassie invited her to use her Christian name as well. “The point is you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. I’m not that fragile. Or that great a lady. My father is only a recently elevated baronet. He was born common, you know. Not so different from your father, I’m sure.”
“I’m not. I never rightly knew my father, you see. Or my mother either, come to think on,” Meg said with a slight shrug. “I only had Uncle Rowney. Rowney Jackson.”
“He was your mother’s brother then.”
Meg shook her head. “No. Leastwise, I don’t think so. He doesn’t favor the one picture I have of her a single bit.”
“But your surname is Anthony, not Jackson?”
“Oh, that. When I ran away from Uncle Rowney, I decided it would be easier to hide with a different name, so I changed to Anthony,” Meg explained. “After the saint, you see.”
Cassandra wanted to ask why she’d run away, but since this was the most Meg had talked about herself the whole time Cassie had been at Camden House, she decided not to press her. “Ah, yes. St. Anthony helps people find lost items.”
“Just so. Since I’m a Finder, it seemed to fit. I hope you don’t think I’ve gotten above myself by taking a saint’s name.” She ducked her head shyly, though Cassie wondered now how much of that was an act so folks would underestimate and therefore trust her. “I did give up stealing, you know.”
