Den of Thieves

by William Holden

  “Pierre, you have to help him.”

  “I cannot, Thomas. Not here, not in front of Mr. Wilcox. We can be of no use to the man.”

  “I hate this.”

  “I know, mon amour,” he whispered. “What we can do is get Mrs. Reid out of here and tend to her needs.”

  “I hate the thought of leaving her alone tonight.”

  “We are not. Mrs. Reid is coming back to Clapton’s with us.” He looked over his shoulder at Mr. Wilcox talking with Mr. Borgstrom. “Besides, I am not leaving her in the hands of our beloved magistrate.” Pierre cradled Mrs. Reid in his arms. “We should go before anything else happens this evening.”

  “Gentlemen…I guess I should not use the plural since there is only one man before me who qualifies.” Mr. Wilcox came toward us, blocking our path to the door. “How nice of you to feel the need to take care of her, but I must insist you let me.”

  “Like hell.” Pierre took a step forward and closed the gap between them. “After what I heard and saw here tonight. There is no way I would leave Mrs. Reid in your care. If you will excuse us.” Pierre pushed Mr. Wilcox out of his way and headed toward the door with Mrs. Reid in his arms. I smiled and nodded at Mr. Wilcox as I passed, then followed Pierre out before Mr. Wilcox had a chance to stop me.

  Chapter 12

  The early morning sun broke through the window and warmed my face, waking me from a deep and restful sleep. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and blinked away the dreams then turned. For a few peaceful moments, I watched Pierre as he slept next to me.

  I stared at the rise and fall of his chest then smiled as I noticed his lips puffing in and out as he breathed. In those moments of silence, all of our current problems and worries seemed to disappear. It felt as if everything outside our bedchamber no longer existed. A feeling of peacefulness, complete, and unconditional filled me with a comforting warmth. I wondered what it would be like to leave the difficulties of London behind and move to a smaller, less troubled city. There was something consoling in the thought of starting again elsewhere, with the two men I loved. As much as I wanted to be a part of Clapton’s to keep Mother’s memory alive, I worried London and all that came with it would never give me the opportunity to be a part of her legacy.

  I thought of Christopher in Cambridge, waking up without the grit and grime of the city. Being able to breathe fresh air, or if not fresh, at least not laced with coal and soot from the factories south of the Thames. Pierre had always been a city man, living between Paris and London. I looked at him and wondered if he could give it up, all of it, and live a quieter life.

  A smile drew itself across Pierre’s lips as he dreamed. I wanted to kiss him, and run my fingers through the tight curls of his chest hair until I found the firm nibs of his tits beneath the soft mat. I refrained from my desires, out of love for him, knowing he needed his sleep. I could lose myself in the sight of you. The intense love I felt for Pierre was at times overwhelming, and even painful for I did not know what I would do if I ever lost him. As I pushed those unpleasant thoughts from my mind, I heard the shuffling of pans coming from the kitchen downstairs, then the pungent smell of bacon as it cooked. My stomach grumbled. I slipped out of bed, dressed, and left Pierre sleeping.

  “Good morning, Bess.”

  “Thomas, I hope my rough skills in the kitchen did not wake you.” She came up to me and kissed me on each cheek. “Good morning to you.”

  “Not at all.” I noticed the kettle hanging over the fire. “Is the water ready?”

  “Yes.” Bess returned her attention to the bacon. “There are smoked sardines and bread rolls in the cupboard.”

  “I cannot remember the last time we have had a proper breakfast.” I took the kettle from the fire, poured it into the pot and set it on the table, then returned to the kitchen for the rest of the food. Bess plated the bacon and joined me at the table. She poured us both a cup of coffee. I cupped my hands around the warm cup and brought it to my lips. I sighed with the first sip of the morning.

  “Have you heard from Christopher?” Bess sipped her coffee.

  “In other words, you mean, Sheppard.”

  “Thomas.” She smiled and winked.

  “No, I have not. Christopher said he would send word once settled in Cambridge. You miss him?”

  “It pains me to admit it, but yes. Nicholas can be so cruel with his words, and yet there are moments of such tenderness and love. The man just infuriates me.”

