Anne Stuart (5 page)

“
Her ladyship must have forgotten the Gypsy,” Hawkins said as he opened the front door for Brennan. Robert had little doubt the man would have showed him to the servants’ entrance, but there were occasional gestures of respect that he insisted on. He was not about to use the servants’ entrance like a dustman.

“
The Gypsy?” Brennan murmured. An upper servant such as Hawkins would want a fair amount of blunt for his information, more than Brennan usually had available. “There was a Gypsy here last night?”

For some reason Hawkins didn’t seem more than casually interested in remuneration, and when Brennan’s hand didn’t dip toward his pocket, he simply shrugged and continued. “ ‘Course, she didn’t call herself a Gypsy. Acted more like she thought she was a real lady, but if someone nabbed the sparklers, it must have been her.”

Hawkins’s knowledge of thieves’ cant was even more interesting. Brennan nodded encouragingly. “And who was she?”

“
Some old acquaintance of her ladyship’s, I think, fallen on hard times.”

“
Then she could hardly be a Gypsy, could she? Not the sort to mingle with the aristocracy.”

“
Lady Plumworthy ain’t exactly aristocratic, if you know what I mean,” Hawkins said with a coarse laugh. “She’s risen high, she has, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still know where she came from.”

“
What was the Gypsy doing here?”

“
What else do Gypsies do? Tell fortunes and rob you blind,” Hawkins said with a sneer.

Brennan reached into the pocket of his greatcoat, pulling out a sheaf of paper and a carbon pen. “And what is the name and direction of this Gypsy?”

“
What’s it worth to you?”

“
Absolutely nothing,” Brennan said calmly. “It’s your responsibility as a citizen and an employee of her ladyship’s to see that justice is done. I’m certain I can rely on your sense of duty, can’t I?”

“
Not likely,” Hawkins muttered, starting to turn away.

Brennan was not in the mood to be trifled with. He towered over the servant, and it was a simple matter to catch him by the scruff of the neck and shove him up against the heavy oak door. “I would appreciate your cooperation, Hawkins,” he said smoothly.

Hawkins’s protruding eyes bulged out farther. “Maitland,” he gasped. “Miss Jessamine Maitland. Called herself Miss Brown, but her ladyship confided in me, seeing as how I was supposed to make sure she arrived safely. She lives in Spitalfields, near the Five Diamonds pub.”

Brennan released him, and Hawkins sagged against the door with a muffled curse. “I appreciate your help, Hawkins,” he said smoothly. “Give my thanks to her ladyship.”

Spitalfields. It was the first break he’d had in more than a year of frustration. Many of the more adventurous thieves employed a moll to distract the victim while his pocket was picked. What better distraction than a lovely young Gypsy telling fortunes?

And yet, as far as he knew, no pockets were picked, and the Cat always worked alone. Perhaps he’d changed his ways.

Still and all, Jessamine Maitland was an odd name for a Gypsy.

“
Here’s your share of the proceeds, my girl.”

Jessamine looked at the small pile of silver coins Josiah Clegg pushed in her direction, doing her best to control her shiver of distaste both for the money itself and the man giving it to her. It was early afternoon, and the Fives Diamonds was sparsely filled. No one paid any attention to the somberly dressed young woman and the Bow Street runner in the darkened corner.

“
Did they have to hang him?” she asked, making no move to touch the coins.

Josiah Clegg laughed with that cheerful braying sound that set Jessamine’s teeth on edge. “He ran away from his master, stole three silver tea spoons and an ell of watered silk. What else would they do with him?”

“
He was fifteen years old!”

“
Old enough to know better,” Clegg said with his usual lack of concern. He was a heartless man but far from stupid, and he must have sensed Jessamine’s distress. “Now, now, Miss Maitland, there’s no need for you to get all sentimental over the lad. He would have just done it again and again, and well you know it, and sooner or later some poor innocent would have gotten killed. You stopped that from happening. You should be proud of yourself, doing your duty to society.”

