My Favorite Thief (29 page)

“All I know for certain is that Miss Kent is as fine a lady as ye're ever like to meet,” Annie continued fiercely. “She's different from everyone I've known—an' I've known plenty.” She cast him a challenging look, making it clear that she made no apology for her life. “She's lived with the lowest, blackest scum ye could imagine, an' the highest, fanciest swells. She's even been locked in prison herself, though ye'd never know it to look at her. And she knows ye have to look down deep to really see what a person's about. An' if she's looked down deep inside Lord Bryden and says it ain't in him to murder, then I believe her. I ain't sayin' ye should just toss his lordship out the door and that's that, or nothin' like that,” she swiftly clarified. “He must have been up to somethin', bein' at Lord Whitaker's house in the middle of the night, and then shootin' ye when ye was helpless. But Miss Charlotte says ye'll never catch the real Dark Shadow if Lord Bryden hangs. If ye're a man of justice, ye should at least make sure ye hang the right man, or else his soul will haunt ye to yer grave.”

Lewis was silent a moment, giving no indication that the possibility of Lord Bryden's innocence had ever crossed his mind.

In fact it had been nagging at him constantly in the long hours since he had faced Bryden at Newgate.

He considered himself a good detective. He noticed details, whether when examining the scene of a crime, analyzing a course of events, or questioning a witness. His penchant for accurate record-keeping helped him to keep facts straight, instead of distorting or embellishing them, as many other detectives and police constables were prone to do. He was also extremely logical, at least when it came to criminal matters. And despite the fact that most of the evidence pointed to Lord Bryden, Lewis could not deny that many pieces simply did not fit together. Moreover, he could not dispute Bryden's argument that there really had not been any need to shoot Lewis, given that he was unconscious and he couldn't possibly have identified whoever was behind the Dark Shadow's mask anyway. But what bothered him most was the fact that he considered himself a reasonably astute judge of character.

And something kept telling him that Lord Bryden was not the kind of man who would take the life of another over a few pieces of jewelry.

“If Miss Kent doesn't expect me to release Lord Bryden, then just what, exactly, are you asking me to do?”

Annie looked up at him in surprise. His expression had been so dark as they walked along, she had thought she had succeeded only in making him angry. Now she understood he had looked that way because he had been thinking. She liked the fact that he was a man who took the time to think before he spoke. Almost every other man she had ever known had exploded with either lust or fury long before he ever took a minute to actually use his brain. It made her feel a little awkward that she wasn't as smart or as schooled as him, but when she was with him he didn't do anything to make her feel the lesser for it. She knew a peeler like him would never consider having an honest interest in a whore like her—even a whore who was set on changing her ways. She'd known plenty of girls who quiffed their share of peelers, but it was always so the bastards would leave them alone to earn their trade. Inspector Turner hadn't made any unseemly advances toward her, though. If anything, he was treating her as if she were a proper lady, offering her his arm and walking along the street with her for all of London to see. Of course he had only agreed to see her because of her association with Miss Charlotte, and the fact that he suspected Miss Charlotte knew more about Lord Bryden and the Dark Shadow than she was letting on. Even so, it was awfully prime to be out strolling in his company, with her hand resting comfortably on his strong arm and him talking to her as if he actually gave a damn what she was thinking.

“We need to set a trap,” Annie told him. “An' we need to do it fast. If the real Dark Shadow thinks Lord Bryden is about to swing for his crimes, he may just decide to pack up and leave London till it's all over and done. He may even leave for good.”

“Assuming there is another thief, he may just decide to sit back and do nothing, and wait for Bryden to hang.”

“Either way, he goes free while his lordship dangles,” Annie complained fiercely, shaking her head. “It ain't right. We need to make him think that Lord Bryden has got off. If Miss Kent is right an' the Dark Shadow was tryin' to pin his crimes on his lordship, then if he thinks Lord Bryden's been let go, he'll probably want to do somethin' more to get him arrested again. Miss Kent's got an idea, which she thinks will bring the Dark Shadow runnin' to his lordship like a cat to a kipper. Ye need to make sure ye've got lots of peelers about to catch him when he does.”

Lewis nodded and leaned a little closer into her, ostensibly so that no one would overhear their conversation. The delicate scent of orange water filled his nostrils. He would not have thought an experienced girl like Annie would have opted for such a sweetly modest fragrance. Perhaps Miss Kent would actually succeed in her attempted reformation of Annie's battered life.

He sincerely hoped so.

“Tell me more,” he murmured, hoping he wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of his career.

