Chapter 11 #3
“Fireworks, you pillock,” he muttered, willing his heartbeat to return to normal as visions of gunshots and Lord Jefferson standing in the doorway with a smoking pistol receded from his overwrought imagination.
Taking a few more steadying breaths, Alfie returned to his work, listening carefully until, with a final, firm twist, there was a soft metallic snick that made him want to jump about and dance with relief.
Firmly reminding himself he was a long way from victory yet, Alfie eased open the heavy door.
Inside, nestled among ledgers and a substantial roll of banknotes, lay the leather box that Alfie remembered.
Reaching for it, Alfie opened the box, relief flooding him as he saw the diamonds. Thank the lord.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a clean white handkerchief and spread it on the carpet beneath him.
With less care than he might have otherwise shown, Alfie tipped the diamonds out, wrapped them up, and slid them into his pocket.
Replacing the empty box in the safe, he hesitated.
Aubrey would murder him for taking more than the diamonds, yet Silas would never leave all that cash, nor the paperwork that might prove to be valuable.
Well, the paperwork was too bulky, too much of a risk, he reasoned, but after another second of indecision, swiped the cash—for the sake of verisimilitude, he assured himself firmly.
Closing the door to the safe, Alfie replaced the books and then reached into his pocket again and pulled out the pretty little snuff box. Looking around for the perfect spot, he noticed a comfortable chair, the closest piece of furniture to the safe.
“God bless you, Lill,” he whispered, and set it on the carpet, just peeking out from behind the leg of the chair, where it might have fallen unnoticed in Silas’s haste to get the diamonds and get out. Not so unnoticed that anyone surveying the scene of the crime would miss it, mind.
Satisfied, Alfie extinguished the lamp and hurried to the door, listening carefully.
The fireworks were still in full swing, making it hard to detect any sound, but he turned the handle, daring to peer out and relieved to discover the corridor quiet.
Slipping out, he knelt and relocked the door, then crept back towards the servants' stairs.
“Bleedin’ paste. What a swindle!”
Alfie froze as he caught the indignant whisper. Bloody hell. Silas’s men were coming this way.
“Never mind, Tommy. We’ll try his lordship’s bedroom next. ‘Ere, can you imagine Sally putting up with you having a bedroom at the other end of the house,” said the voice with a smothered laugh.
“Nah, but I wouldn’t mind. Stupid bitch snores like a pig,” groused Tommy, as Alfie stared around for a place to hide.
There was nothing for it but the curtains. Darting behind them, Alfie flattened himself against the window and held his breath, grateful for the darkness of the corridor as the footsteps got closer.
“Ere, Tom, you got those lockpicks? For Christ’s sake, don’t forget to leave them where they can be found, them mother-of-pearl decorations on the handles are unmistakable. Everyone will know it was Marwick what did the job. Silas has got his heart set on seeing the lad swing for this.”
“No more than me. I’ll celebrate by dancing on his poxy grave, for he’s a bleedin’ pain in the arse. I’m sick of hearing how bloody clever he is.”
Alfie’s heart thudded hard. Bloody hell. That’s how they were going to do it. Well, that served him right for being so damned cocky in getting them made in the first place.
The moment they were gone, Alfie slid out from behind the curtain and ran to the door that concealed the servants’ staircase.
Moving so fast he slipped and nearly broke his neck on the stairs, Alfie reminded himself to keep calm.
Yet knowing the two louts were in the house with an identical set of his tools was not a very calming thing to consider.
Somehow, he had to alert the household to the intruders and get out himself before they could set him up for a crime he had actually committed.
Pausing to pick up his abandoned tray of glasses, he slipped out of the door that led into the entrance hall. He’d get rid of his glasses first, and mention to Keith that he’d seen two footmen slipping the main staircase. That ought to do it.
“Alfie!”
The sound of his name ringing out in a harsh whisper so startled Alfie that he nearly dropped the tray. Spinning around, he gawked in amazement as Aubrey came rushing towards him.
“Thank God,” he said fervently, as Alfie noted how pale and drawn he was. “I’ve been going out of my mind, and I wish you to know, I am not pleased with you. Not one little bit, but… you’re all right?”
Alfie, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to throw himself into Aubrey’s arms, forced himself not to react.
“Fine,” he said, glancing around, frustrated not to be able to say more, but if anyone noticed their conversation it might look suspicious later.
He looked into Aubrey’s anxious green eyes with too many feelings knocking about in his chest. Aubrey was here.
Aubrey had figured it out and come after him.
Not that he needed rescuing, obviously, but still.
As annoyed as he was at the high-handed devil’s interference, he could not deny he was touched by Aubrey’s desire to help.
“Do you have them?”
“I do,” he replied calmly. “But Silas’ men are upstairs. I’m about to sound the alarm. Hopefully, all hell will break loose. I’ll need to get out quick.”
“I have a plan to get you out,” Aubrey said, looking remarkably pleased with himself. “That room there is a small parlour. Meet me inside the moment you can.”
Alfie blinked, torn between amusement and irritation. “Very well.”