  “Give him time. Everything about his life here; living with three sodomites, his affection for you, the history of Mother Clap’s, all of it goes against his religious beliefs.”

  “What are you to up to this morning?” Pierre called out as he came down the stairs. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I forgot about our house guest.” He leaned down and kissed me, then walked around the table and greeted Bess with a kiss on each cheek.

  “Good morning, Pierre.” Bess poured a cup of coffee for him as he sat down. “We were talking about Nicholas.”

  “No matter what he says, Bess, know you are the best thing that has happened to him.” Pierre gave her an encouraging nod, then took one of the rolls and a couple of the smoked sardines.

  “Thank you for saying so.” Bess bowed her head before continuing. “After what happened with Ash, I was not sure how you felt about me.”

  “Bess,” Pierre swallowed and wiped his mouth. “I am sorry. Please, know my frustration and suspicions were not aimed at you, per se. Mr. Wilcox is starting to worry me. He has become a loose cannon, and I have no idea where or when he is going to aim next. I fear it is going to be at Thomas or me. Then when Ash slit his throat—”

  “Pierre, you do not have to explain.” Bess placed her hand on Pierre’s arm.

  “Please, let me finish. I have been on my own for most of my life. I learned early on that trust was not a human condition to fall victim to if you wanted to survive. I let my guard down years ago with Mr. Sutton, and as you know, he almost had Christopher and me killed and Thomas framed for our murders.” He sipped his coffee. “I know that if it were not for you, we would be dead right now, so please do not think your generosity and friendship has gone unnoticed…”

  “Pierre, I know what I am about to say is not going to do anything to change your mind immediately. Please know, I plan on doing whatever it takes to earn your trust.” She held each of our hands in hers. “No matter what my past relationship with Jonathan was, I am on your side.” She pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and blotted a tear from her eye. “He has caused too much pain to the people I care about most in my life. I want to help the two of you bring him down.”

  “Then there is something you should know.” Pierre squeezed her hand and nodded at me.

  “Are you sure?” I questioned his motives for telling Bess.

  “She needs to know.”

  “The two of you are scaring me.”

  “We do not mean to, Pierre said. “I thought the fewer people who knew, the better, but after this, knowledge is all we have to protect ourselves against him.” He motioned with his hand. “We can eat while Thomas fills you in.”

  I told Bess about our visit to the sergeant-at-arms and the threats against the king. She sat with a solid, unflinching expression as I told her of the assumed plot to murder the men connected to the British army and Royal Navy. It was when I told her I was spying on Jonathan Wilcox for the king, her expression changed.

  “Thomas,” she said after I had finished. “You have no idea how dangerous Jonathan is. You must rethink this. There has to be another way. Please—” Bess was cut off by someone pounding on the side door. We looked at each other. Both of us wondering who would be here at this hour.

  “Open up, Pierre,” Mr. Wilcox yelled. The door shook in its frame. “Pierre, as the magistrate, I am ordering you to open the fucking door.”

  “What the hell?” I said as I went to the door and opened it. “Mr. Wilcox—”

  “Not now, Thomas.” Mr. Wilcox charged into t
he room uninvited and made a direct line for Pierre, who was already standing and ready for a fight. “How did you do it, you fucking piece of shit. Uh, how?” He shoved Pierre, who stumbled backward and tipped over his chair.

  “Back off, Wilcox.” Pierre righted himself.

  “Jonathan, what are you talking about?” I ran up behind him and grabbed his arm. He shook me off.

  “I just came from Parliament. The sergeant-at-arms informed me that the king would not sign your exile orders. How did you do it, Pierre?”

  “Jonathan,” Bess cried out. “I cannot believe you wrote up orders to have Pierre exiled.”

  “Stay out of this, bitch.” He shoved the table out of his way and went toward Bess. “I am not finished with you.”

  Pierre stepped in front of Bess to protect her.

  “Get out of my way, Pierre. I am warning you.”