Chapter Fifteen

D
AILY
T
ELEGRAPH

J
ULY
28, 1875

Lord Bryden Released

The Earl of Bryden was released early this morning from Newgate Prison. His lordship had been detained there on suspicion of being involved with the recent jewel thefts and murders that have been attributed to the persona “The Dark Shadow.” Inspector Turner of Scotland Yard explained that while Lord Bryden had been apprehended at the home of Lord Whitaker under irregular circumstances, the police are now satisfied that Lord Bryden is not, in fact, the elusive murderer and thief who has been plaguing London these past months. Lord Bryden is said to have cooperated fully with the police upon his arrest, providing them with vital information regarding the Dark Shadow's identity, based upon his two encounters with the notorious thief. The police expect to make an arrest imminently.

Lord Bryden plans to leave London immediately for an undisclosed destination.

A
LL GOOD THINGS MUST COME TO AN END
.

This was how he consoled himself as he inched his way through the velvety night air. He crept up the expansive marble staircase that led to the magnificent drawing room on the second level, which Lady Bryden used when she imagined herself gaily entertaining phantom guests from a party that had happened twenty years earlier. Past a cluster of wilting potted ferns. Around a couple of filmily draped ancient statues, pillaged decades earlier by some arrogant British collector who believed such treasures were better suited to the stuffy, velvet choked interiors of England than the brilliant sun-drenched temples of Greece.

He would go to Greece, once this was all over. Greece, Italy, Spain—he'd go anywhere that was hot. There he would sit and drink vast quantities of fine wine and eat wondrous dishes that had been prepared with exotic spices while he contemplated his life. He could afford to take some time off now. He could afford to do whatever the hell he damn well pleased.

That had been an unexpected benefit.

He would find himself a woman. Perhaps he would indulge in a Spanish mistress, with long black hair and heavy, bronze-nippled breasts, who knew how to ride a man long and hard and needed only gifts and money and copious amounts of flattery in return. It had been a long time since he had thrust himself into a woman. Caution had prohibited such intimacy except with whores, but they could leave you pissing pins and needles, and besides, he had grown to dislike the sweaty unwashed smell of them, even though there was a time when he had simply equated that odor with sex. No more. He understood the difference between clean and dirty now. He understood the great divide between the world of those who wore precious jewels and lived in mansions with rococo plasterwork and marble fireplaces and brilliant oil paintings, and those who struggled to see that there was enough stringy beef and wilted cabbage left over to be fried up into a greasy pan of bubble and squeak.

After a year or so of indulging in travel and pleasure, perhaps he would consider finding a wife. Someone young and sweet and impressionable, who would listen to his fanciful stories and admire his elegant manners and be suitably awed by his charms and his wealth. Not the daughter of an aristocrat, though. The daughter of a British peer would be far too concerned about his pedigree. He could not afford to have some meddlesome lord snooping around making enquiries about his background. He would have to be satisfied with a girl of a lesser class—perhaps the daughter of a wealthy banker or businessman. As long as she was pretty and well mannered, and not exceptionally clever. A clever woman would ask lots of questions, and he scarcely needed that.

He wanted to put his past behind him, not constantly be made to account for it.

A procession of valises lined the corridor leading to the bedrooms on the next floor. So it was true, he mused. Bryden was leaving the country—apparently for a considerable length of time. He supposed he could have found out easily enough where Bryden was going, but the idea of chasing him all around the Continent and bringing the game to an end in some hotel room far from London wasn't nearly as satisfying as confronting the bastard in his own home. Besides, although loath to admit it, he was getting a bit weary. At thirty-one years he was scarcely old, but he was definitely starting to feel his age. Clambering up and down the sides of buildings and heaving himself in and out of windows had taken its toll. Time to end it and move on to the next stage of his life.

He stood before Harrison's bedchamber door. His chest tight with anticipation, he silently turned the handle.

The room was dark but for a faint spill of ghostly light filtering through a narrow opening in the drapes. Harrison lay on the bed fully clothed, snoring peacefully. Too much drink or too much laudanum, probably both, had caused him to fall asleep with his clothes on. Three imposing steamer trunks sat at the foot of the bed waiting to be moved downstairs, and more valises sat expectantly upon the floor, with piles of immaculately pressed shirts, trousers, vests, coats, boots, shoes, and other personal effects arranged neatly within them. Wherever his lordship thought he was going, it was obvious he anticipated being away for a considerable length of time.

He locked the bedroom door behind him, a precaution against the sudden entrance of any servants. Then he went to the window and opened it, swiftly assessing the route for his escape. Reaching into his coat pockets, he withdrew a half dozen pieces of stolen jewelry. It was a shame to lose them, but there was no help for it. Greed had kept him from planting this evidence earlier. That had been an error. Somehow he did not think the police would have been quite so quick to release Bryden if they had found evidence of the Dark Shadow's recent thefts in his home. This time, when the intrepid Inspector Turner arrived to investigate, he would discover a few key stolen jewels hidden amongst Bryden's personal effects. That would seal his guilt.

The case of the Dark Shadow would finally be closed.

