Chapter 7 #2
“Nothing. Truly.” He took a finger and made an X over his heart.
“Not even a kiss?”
He thought back to that kiss in the Belgrave library. “Only if it was freely given and not in payment for anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gentlemen,” she said under her breath. “Listen, Mr. Kildare, it’s late and my mother—”
He realized she was saying goodbye again, and he really didn’t want his time with her to end. “Blackmail,” he said.
She cocked her head. “What?”
Why the hell had he said blackmail? What was that supposed to mean? “Blackmail,” he repeated, trying to think quickly.
“You want to blackmail Snoozer into freeing Charlie and Joanna?”
“Yes?”
“I see.” She nodded slowly. “That might work.”
He could almost see her thinking. Her blue eyes studied some point far in the distance before focusing on him again. He felt warm all over when she looked at him like that.
“What will we blackmail him with?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I suppose if we found his territory and watched him for a few days, we might catch him doing something he doesn’t want anyone to know.
Maybe he’s married but has a bit o’ muslin he keeps stashed away.
Or maybe he’s one of those resurrection men and digs up dead bodies for surgeons to cut up for practice. Or maybe—”
“Maybe he hasn’t done anything. Maybe we threaten to tell everyone he’s a thief. Who will hire him then?”
“Clever,” she said, and he felt as though a ray of sun had fallen on him. “If you, a gentleman, make that accusation, people will believe it. The problem is Snoozer doesn’t clean the chimneys. That’s the job of the climbing boys. They do the work, collect the fee, and give it to Snoozer.”
“For a regular job,” Garret said. He took Tamsin’s arm, moving her out of the way of a group of drunken men, singing and swaying as they walked along the street. She tucked her hand against his arm.
“Walk me back to Big John’s and explain.”
He started back, walking slowly. “I asked my housekeeper, and she says that most of the time when she hires a broomer it’s because the fire in the hearth is weak or low or smoke is filling the inside of the house.
Either way, it’s a sign the chimney is blocked.
” He could tell from the look she gave him that she knew this and thought he was a dolt for not having known it before.
“But what if a house has a dozen chimneys?”
She laughed. “No house has twelve chimneys.”
“We have six at 24 Hanover Square.”
She stopped. “Six? Six chimneys?”
“Yes, and there are far grander houses than ours. The Duke of Belgrave’s house, for example. You were inside. How many chimneys do you think he has?”
She started walking again. “Very well. I didn’t think to count at the time, but you’re right. The house was enormous. They probably had at least a dozen.”
“If one chimney is blocked, the housekeeper might find a broomer off the street to sweep it, but here’s the thing about men like the duke.
They don’t like when they’re inconvenienced by a weak fire or a smoking chimney.
The housekeeper will hire a sweep and a half dozen broomers to come several times a year and clean the chimneys preemptively. ”
“Is that more Italian?”
He cut his eyes to her and saw she was smiling. Garret laughed. “It means to do something early so as to avoid a problem later.”
“Imagine having the blunt to spend on a problem before it’s even a problem.”
“A big job like cleaning the Duke of Belgrave’s chimneys”—Garret said as they neared Big John’s—“the chimney sweep himself would want to be there to make sure everything goes well. He’d need to pull his broomers off the street and bring a big group to get the job done quicker.”
“We need to catch him at a job like that and accuse him of stealing.”
“Exactly.” Garret let her lead him to the back of the pawnshop, where they paused before the door.
“There’s just one problem. We don’t know if or when Snoozer will take a job like that. Mayfair might not even be his territory.”
“So we find out where his territory is and make a plan from there. Even if he isn’t cleaning the houses of the peerage, he might be hired for a school or a private club.”
“It could take years to find him if we’re just wandering around London.” She sighed.
“I have a plan to find him faster. Now that you’re unemployed, I could use your help.”
“Doing what?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning, and we’ll start.” He gave her a bow and backed away.
“Mr. Kildare, you had better tell me how you expect me to help.”
He put a finger to his lips. “Shh. You’ll wake your mother.”
“Won’t you even give me a hint?”
“Let’s just say you’ll need your acting skills. Not to worry. I’ve seen them in action, and you’re quite capable of playing this part.” He tipped his hat. “Good night, Archer.”
