Tiki ducked into a dim alcove stacked with bags of flour and stayed tight to the wall as she peered around the corner. Her eyes grew wide at the staggering amounts of food being prepared. Soups and sauces were stirred over the fire. Some sort of meat, venison or beef, dripped juices onto the open flames. Nearby, pots full of peas and carrots waited to be steamed, and there was an entire table full of bread. Loaves and loaves of fresh-baked bread.
Tiki’s mouth watered as she eyed the bounty. What she would give to take even a few loaves and a good hunk of beef home to the others. At seventeen, Shamus was grown, but he’d become so thin and tall that his wrists and ankles stuck out from his ragged clothes as if he’d pulled on ten-year-old Toots’s trousers by mistake. And fifteen-year-old Fiona’s pretty face had become angular and sunken.
“Turn that spit before the meat chars and I have to char your backside.” The cook whacked at the meat on the cutting board. “An’ you, young miss…” The cook pointed her knife at a girl who stood stirring a large pot. “Don’t let me catch you daydreamin’ again.”
Tiki eyed a round block of cheddar on a nearby table that was surrounded by a number of smaller chunks of cheese, just waiting to be melted. She could snitch a few of the smaller hunks and a couple of loaves, and no one would be the wiser.
A movement to her left caught her attention. A young boy watched her from the floor. He reminded her of a dormouse, his big eyes like two dark plums centered in the round pie plate of his face. She raised a finger to her lips. He blinked at her and nodded that he understood she wanted him to be quiet. Could she take the chance?
“That bread has had time to cool,” the cook bellowed. “Mary, start putting it in the bread baskets and store them against that wall. We need that table for the sweetcakes.”
It was now or never. Tiki made her way over to the table with the cheddar and crouched beside it. Watching the swirling skirts of the kitchen maids walking to and fro, she snaked a hand up over the edge of the table and grabbed blindly for a hunk of cheese. She slid the cheese into the oversize pocket of her jacket and on hands and knees worked her way over toward the table laden with loaves of bread.
She shot a quick glance back at the young boy. He was still watching her every move.
“Ellie,” the cook yelled, “get me a bag of flour.” The clank of pots and pans along with the rhythmic beat of chopping knives continued, as though the kitchen were a great machine, its gears and cogs in full motion.
Tiki crept along the floor, grateful for the shadows cast under the tables. Under the bread table, she paused, waiting for the right moment. Whoever lived here had so much food they’d never notice a few missing crusts. She thought of how Toots’s freckled face would light up when she showed him the fresh cheddar.
One of the kitchen maids came over to the table where Tiki hid. Tiki held her breath as the girl shuffled the loaves of bread from the table to a basket. When the girl walked away, Tiki groped blindly over the edge of the table. She’d just latched on to a loaf when a scream split the air.
“Who’s under there?”
Tiki bolted out from under the table. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the little boy, his eyes wide, his mouth open to form an O of surprise, as she flew by. As she ran for the door she’d come in, another kitchen maid stepped out of the alcove where Tiki had hidden earlier, a huge sack of flour clutched to her chest. A scream erupted from her throat and she froze in place, blocking the exit.
“Stop, you!” the cook bellowed. “Thief!”
Tiki darted toward another door, desperate to escape. A dim hallway stretched before her, and she flew as fast as her feet could move, unmindful of the clatter her boots made on the wooden floor. Shouts and shrieks followed her departure, and Tiki could hear the lumbering gait of the well-endowed cook. “Get back in the stables where you belong!” she yelled.
Tiki ran down a warren of dim corridors until she found a door slightly ajar. She slipped inside, closed it softly behind her, and pressed her forehead against the cool grain of the wood. She strained to hear any sounds of pursuit. Long moments ticked by as Tiki held her ear to the door. Nothing. She heaved a sigh of relief.
Thankful that she’d escaped for the moment, Tiki turned and gasped. She stood in a huge room with eight angled walls that formed an octagon. Every wall was filled with bookcases, every shelf filled with books. And if that weren’t enough, a second set of bookshelves lined the walls above the first set, reaching all the way up to the large, arch-top windows far above her head.
