Chapter 6
6
5 February, 1827
Covent Garden
Marianne bit down hard on her lower lip and gave out a huff of frustration. She shook the small malachite chest hard and considered throwing it across the room but realized whatever was hidden inside was probably fragile and could be worth thousands of pounds.
Lucinda stared over the tops of her wire-rimmed spectacles from her comfortable chair by the fire before laying down her needlework. "Give me that poor jewel chest."
"What?" Marianne pulled the small box tight to her waist and threw her lady's maid a mulish look. "If I can't open this puzzle box, what do you think you can do?"
Lucinda gently pulled the box out of her mistress's grasp and drew the pad of her index finger slowly across each side of the box horizontally, exerting gentle pressure as she went. She then shifted the box slightly and repeated the process on each side vertically at varying distances across the box surfaces. At the sound of a loud click, a small oblong piece spun ninety degrees, exposing a tiny keyhole surrounded by malachite.
Marianne snatched back the infernal box and pulled out her cloth bag of thievery tools. Once the lock yielded to her ministrations, she pulled up the lid only to be thwarted again. Three tiny ormolu dials twinkled in the low light, a final barrier mocking her feeble attempts to steal the small casket's secrets.
After fiddling with the blasted box for another two hours, she gave up and pulled a hastily scribbled note from her writing desk - the name scrawled in Robbie's uneven handwriting was Harold Waverly. Apparently, the man was an obscure jeweler tucked away on a side street in Cheapside who offered his services to value estates. According to Robbie, who'd been making discreet inquiries on her behalf, he was known to occasionally buy jewelry outright if the price was right. No questions asked.
She stared at the obstinate jewel casket for a few seconds and debated about whether or not to declare defeat. Damn . She had to find out what was inside and what it might be worth. The box alone would probably bring a small fortune. God only knew what secret treasure was hidden inside the little green bastard.
* * *
6 February, 1827
Rented Warehouse
Covent Garden
Robbie shuffled from one foot to the other, as if he were loathe to be any part of the Black Art that had apparently taken over his mistress's life. "I...I'm not sure you should meet with this man."
He hung his head until Marianne snapped her fingers beneath his nose, causing him to move his gaze to her level. "Are you in with us or not? There's no shame if you decide to go back to Wales. I'll pay you a month's wages for severance and send a letter to Papa explaining you had nothing to do with my reckless decision to move to London."
She had a moment's pang of regret when what looked suspiciously like tears filled the loyal young man's eyes. But then he pulled himself up tall, snuffled into his handkerchief, and answered firmly, "I'm already in for a pence, might as well stay for a pound and end up sharing whatever fate the two of you face." His old familiar smile returned. "Besides, who else could you trust to get you safely away from your, um, nightly adventures?"
"That's settled." Marianne gave a great sigh of relief. "Now, how do we set up an appointment with this jeweler who supposedly values estates, and, um, reputedly doesn't look too closely at the provenance of certain treasures?"
"I'll go first and introduce myself, check out his address, see if the neighborhood seems safe." Robbie gave her a pointed look that did not brook any argument.
"You're right. We should rely on your judgment as to the safety of this supposed 'fence.'" Marianne surprised herself with her assent. So far, their adventures had involved only people she knew she could trust. Including this unknown jeweler in the small circle aware of the kinds of things they were taking was new step which could be fraught with danger.
As soon as Robbie left on foot to make his way to the Cheapside address, Lucinda lashed out. "Why are you letting that poor boy go off into an unknown lair of thieves or...or perhaps worse?"
Marianne was already throwing on her long, gray wool redingote over her well-worn widow's weeds and tossing her long curls over the collar. "We're not. Here." She handed her lady's maid her serviceable, warm wool cape which Lucinda threw over her shoulders. Each woman pulled bonnets off the pegs by the door that would hide their faces from snooping eyes and hastened down the street behind Robbie.
* * *
6 February, 1827
Cheapside Alleyway
Con easily switched his body weight from one booted foot to the other. He and Wu were used to long hours of spying on fellow thieves. Wu peeled the skin from an apple as if it were nothing but butter. He sliced through the flesh with a wicked sharp knife and offered half to Con. They consumed the shared apple as well as a chunk of cheddar cheese.