  “You are not touching Bess.” Pierre ducked as Mr. Wilcox swung his fist. Pierre came back up and shoved his fist into Jonathan’s gut, then picked him up and tossed him across the table. Breakfast dishes shattered as Jonathan skidded across the table and tumbled to the floor.

  “I think you should leave, Jonathan.” I came up to him and helped him to his feet. I could see the shocked expression on Bess’s face as she witnessed my observed kindness to the bastard.

  “I am not done with you, Pierre.” He wiped the blood from his mouth. “And Thomas, if I did not have an interest in your well-being…” he spat blood on the floor. “Remember what I said, Thomas. If you care anything at all about Pierre and Christopher, you know what you need to do.” He laughed and straightened his overcoat. “I shall show myself out. Your days are numbered, Pierre.” Mr. Wilcox slammed the door shut.

  I ran to Pierre and wrapped my arms around him. “What are we going to do?”

  “I do not know. Mr. Wilcox appears to be coming undone, I have never seen him so unstable before.”

  “Pierre, thank you for standing up for me.” Bess came up to us. “I have never seen him like this.”

  “Thanks are not needed.” He smiled at her and rubbed her cheek with a tenderness I knew all too well. As we straightened the table and chairs, the door to the spare bedchamber opened.

  “Is he gone?” Mrs. Reid poked her head out of the door.

  “Yes.” Pierre stood and pulled out a chair for her. “Please, join us for breakfast, or what is left of it anyway.” Pierre nodded toward the floor.

  “Let me get some more boiling water.” Bess took the kettle into the kitchen as I picked up the broken plates and scattered food on the floor.

  “Thank you, Mr. Baptiste, for giving me a place to stay last night.” She looked at me as I stood and smiled.

  “Mrs. Reid, whatever possessed you to get up on the stage last night?” Pierre asked.

  “I had to know…” She paused as Bess came back into the room.

  “It is okay, Bess knows everything.”

  Mrs. Reid gave several quick nods before continuing. “I have not been honest with the two of you.” She looked down at the coffee cup, which Bess placed in front of her. “Thank you.” She took a sip then looked at each of us as if silently apologizing to us one by one.

  “How so?”

  “You have to understand I was afraid to say anything. I thought—”

  “Please, Mrs. Reid, what are you trying to tell us?” I heard the sharpness in my voice and knew Mrs. Reid did not deserve it after losing her husband, but I was becoming tired of people and their secrets.

  “It is about Mr. Borgstrom.”

  “What about him?” I pressed. Bess must have sensed my annoyance and reached out and patted my hand.

  “I went to see him two days before my husband died. I was embarrassed to admit it to anyone that I believe in his magic. I wanted him to read my future.”

  “What happened?” Pierre broke in before I had a chance to express my growing frustration.

  “I went to his residence and asked for a private reading. I do not remember much about the session except that Mr. Borgstrom was so kind. A true gentleman with his manners and the way he spoke to me. I hate to use words like this, but I was immediately under his spell.” She paused, raised the cup to her lips, then set it down as she continued. “He used the friction machine and put me into a trance as he calls it.” She shook her head as if trying to remember. “I can still hear his voice somewhere in my head. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I feel as if he is still in there.” She rubbed her temple.

  “Do you remember what he asked you?” Pierre spoke with more urgency.

  “No, I am sorry. I remember nothing during that time, except what Mr. Borgstrom told me afterward.”

  “Which is?”

  “Most of what he told me seems unimportant. There is one thing he alluded to, something no one but Franklin and I knew.” She shivered. “He mentioned the surname, Archer.”

  “I take it Archer was your name before the king changed your identities?”

  “Yes, but how did you know?” Mrs. Reid looked at us with confusion and worry.

  “Mrs. Reid, you know how I operate.”

  “Yes, and we are all grateful for it.”

  “That is it.” Pierre slapped his hand against the table. All three of us jumped.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It all makes perfect sense. Mrs. Reid, were you wearing the necklace with the key the day you met with Mr. Borgstrom?”

  “Yes, as I have stated before, I never take it off.”

  “Then it is entirely possible, while you were under his trance, he switched the key from around your neck.”