He strolled away, smiling to himself. Everyone said Daire was the smart one. Well, he’d come up with a plan, and it was a damned good one if he did say so himself.
The sound of footsteps behind him made him turn. Tamsin threw herself into his arms, and he caught and steadied her before she could knock him over. “What the devil—”
On tiptoe, she reached up and kissed his cheek. “Freely given,” she whispered then ran back to the pawnbroker’s, opened the door, and slipped out of sight.
Garret touched his cheek, chuckled to himself, and walked home.
· · ·
“I don’t trust him,” Mama said as Tamsin looked out the front window the next morning. “Why does he need you to go with him?”
She shrugged. “He’s helping us, Mama. The least I can do is to go along.”
Her mother set down the rag she was using to polish a silver platter. “And what happens when he has you all alone on the other side of the city? Then what will he do to you? Every week I hear of a body being pulled out of the Thames.”
“Oh, ’e ’ardly seems like the sort to kill ’er and dump ’er in the river,” Big John said. Mama glanced at the man, who was sitting behind a counter, aimlessly rearranging pocket watches.
“You know that sort, do you, Mr. Price?”
Big John seemed to shrink slightly. “Not personally, no, but all sorts come in ’ere. A person can tell if one is a bad sort, most of the time.”
Mama made a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement. She looked back at Tamsin. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Mama, I think if he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already. There he is now.” Her heart had jumped into her throat, and for some reason, she had the urge to smooth her hair.
She had to stop acting like a lovesick ninny or he’d just end up pitying her more than he did now.
Determined, she opened the door of the pawnshop and barked, “What took you so long? It’s practically afternoon. ”
Instead of taking offense at her tone, he smiled at her. Smiled! He looked incredibly handsome when he did that. He was wearing riding boots, fawn breeches, a very fine dark blue coat, and a rust-colored waistcoat. He took off his hat and gave her a bow. “You must have missed me,” he said.
Tamsin cursed herself for being so obvious.
“Not at all. In fact, I need to get back to work.” She closed the door in his face and walked straight past her mother, who shook her head, and Big John, who looked confused.
She stepped through the door of the back room and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.
Why did he have to have those velvet eyes?
She just wanted to sit and look into them for hours.
Tamsin clenched her fists. She would make herself sick thinking like that.
She heard the door open again, and her mother’s greeting to Mr. Kildare.
Looking about for something to do, Tamsin spotted the jeweled automaton caterpillar.
She pulled out the chair at the table, sat, and picked the caterpillar up.
A few of Big John’s tinkering tools were lying about, and she lifted something that looked like a large sewing needle but with a wide, flat base instead of a sharp one.
She turned the caterpillar over and spotted a small, hinged compartment.
Using the tool, she opened the compartment and stared at the gears and dials inside.
She poked one, accidentally dislodging it.
Eyes wide, she glanced up to make sure Big John hadn’t entered and seen.
She could still hear the voices in the front of the shop, so she wiped the dial on her skirt and replaced it, snapping it carefully into place.
Suddenly, the caterpillar came to life. It moved in her hand, the body squeezing together then elongating.
Tamsin quickly set it on the table, and the caterpillar whirred and groaned before going still again.
Forgetting about Kildare for a moment, Tamsin picked the automaton up again just as the door opened.
Kildare put his head in. “May I come in?”
“I suppose.”
He entered, and she watched his eyes sweep over the room where she and her mother were sleeping.
They’d tidied the chamber that morning, and his coat, which they called the bed, was hanging on a hook near the door.
He crossed to it. “Hello, old friend,” he said, touching the sleeve.
“Good to see you’ve gone on to bigger and better things. ”
She raised her brows. “Do you always talk to your clothing?”
“Only certain items. What is that?” He gestured to the caterpillar she still held.
“Nothing.” She set the object down, but Kildare came over to inspect it.
“Is this one of Maillardet’s?”
“It might have been. It’s broken. Big John has been trying to fix it.”
“I hope he can. I used to love going to Maillardet’s theater. He has an automaton there that can write poems in English and French. Have you seen it?”
She shook her head.
“That automaton is in the form of a person, and he dips his quill in ink, puts it to paper, and writes actual words. I have no idea how he does it.”