Tiki’s jaw sagged in disbelief as she tilted her head back and gazed up at the enormous number of books. Underneath her boots, plush carpet softened her steps. Tiki turned in a full circle, trying to take it all in. The sheer size of the room made her feel antlike and small.
A large desk sat in the center of the room, and on the far side there was a glass-paned door. A fire burned low in the grate, gas lamps lighting the interior of the room with a soft glow. A familiar longing tugged at her as she gazed at the shelves lining the walls.
An old memory rushed to mind, of her father sitting before the fire, a pipe clutched in one hand as he read stories from Dinah Craik’s The Fairy Book. Scotty, her cocker spaniel, was asleep on Tiki’s lap as she listened. Her mother sat in a nearby chair, her dark head bent over her fancy needlework. A lump filled her throat at the vivid recollection.
Drawn by an irresistible pull, Tiki moved to the nearest shelf and ran her fingers over the leather spines. She longed to pull open the pages and read the secrets kept inside. She moved deeper into the room. The great desk was exactly the same shape as the room, with four legs to support the eight-sided top. Nearby, an oversize book lay open on a stand, with a magnifying glass resting on its surface. Tiki picked up the circle of clear glass suspended by an ornately carved handle and peered at the map.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” a voice said from outside the glass-paned door. “I was looking at it earlier.”
Tiki jumped in alarm as the door to the library swung inward. Still clutching the magnifying glass, she dove under the desk, her pulse drumming in her ears. The soft shuffle of boots on carpet moved in her direction.
“It’s the only way you’ll get him to believe you at this point, Arthur,” a second voice replied. The pages of a newspaper rustled overhead, alarmingly close to Tiki’s hiding place.
“Ah, here it is.” Arthur’s voice was deep and pleasant.
“Have you found it, then?” The second voice was not as deep as the first and sounded younger.
“Yes, I’ve got the information right here,” Arthur said. “Smithson will have to eat his words once he looks at these numbers. I’d wager this is Grace’s best cricket season yet.”
Tiki’s heart beat a wild rhythm in her chest as she listened to their conversation, huddled under the massive desk. She couldn’t possibly explain her presence in this room to these two young men, with bread and cheddar tucked in her pockets. They would know at a glance that she was nothing more than a thief.
“Probably should’ve upped the bet,” the younger voice said. He snickered. “You know what they say, Arthur, build your wealth when opportunity knocks.”
“Yes, Smithson owes me after the beating I took in cards the other night. Speaking of that, Leo,” Arthur said, “I think Isabelle Cavendish considers you an opportunity.”
Leo’s voice answered just above her head, and Tiki jumped in surprise. She had to bite her lip not to gasp out loud when she spied the toes of two black boots only a few feet from her shoulder.
“At least Isabelle is interesting. And pretty. Doesn’t she look breathtaking tonight? So many of these young women can hardly carry on a decent conversation, what with their incessant giggling and whatnot. Why is the female of the species so dreadfully boring, I wonder?”
Arthur laughed. “Maybe you should try talking about something besides horses and hunting. What is it about Isabelle other than her appearance that you find so fascinating, then?”
&nb
sp; Tiki heard a soft pop! and then the clink of crystal.
“She was asking me about one of Mother’s rings tonight. You know the one.” There was a pause and then a soft sigh. “I do love champagne.”
“What ring?” Arthur sounded as though he had moved closer.
“The one Mother has hidden, with the red stone,” Leo said. There was a rustling sound. “This one.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Is that the ring of the truce?” Arthur’s voice was hushed. “Where did you get that?”
“I took it from Mother’s strongbox earlier today,” Leo said.
“Does she know?”
Leo snorted. “What do you think I am, a complete fool?”
“What are you two doing down here?” The strident tone of an older woman interrupted their conversation.
“Oh, hello, Mother,” Arthur replied smoothly. “Just came down to get the paper to show Charlie Smithson something.” Papers rattled as if to emphasize his point.