She raised her eyes to look at Clegg. He was not unhandsome in a thick-lipped, swarthy fashion, and he fancied himself a bit of a lady’s man. He’d never attempted any liberties with her, presumably because he knew her gift was of more value to him than her rather ordinary physical attributes. Their unlikely partnership had stood him well, assisting in the rise in his fortunes, and he wasn’t about to endanger that.

“
I don’t like it,” she said quietly.

“
You came to me in the first place, miss,” he reminded her. “You were the one who wanted to help.”

“
I couldn’t ignore what I saw in the cards,” she said in a small voice. “That man... that creature murdered nine children. He had to be stopped.”

“
And so he was. With your help and mine. And you ended up with a generous share of the reward for capturing him, didn’t you? You can’t say that’s come amiss.”

“
I didn’t do it for the money.”

“
Of course not,” Clegg said smoothly. “You’re a lady fallen on hard times, but a lady nonetheless, and we all know ladies do nothing for money. Still and all, your charitable work with the Bow Street runners has made your purse just a bit heavier, hasn’t it? And doubtless that pleases your mother and pretty little sister. What was her name... Fleur? Taking little thing. Quite a delectable little handful, I would think.”

Jessamine froze. The very thought of Clegg even knowing Fleur’s name frightened her. It shouldn’t have. Clegg made it his business to know everything, and what eluded him he chased after until he discovered the answer.

She was afraid of the man. She had no proof of his evil, just an instinctive feeling that came to her at odd moments, through the cards, and through her dreams. “You’ll leave her alone,” she said fiercely.

There was a glint of smug amusement in Clegg’s dark face. “Of course I will, Miss Maitland. I wouldn’t want anything to
upset you, now, would I? And if something happened to your sister, it might distress you so much, you’d have trouble concentrating on the cards. As long as you’re so very helpful to me and to society, I’ll make it my duty to be sure your sister is safe and unmolested.”

“
And if I’m no longer so helpful?” She shouldn’t have asked the question. Subtle threats were safer, more easily swallowed. But she couldn’t ignore a threat to Fleur.

Clegg smiled, and his gold tooth flashed in the afternoon light. “Why then, I’m afraid she might be fair game. You make my work easier, Miss Maitland. Without your help I’d have to work a lot harder in finding and apprehending criminals, and I couldn’t be counted on to protect your little family. You’d be on your own.”

At least he wasn’t threatening to touch Fleur himself. She was their only hope—a safe, wealthy marriage would mean the end of their never-ceasing cycle of misfortune, but no one would take damaged goods, even someone wrapped in as exquisite a package as her sister, Fleur.

“
I understand,” she said in a dull voice.

“
I thought you might,” he said. “Take your money, Miss Maitland.”

She reached out and put the worn silver coins in her reticule. Her chest was tight, and she felt as if she would suffocate if she didn’t get away from this man into the dubiously clean air of the London streets, but when she started to push away from the table, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

Too many men were getting in the habit of doing that, she thought absently, holding herself still for the moment. First Lady Plumworthy’s manservant with his thick hands, then the mysterious Glenshiel, who’d haunted her dreams and her waking hours as well. Clegg’s grip was the final straw. “Let go of me,” she said in a deceptively pleasant voice with just the right
amount of hauteur left from her more secure days.

His instinctive reaction was gratifying, if dangerous, as he released her wrist, then glared at her. “There’s a little problem that’s been plaguing me, and I’ve decided to do something about it. I want you to do a reading about the Cat.”

“
The Cat?” she echoed, carefully keeping her face devoid of reaction. “What is that?”

“
Who
is that, you might say,” Clegg corrected her, leaning back in his chair. “It’s a thief, that’s what it is. A creature who sneaks into people’s houses and robs them blind.”

“
A burglar?”

“
But not your common garden-variety burglar. This one preys only on the very wealthy, stealing their jewels and fancy trinkets. And he’s one of them. A bloody aristocrat, robbing his own kind, and he’s been doing it for more than a year.”