They were sequestered in a convenient alcove across from Waverly's shop and had been waiting for hours. Finally, a young man with the fresh face and freckles of the country appeared. The expression on his face expressed nothing so much as cautious terror.
They decided to wait until the boy met with Waverly and stated his business. Time enough to grab him once he was on his way back to wherever his mistress hid.
And then one of those rare pieces of luck landed neatly in Con's lap. Two women moved stealthily along the street, the younger dressed entirely in widow's weeds, only this time she wasn't veiled. All that blocked his view was an annoying black bonnet with entirely too large wings. It was a wonder the winds gusting along Red Lion Passage didn't set her sailing across the street. As it was, the sign announcing "Jewelry Repair & Estimates" swung hard on its chains and banged against the shop's outer wall, causing both women to start and shrink back against a neighboring shop.
Con was ninety-nine percent sure the younger woman was the one who'd rented his warehouse earlier that week. It was all he could do to keep from rushing across the street and inhaling deeply of her scent, the one that had driven him mad until he'd discovered the source - Jamaican night jasmine. He'd even sent one of his servants to Floris to obtain a bottle of the rare perfume so that he could sniff at his leisure. The odd thing was the bottle of the expensive perfume had failed to re-create the same elusive scent the mysterious woman had given off in his office whilst it caressed her skin.
Not only was she a mystery, but the older woman accompanying her was a puzzle as well. Was this a gang of women thieves? What did they use the young man for? He had to squelch the first thing that leapt to mind. The thought of her in anyone's arms but his did peculiar things to his hands, his arms, his very mind, not to mention his greedy cock. But then again she was just a woman. He'd tire of her as quickly as he usually did once he'd had a woman. And he would have this woman.
But first, she'd tell him everything...everything she'd ever done, everyone she'd ever known...everything she'd ever dreamed or lusted after. When he took a woman to his bed, he forbade any secrets. Secrets were not only dangerous but annoying. He'd have all of hers or know the reason why.
This woman was the wealthiest rookeries thief he'd ever encountered. She either was very proficient at crime or she had a wealthy protector in addition to her larcenous side business.
* * *
Marianne froze when she was struck with the probable identity of the tall, muscular man approaching from the shadows on the other side of the street. Connor Dyer . His shaggy, golden hair and insolent stare gave him away in the low, dusky light.
Her heart sank when she realized his proximity to the fence they wanted to use could not be a coincidence. And then her stomach dropped so precipitously, she gagged and nearly cast up her accounts right there on the side street. Poor Robbie would suffer along with them when he eventually came out of the shop.
Lucinda, next to her, seemed paralyzed with fear and gripped her arm so tightly, she couldn't dart away from the two men now advancing toward them. He'd brought along his apparent enforcer, Wu. They were all dead.
Mr. Dyer advanced steadily, not stopping until they were toe-to-toe. And then he did something so incomprehensible, he set her teeth to chattering. He leaned in toward her bosom and inhaled deeply.
"Ah, Mrs. Smith. We meet again."
She ignored his rude impertinence upon her person...again. "You haven't met my lady's maid, Miss Lucinda Gray."
Marianne nearly swallowed her tongue when he bowed low over Lucinda's hand. "Miss Gray, I am utterly charmed to make your acquaintance. How are you enjoying your accommodations within my warehouse?"
Although Lucinda blanched at the sheer power he exuded, she used her most arch, precise, schoolroom voice to acknowledge him. "I must confess I'm overwhelmed at finally meeting the famous Mr. Connor Dyer. Your warehouse is very commodious and, erm, comfortable."
"I'm happy to hear you say that, because I'm sending both you and the hard-working young man, who will soon come out of the jeweler's shop, back to that abode."
Lucinda, ever the stern governess, could not help asking, "What about Mrs., um, Smith?"
The smile he gave both of them was somehow both mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time. "Miss Smith, I'm afraid, has been naughty. She will be taken to a special place I have for naughty young women who need to learn their place."