“And Leo? What is your excuse?” The sound of skirts swishing moved closer. “You both belong upstairs in the ballroom with your guests. And what’s that in your hand, Leo?”
“Just a glass of champagne, Mother,” the younger voice replied. Something dropped down into the darkness underneath the desk. “I thought I’d take a break from the party.” He took several steps away from the desk but remained close enough that Tiki could still spy the black heels of his boots. “I need a breather every once in a while from all the attention.”
“Yes, well, the attention serves a purpose,” the woman said. “There are alliances to be forged. Stop spending so much time with Isabelle Cavendish. You’ve known her all your life. Spend some time with that young duchess from Russia—what’s her name? Maria?”
“Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna,” Arthur said.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“She looks like a horse,” Leo said.
“Well, you love horses, so you should find her quite appealing.” Fingers snapped. “Come along, then, both of you. Our guests expect to have the opportunity to see and talk with you tonight,” the woman said, “and many have traveled a great distance to be here.”
“Yes, we’ll be right up,” Arthur said. “I just wanted to—”
“Now.” Her tone made it clear there would be no further negotiation.
There was a second of silence before the whisper of boots moved across the carpet.
“Brilliant idea, Mother.” Leo’s voice was light and pleasant. “Can we escort you upstairs?”
“Thank you, dear, that would be lovely. I plan to return to…” The woman’s voice faded as they left the room and the door closed.
After several long minutes, Tiki released her breath and relaxed against the thick carpet.
That was close.
She eyed the item that Leo had tossed under the desk. Mesmerized by its beauty, Tiki reached for the ring. It was a burnished band of rich gold, capped by an intensely red stone the color of blood that almost seemed to beckon to her.
Tiki stared into the ruby red depths, turning the stone this way and that to catch the light. Something flickered, and her heart caught in her throat as she peered closer. Deep within the heart of the stone, flames burned.
She crawled out from under the desk and tilted the ring under a lamp. How could there be flames inside a ring? A tiny bit of writing inside the band caught Tiki’s eye.
Na síochána, aontaímid: For the sake of peace, we agree.
Tiki murmured the words aloud to herself. She held the ring up again and watched the flames within the stone flicker and dance. It was breathtaking. She couldn’t look away.
She slid the ring onto the third finger of her right hand, and her skin tingled as though warmed by the fire in the ring. She held her hand out to admire the beauty of the stone, the flames winking in its depths as if sending her a secret message.
Tiki gave a furtive glance around the room before sliding the ring off her finger and into her pocket.
“They’ll probably never even notice the ring’s gone missing,” she whispered.
She had never stolen something just for herself before. She had only stolen to survive. But she had to have this ring.
A clock on one of the bookshelves chimed twelve times. Midnight. She needed to get back to Charing Cross. The others would be worried. She hurried to the back wall and eased the door open a crack to peer into the hallway. There was no one in sight.
She rushed down the dim corridor, keeping to her toes, trying to minimize the sound of her boots. As she wound her way through the maze of halls, the din from the kitchen became louder. Pans clanking and a gabble of voices talking: kitchen maids and the low tones of a man. Above it all, the shouts of the cook could be heard.
Tiki slowed as she approached the door. Stealthily she leaned forward and peered around the doorjamb. The cook and her helpers were busy chopping, stirring, steaming, kneading. A thin, balding man in a red coat leaned against the wall of the alcove that held the flour. His back partially blocked the door.
“A thief in the kitchens? Are you sure Cookie wasn’t samplin’ the wine again?” he said.
“Now don’t you start in on that, Angus,” the cook called over her shoulder from where she stood at the great stove. “I’ve heard just about enough out of you.”
No one was looking in Tiki’s direction. Now was her chance.
She hurried down the hall to the exterior door and skidded into the cold night. Without looking back, she dashed for the shadows under the trees. The fog had lifted and she could see carriages stretched in a queue around the corner, lined up to await the return of the partygoers. She didn’t dare try to catch a ride from here.