She clutched her reticule in her lap, concentrating all her tension into her unseen hands as she gazed at Clegg. “Why haven’t you asked me before now?”

“
I didn’t give a rat’s ass, begging your pardon, miss, what the bloody ton does to one another. Besides, he’ll be a sight trickier to catch, much less bring to justice. I prefer the easy cases.”

“
The fifteen-year-old apprentices?”

“
Exactly.” Clegg showed no remorse. “But Sir John has entrusted me with the case, and it’s in my best interest to convince him I can handle it better than that country oaf.’’

“
What country oaf?”

“
Never you mind. It’s none of your concern—it’s the Cat who should entertain your interest, and no one else. Where are your cards?”

“
I didn’t bring them.”

“
Why not?”

He’d made it clear that she couldn’t tell him the truth: that
she’d decided not to help him anymore. The money Lady Plumworthy had grudgingly given her was five times the amount Clegg paid her, and the work didn’t stain her soul. She was promised to her ladyship that afternoon as well, and all sorts of possibilities were opening up.

Her eyes met Clegg’s small, dark ones. “I haven’t been sleeping well. The cards don’t speak to me if I’m not well rested.”

Clegg snorted, but there was no way he could refute her statement. “Go home, then. Take a nap. And come back to me tomorrow at the same time—and bring your cards.” He grinned at her benignly. “Unless you’d rather have me call on you? This place might be a little rude for the likes of you.”

“
This place is fine,” she said quietly, barely able to suppress her shudder of horror at the thought of her vague, aristocratic mother coming face-to-face with Josiah Clegg. Not that it was likely—Mrs. Maitland enjoyed ill health and a fondness for ratafia. She kept to her bedroom most of the time, mourning her lost position in society. She probably assumed her self-reliant older daughter was out shopping, and indeed, the basket full of slightly wilted cabbage sat under the table at Jess’s feet. She rose, and this time he let her escape.

She could feel his eyes on her as she left the public house, squinting as she stepped out into the autumn-damp streets of Spitalfields and wrapping her heavy shawl around her. At least Clegg, who knew everything, seemed unaware of her newfound sideline, or the fact that she had already enjoyed a vicarious encounter with his latest quarry. For the time being she could balance her society readings against Clegg’s demands, and the money would pile up faster than ever, enabling the Maitlands to regain their place in society.

At least some of the Maitlands. Fleur would be the toast of society even without a dowry, and if she were decently dressed
she could attract any number of wealthy suitors. With Mrs. Maitland as a benevolent, graceful chaperon, all was assured.

But not for Jessamine. Unlike the other members of her family, she preferred to look at the truth squarely. Her reputation could survive her collusion with Clegg—once she escaped from his clutches, it was unlikely anyone else would even hear about it. And she would survive one late-night party, reading cards and telling fortunes.

But a repeat would doom her. Lady Plumworthy had already informed her that polite society was agog at her talents, and this afternoon’s tea and reading promised to be a crush. The guests had ignored her the other night, all but that mocking, mysterious creature who had come to her rescue so unexpectedly. They would ignore her no more, and there would be no way she could show her face in society once Fleur was launched.

It was no matter. She had no great love for the city or for society. Fleur would simply need to find a husband wealthy enough to maintain several country estates, and his reclusive sister-in-law could retire to a graceful pattern of rural living. Solitary rural living.

She made a moue of self-disgust. Her mother was possessed of enough self-pity to supply the entire Maitland family, and Jessamine had no intention of falling prey to such a failing. She had made her choice long before, calmly, rationally, and she would live with the consequences. Alone.

She’d lied to Clegg, something she didn’t regret for one moment. She knew perfectly well who the Cat was—his visit to Lady Plumworthy the night before had haunted her dreams almost as much as the man who had rescued her. Taunted her.

She reached down to pat her reticule, and she could feel the solid bulk of the cards, seemingly warm to the touch. And dancing through her mind, the Prince of Swords, with the golden eyes of a cat, staring back at her.