  “My Lord.” She patted her neck. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Thomas, do you not see? It is how they are getting the information about the location of the valuables, the key, and when people will be away from their homes. The information was then passed on to Ash, who committed the robberies.”

  “Then someone must have been following Ash, and when he left, they went in and committed the murders,” I added. “Ash said he did not have a choice. I bet they were planning on framing him for the murders as well as the robberies.”

  “Oh, that poor man.” Bess shook her head. “It looks as if Jonathan is behind all of this, but how can we prove it?”

  “Ash said that it runs deeper than the magistrate. Pierre, do you suppose there is someone close to the king or the sergeant-at-arms who is pulling strings?”

  “At this point, we have to consider every option.”

  “What is our next move?”

  “Bess, would you find a Hackney carriage and make sure Mrs. Reid gets home safely?”

  “Yes, anything.”

  “Thomas, you and I need to find out where Mrs. Durant went the other day by herself. If I am correct, it will lead us to Mr. Borgstrom.”

  “How are we going to track her steps? We cannot speak to the dead, and trying to find the coachman who picked her up would be impossible.”

  “Difficult, but not impossible. I know a good starting point. Come on.” Pierre stood. “Take care, Mrs. Reid, we shall be in touch. Bess.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Be careful. You heard the mental state of Mr. Wilcox. There is no telling what he will do to get to me, or Thomas.”

  “I shall be all right, but thank you all the same. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, yes there is.” Pierre smiled. “Mrs. Reid, would you mind terribly staying here for a portion of the day?”

  “Not at all. I would feel safer.”

  “Excellent, and please make yourself at home. Thomas, Bess, I know it is a little early, but what do the two of you say about having a drink at the Gray Owl?”

  “Pierre, what are you up to?” I asked as I stepped around and stood next to Bess.

  “The Gray Owl Inn is where many of the coachmen have a meal and stable their horses between hires. I am hoping we might be able to find the coachman who picked up Mrs. Durant the other day.”


  “And you think I can help get the men to talk?”

  “If you cannot, no one can.” Pierre smiled. “Shall we find ourselves a carriage?” He held out his arm and Bess wrapped her hand in the curve of his elbow. Pierre’s sudden change of heart about trusting Bess came as a surprise to me. I began to suspect he had a plan of his own that he was not ready to share. I pushed the thought out of my head, knowing I had a penchant for always thinking the worst and decided to let them deal with the trust issues their way, and I would simply enjoy having them around without the constant tension.

  * * * *

  It was mid-morning by the time we had hired a Hackney carriage and arrived at the Gray Owl. The coachman stepped down off his perch, held the door, and helped Bess down out of the carriage. “Shall I wait?” He asked, bowing as Pierre and I stepped out.

  “No, thank you, sir,” Pierre replied, then added. “May I ask you something?” He handed the coachman the fare.

  “Of course, always at your service.”

  “You may have heard about the murders in Mayfair, a Mr. and Mrs. Durant?”

  “Indeed, sir. Terrible news. One cannot go a day living in London without a whole list of crimes. It seems the papers report nothing else.”

  “Yes, we are trying to trace Mrs. Durant’s movements on the days leading up to her death.

  A neighbor of hers told us Mrs. Durant left her home two days before the unfortunate incident. Due to a bad leg, she could not have walked far, so we are assuming she hired the services of a coachman. Have you heard anyone mention her?”

  “I am afraid not, sir.” He bowed, then, without waiting for further comment, turned, climbed up on his carriage and took off down the street.

  “Do you think he knows something?” I asked thinking he took off a bit suddenly.

  “People get nervous. They do not like to get involved in things that do not concern them.”

  “We have Jonathan Wilcox to blame for their behavior,” Bess said.

  “How so?” I said.

  “It used to be people would report crimes. The citizens of London were the eyes and ears of the city.” Bess spoke with a sense of purpose and authority. She was unlike most women I knew. Similar to Mother Clap. She did not shy away from conversations, or situations that were perceived to be for men only. She was outspoken and fearless. “Since Jonathan has become so prominent, people fear him. They assume any crime is somehow connected to Jonathan and are afraid he will retaliate against them.”