Lucinda didn't flinch, but intensified her questions. "How long will you hold her? Will you at least allow me to stay with her as her chaperone?" Her schoolroom voice finally quavered on the last word.
"My associate, Mr. Wu, will accompany you and your coachman back to the warehouse in Covent Garden. Nothing untoward will happen to you now, because you are officially under my protection."
"But...but, what will happen to my mistress?"
"That depends on how truthful she can be in answering my questions."
He approached Marianne then and extended an open hand. He waited silently for a few moments before insisting, "Please hand over that pretty little green malachite casket you've been fiddling with."
"What casket?"
"The one in your reticule."
She made him wait a moment too long before finally giving up the damned box she'd been working to break into for days.
"Thank you. I have a very important client who must have this returned to him."
"Why? Doesn't he have enough blunt already in his house?"
"Cheeky. I like that in a woman...cheeky, but unwise." He strung out the suspense a bit longer than she'd been brave enough to attempt. "He requires the box returned because he's stolen it from someone who would kill us all if he knew we had it in our possession."
* * *
After Wu left for Covent Garden with his charges, Con turned to the woman he knew only as Missus Marianne Smith. "I don't suppose you could reveal your true name?"
She gave him a defiant look, her chin thrust out in a show of bravado he was certain she didn't feel. "My real name matters little. You can call me Marianne, since you seem to have taken control of my person without my permission...and without a chaperone."
"Oh, I think you've been doing a great deal of questionable things without a chaperone. You don't need me to ruin your reputation."
"What are you going to do with me?"
He took her gently by the elbow and steered her toward a black carriage awaiting several streets beyond the jewelry shop.
Once he spoke low to his coachman and handed her up into the carriage, they rolled back toward his fortress of a converted tenement building at the edge of Seven Dials.
Neither one of them spoke for long minutes until she finally asked, "How did you know we were going to be at the Cheapside jeweler's shop? Who told you"
He gave her his best imitation of a menacing grimace. He knew it set her on edge. "It was simple. I set you up. I knew you were stealing jewels as well as the pound notes, so you had to seek a fence eventually. And obviously, a well-dressed young, um, widow would not be able to find a fence on her own. We made sure your coachman was fed information that would lead you to Waverly." He spread his huge hands wide in the light of gas-lit sconces inside the carriage. "Then all we had to do was wait." He finally grudgingly added, "What I did not know was that you are the thief. I assumed you were making arrangements for your fancy man, or procurer."
"What makes you think a woman could not also be a thief?"
"Oh, I know many women who are master thieves. Some of them work for me. However, they don't usually prowl the streets of Seven Dials and Covent Garden pretending to be a respectable widow. And most of them are far too clever to flash about wads of blunt in Covent Garden and Seven Dials."
"Then why not hire me to work with you as well?"
"Because, first of all, you have much to learn. And, secondly," he counted off her transgressions using the fingers of one of his large paw-like hands, "you have committed an unforgivable sin on my wards."
"Pah... What would that be?"
"You've forgotten to forward my share of your takings from preying on my wealthy clients."
"But...who are you to...?"
When the coach suddenly slowed for no reason, Con ignored her protestations and leapt out to confer with his coachman.
The man leaned down and spoke low. "Guv, we're being followed."
"You know what to do." Con pulled himself easily back into the carriage even as the coachman picked up speed. "Hold on," he ordered.
"What? Why?" The look of defiance disappeared from the she-thief's face, only to be replaced by rage.
"All you need to know is, hang on ...and shut up ." Con shuddered, already regretting having taken custody of the thieving hell-cat.
They lurched forward so hard she was hurled to the floor of his carriage. With a curse, he reached down and jerked her back onto the seat beside him, holding her tightly to his side. She writhed at first in annoyance, but then relaxed into his clutches whilst the coach moved at breakneck speed, careening through narrow streets and turning corners so fast, the coach tipped at alarming angles.
When they finally slewed to a stop, the labored breathing of the horses could be heard above the shouting of the coachman and the grooms helping settle the team.