Staying deep in the shadows, she ran across the street toward what looked to be a park and disappeared into the darkness. When she was a safe distance away, Tiki dug into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out the ring. By the light of the moon, she could see the flames embedded deep in the stone flicker and glow, like the embers of a fire.
A strange yearning pulled at her. She slid the band back on her finger, turning and twisting the ring to watch the play of light. It had to be worth a fortune. Could she take it home with her and fence it?
No. She didn’t dare.
If caught with the ring in her possession, she’d be thrown into Newgate Prison to rot until the end of time. She needed some time to think, to plan.
Tiki ran alongside a lake until she came to the base of a stately old elm tree, its dark shadow looming over the other trees under the patchwork light of the cloud-shrouded moon.
She grabbed a branch and swung herself up on a limb. Perched in the crotch of the tree, she ran her hands over the spongy, moss-laden trunk until she found a rotted-out hole where an old branch had fallen away.
The ring would be safe here for a few days. No one would think to look in this old tree. She would leave it just until she made up her mind what she was going to do with the thing.
She tore a piece off the bottom of her ragged trousers and reluctantly pulled the ring from her finger. Tiki carefully wrapped it in the fabric. With tentative fingers, she reached into the hole and tucked the bundle into the crevice, then covered it with several chunks of moss.
Satisfied the ring was safely hidden, Tiki swung down from the branch and landed in the thicket. She brushed off her trousers and smiled to herself before turning to gaze back across the lake toward the grand mansion. Though the trees eclipsed part of her view, from this distance she could see the building lit up like Big Ben. Her smile faded as cold fingers wrapped around her heart. She recognized that familiar silhouette.
It was Buckingham Palace.
She recalled the names of the young men in the library. Leo … Prince Leopold? And Prince Arthur? And the older woman … Mother …
Oh, bloody hell. She’d just stolen the queen’s ring.
Chapter Three
TIKI pushed aside the board hanging from a single nail and slipped into
the abandoned clockmaker’s shop that adjoined Charing Cross Station. The milky light from the railway station drifted in through the three arched windows that lined the common wall between the station and the room they called home. Positioned above their makeshift door, the windows let in just enough illumination that she could see the shadowy figures of her small family of orphans.
“Tiki!” Toots scrambled across the room and threw his arms around her. “We thought you’d been snatched by the bobbies.”
“Or someone caught your hand in their pocket.” Worry made Fiona’s voice softer than usual. “An’ hauled you away for good.”
“Everything all right, Tiki?” Shamus stood, a tall, thin shadow in the dim light.
“Yes.” Tiki wrapped her arms around Toots’s thin shoulders. “I just hopped a boot and fell asleep.”
“You fell asleep on the back of a carriage?” Fiona asked. She was snuggled in a pile of ragged blankets on one side of the small box stove, which gave off enough heat to keep the room bearable in winter, if they could find the coal to fill it. “In this weather? It’s freezing out there.”
“I was tired,” Tiki replied.
A match sizzled to life as Shamus lit a candle. The small flame cast wavering shadows against the wall as the wick ignited. Shamus’s blond hair glowed yellow in the candlelight.
Rumpled blankets and tattered pieces of clothing stretched on both sides of the box stove, divided into boys’ and girls’ sleeping areas. In the middle of the long room, an upturned crate covered with a plank of wood served as their table. Tiki made her way toward the two rickety chairs they’d scavenged from a burned-out flat in Drury Lane. “I’m home now, though, so let’s eat.” With a flourish she pulled the loaf of bread and chunk of cheddar from her pockets and placed them on the wooden surface.
“Cheddar,” Toots cried. He skittered across the floor, nearly tripping in his hurry. “Where’d you get that, Teek?”
“Oh, had a bit of luck on my way home.”
“I am so hungry.” Fiona pushed aside her covers and joined Toots at the table. “We didn’t have any luck today.” She tore a chunk of the bread and shoved it in her mouth until her cheeks bulged.
The Faerie Ring Page 2
