Chapter 11
11
1 1 February, 1827
No.’s 25-27, Mercer Street
Edge of Seven Dials
Con stared at Wu so long, his lead body guard tilted his head like a curious cat, no doubt wondering if Con had turned mute. The man had just delivered news so unbelievable, he was having a devil of a time processing what he should do next, or how he should feel.
Wu's cousin had sent one of his men back from Stony Stratford, the destination they'd followed Marianne to the night before. It was only seven a.m., for the love of Zeus. He hadn't even had his first cup of coffee yet. And the news he was hearing was so confounding, he knew he needed to gather his brothers immediately, but he had no idea what the hell he'd tell them. He was afraid this time Fam would take immediate steps to eliminate Marianne permanently, and no one would stop him.
What kind of monster had whelped this woman? Was there no end to the criminal mischief of which she was capable?
"Wu...," Con finally managed. "How in the name of all that's holy did you know to have her followed to Stony Stratford?"
"Because I have an advantage over you."
"Which would be?"
"I'm not in love with her. I've had men following and watching over her since she fled from here with the malachite chest. I knew it was only a matter of time before she'd have to make a move to try to find someone who can open the chest and sell what's inside."
Con's fists clenched at his sides as if of their own will. "And you presume that I have feelings for her?"
Wu gave him another withering version of the tilted head, puzzled cat look.
"You're right, of course. I don't know if I love this woman, because I have no idea what love would feel like, but I do know she's made me stupid, too stupid to be trusted to manage the empire of the Four Horsemen of the rookeries." He slammed a clenched fist into one of the chairs in this office and shattered it into shards of wood and nails. Not only was Marianne going to get him killed, the very thought of her made had him so crazy, he was going to have to re-furnish his own lair.
"Get word to my brothers, and have your men bring that out-of-control wench back to me." With that final pronouncement, he went in search of his housekeeper and his dogs. He was going to require coffee, food, and the comfort of his hounds to get through this day without killing someone or destroying more furniture.
"Wait," Con said, stopping and turning at the top of the rear stairway and scratching his head. "Wu--why didn't your men all return from Stony Stratford with Missus Smith in their custody instead of just sending a messenger?"
"There was the matter of an, um, incident on the coach, gunfire, some injuries..." Wu bowed low after that delivery of that litany of destruction and mayhem Marianne had strewn through central England.
Con merely shook his head and waved Wu on his way. He revised his search for black coffee. He'd have Mrs. Bonham get him a decanter of some of the French brandy War had "appropriated" from a recent shipment from Calais. Perhaps half coffee, half brandy would be in order on this particular morning...and it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. He shook his head hard, as if trying to shake off dangerous thoughts, and descended the stairway toward the kitchens. He had no intention of waiting for a servant to bring what he needed to his office.
* * *
Marianne stood before the magistrate who'd been awakened from his bed and brought in to sort out the violent interruption of "The Greyhound" coach run outside Stony Stratford. In the light of day, the small village did not seem as forbidding as it had in the wee, dark hours of the morning when the coachman had unceremoniously delivered all of them back to the village. The coaching inn, "The Cock," seemed welcoming and warm after the ordeal they'd been through that night.
The magistrate, however, did not. He seemed a bit grumpy and put out. He looked as if his valet had not had a chance to properly straighten out the "middle-of-the-night hair" situation before the poor man had raced out into the night to attend to the havey-cavey goings-on in Stoney Stratford.
When he'd demanded their names for his register, she'd debated whether or not to continue to hide her true last name, but decided at the last moment she had no desire to be thrown into gaol many miles from anyone they knew who could help them. When she signed the magistrate's registry and he'd read her signature, he raised an eyebrow at her last name, the same as that of one of the richest men in Great Britain. However, he made no comment, and she let out the breath she'd been holding.
Marianne had had the good grace to explain on Robbie's behalf that, no, he was not an Anglican priest, and that she and poor Lucinda were not exactly sisters of the poor either. She'd added that the whole charade had been her idea alone so that they could travel unmolested to Birmingham to meet with a relative. She did not elaborate on the identity of said relative, and, thankfully, the magistrate didn't ask.
Two of the men dispatched by Wu to follow her had stayed with them and explained gravely that they'd been paid to watch over her and her companions to ensure their safety. They also answered truthfully when asked who employed them. The name of Connor Dyer, leader of the Four Horsemen, got the full attention of the magistrate, who moved quickly to settle the case, arrest the man with the gun, and send all of them on their way.
When they'd been dismissed, Marianne treated everyone in her mismatched party to a hearty breakfast at the inn. While they were polishing off a final pot of steaming hot tea, she asked Wu's two men where their third partner had gone. They both gave her a look that made her realize her next stop would not be her own snug, safe hideout in the shepherdess whore's crib, or the rented warehouse she'd shared with Robbie and Lucinda. Connor Dyer would know all the details of her haphazard adventure by the time they returned to London.
The elder of the two guards in Mister Dyer's employ explained respectfully that she was to be returned to Mister Dyer's custody to return something she'd stolen, but her lady's maid and coachman were free to return to the warehouse if they so chose.
After leaving the inn, they repaired to a nearby stable and rented a carriage and horses for the return trip. She was doomed. She felt utterly destroyed, but for some reason, her traitorous quim nearly trembled with excitement.
* * *
After a good half hour of playing with Lugh and Aengus and rolling around on the floor, Con resumed pacing his office, but his two enormous, faithful dogs felt the need to follow his footsteps closely, so closely that at times he felt in danger of being felled by one of the well-meaning beasts.
Wu's remaining minions he'd entrusted to watch over the most ingenious thief Con had ever encountered should arrive any minute with the annoying miscreant he'd joyfully throttle if she were a man. The original message they'd received from the small coaching center village up north suggested she still had the infernal malachite jewel casket in her possession. She was as obsessed over cracking open the glowing green treasure box as Aengus or Lugh had ever been about the meaty bones he occasionally brought them from his butcher shop.
He should have returned the small chest long ago to the high-stakes gambler she'd stolen it from. His suspicions about the priceless jewelry contained inside, however, had piqued his instinctive greed and had made him want to find a jeweler who could crack the code to release the treasure inside. Why hadn't he known how strong a siren's call the chest would have been for his little thief. There, he'd said it. She was "his" little thief. No wonder his brothers and his army of guards no longer trusted him to make the right decisions where Marianne was concerned.
And now she'd caused a major incident on a mail coach, pulled a Buckinghamshire magistrate from his bed in the middle of the night, and Lord knows what else. And then it struck him. Where the hell was she going and who the hell would have been shooting at her? The possibilities were endless, but he suspected he didn't have that much time to clean up after her.
The basic details were simple. She didn't know how to open the box. She must have been on her way to find someone who did. And who would that be? Another master criminal? She probably had the names of hundreds at her fingertips. But...there would have been only one she would have trusted not to steal the unknown treasure away from her.
And who were the only people in the world he'd trust with a task like that? His brothers. The answer to where she was going would have to be family. Nothing was closer than blood. He rang the bell beneath his desk for Wu. He'd get to the bottom of what she was up to or know the reason why.
After a few minutes, his inscrutable head of security appeared in his office doorway. "You rang...did you want something?"
"Yes. I need you to send out your best snoops. Find out if that hellcat has any family besides her father."
"As good as done," Wu said, and vanished.
* * *
11 February, 1827
No.'s 25-27, Mercer Street
Edge of Seven Dials
Marianne studied the toes of her sturdy half-boots and scratched at her waist where the poor quality gray dress dug into her skin. She still wore her makeshift uniform of the poor sisters the day after her great escape disaster.
It suddenly struck her that listening to Con Dyer was very similar to the many speeches from her father she'd endured over the years.
"You disobeyed...blah, blah, blah...you caused trouble...blah, blah, blah...never again...blah, blah, blah."
The one thing she'd learned about her father was it was always best to say nothing until he wore himself out mouthing platitudes about a woman's place, how daughters should respect their fathers, etc.
Mister Dyer's next words, however, caused her blood to run cold.
"...your father, Thomas Oxley."
"What about my father? How do you know he's my father?"
A satisfied, triumphant smile spread across the gang leader's face, like the sunrise after a storm-ridden night.
"Because you finally showed some intelligence in front of the magistrate and signed your legal name onto his registry."
"Does my father know I'm here?"
"Do you want me to tell him?" The look on the insolent man's face reminded her of someone who thought they'd bested her at a game of chess.
"I have no control over what you decide to do. You know, you're a lot like him." There, she had him. The brief flash of uncertainty on his face was worth all the aggravation he'd been putting her through.
* * *
Con felt as though he'd stumbled over one of his dogs and was cart-wheeling through the air, down a long staircase. The little thief made him crazy. He'd tortured master criminals from the stinking underbelly of the rookeries without so much as a second thought. Where did she get the power to make him so crazy? And then he answered his own question. He'd handed the power over to her...willingly.
At a light tap at his office door, he thundered, "Come."
"Your brothers are here." Crisp leapt back from the entrance like a scalded cat just before Fam, Warrick, and Ban strode in, pushing him aside.
Fam walked directly to Marianne's side, lifted her chin, and inspected her from all different angles, much like a filly at Tattersall's. She slapped at his hands and jerked away from his regard. Fam whistled and shook his head slowly before taking his place at their war room table.
Warrick bowed low and said, "I'm charmed to finally meet you, Miss Oxley." Ban followed suit with a nod instead of a bow but said nothing before finding his seat.
Con glowered at his brothers. "Who the hell do you all think you are, barging in here like this?"
Fam spoke for all of them. "We're three-fourths of an enterprise that's being threatened by your decision to chase after a woman who's not just another prime article, but a dangerous thief who's not only threatening two of our business concerns, but not even turning over our rightful percent from her thefts from our gambling hell customers."
Warrick took over after Fam's inflamed speech. "This isn't like you, Con. We're worried." And then he turned to Marianne as if he were asking for a dance before supper at a ball at a mansion on Grosvenor Square. "Miss Oxley, could you possibly allow us some privacy? Perhaps some tea with Mrs. Bonham?"
At that moment, Ban rang the wall bell for Mrs. Bonham, and she appeared almost immediately, extending a hand to Marianne. "Come with me, my dear, and leave these men to the insults and threats they like to throw at each other when they get together. You'd think they were enemies instead of brothers."
The little thief hung her head and followed Mrs. Bonham out of the room without an argument.