He stood still a moment, expecting to feel a rush of pleasure at the prospect of Bryden's destruction. Instead he felt curiously hollow. He attributed it to the fact that it was disappointing that he would not receive any acclaim for solving the case. After all, it was because of his determination and superior intellect that Bryden was finally being brought to justice. If there were any justice in the world, he would have been hailed for his tenacity and brilliance. He would have to find satisfaction in the knowledge that he had managed to succeed where so many others had failed.

The considerable wealth he had accumulated in the process would ease the frustration of not being able to share his victory with anyone else.

He bent down and set to work concealing the jewels deep within the contents of several valises, taking the time to wrap each piece in a handkerchief or some small article of clothing first. It had to look like Bryden had made an effort to try to hide them, rather than carelessly stuffing them in amongst his clothes. When he was finished, he pulled his loaded pistol from his belt and rose, ready to confront Bryden for the last time.

The bed was empty.

“Good evening.”

Startled, he turned around, only to find a very awake and very lucid Harrison standing several feet behind him.

“Well, now, this is a fascinating turn of events,” he murmured, leveling his pistol at Harrison. “I'm actually rather amazed to see you up this late, given that you are usually passed out on brandy and laudanum by now. Head not bothering you tonight, Harry?”

Harrison regarded him coolly, giving no indication of how deeply those words, said in that agonizingly familiar voice, wounded him.

“I'm actually feeling quite well tonight, Tony,” he assured him. “Thank you for your concern.”

Tony peeled off his mask and cap and tossed them onto the floor. He had planned to take them off anyway—just before he killed him. He wanted Harrison to know that after so many years of guarding his secret and evading justice, the man he had counted as perhaps his closest friend had ultimately outwitted and exposed him.

“I imagine you're rather surprised to see me dressed as you, or rather, a younger, fitter version of you,” Tony reflected. “Must be bloody infuriating to realize that all this time you've been running about trying to find the Dark Shadow, I've been right under your nose.”

“I'll admit, I'm a bit surprised to find out what you've been up to lately,” Harrison conceded. “If you were having financial difficulties, you could have come to me, you know. You didn't have to resort to stealing.”

A bitter laugh escaped Tony's throat. “Is that what you really think, Harry? That this is about the money?”

Harrison's expression was impassive. “Isn't it?”

Tony shook his head. “Poor Harry. You've spent so many years trying to put your past behind you. So many years creating a fine upstanding image for yourself that had nothing to do with your past escapades. But I've had my suspicions about you from the very beginning. That's what made me seek you out in the first place, that day I made sure we were introduced at Lord Beckett's party. And even though I believe I played the role of adoring friend beautifully, you never let me get too close. I had to start showing up on your doorstep and insisting we go places together, because you would never have initiated such a thing on your own. At first I thought you sensed there was something suspicious about me. I realize now that you don't let anyone get close to you. It's no wonder you haven't any real friends.”

“Given the way this friendship has turned out, I believe my penchant for solitude is understandable,” Harrison reflected drily.

“Well, fortunately for you, Harry, you won't have to keep your little secret any longer,” Tony returned, still keeping his pistol trained upon him. “The jewels were nothing compared to finally confronting you. I've been dreaming of this moment for nearly sixteen years.”

Harrison raised a skeptical brow. “You were barely more than a lad sixteen years ago.”

“I was fifteen,” Tony informed him tautly. “And I wasn't the son of a viscount, although I do believe I have played that particular role extremely well. I was the son of a policeman—an inspector, actually. Police Inspector Rupert Winters. Does that name mean anything to you?”

Surprise drifted across Harrison's face.

“Ah, I see you do remember him. It's good to know that he at least made some impression on you. Although at the time, you must have thought he was little more than the bumbling fool that the rest of London painted him, given his inability to catch you.”

“I never thought your father was a fool, Tony.”

“Of course you did,” he countered. “How could you not? You were the clever Dark Shadow, who spent a year slithering in and out of London's mansions and taunting the men who tried to catch you. And my father was just a hardworking, underpaid police inspector, who had been assigned the biggest case of his career. The pressure upon him to catch you was overwhelming—and only became worse each time you stole again. Then the newspapers began to ridicule the police and detectives working on the case, and my father bore the brunt of their scorn. He vowed to catch you, or die in the attempt. Do you know what happened to him?”

“Inspector Winters was killed long after the Dark Shadow's thefts stopped,” Harrison replied, struggling to remember the details. “It was in the newspapers. He was working on another case, and some criminal attacked him in an alley and killed him. It had nothing to do with me.”

“It had
everything
to do with you, you son of a bitch,” Tony bit out coldly. “My father became obsessed with catching you, to the point where he could barely eat, or drink, or sleep, or even acknowledge that he had a wife and children as he locked himself in his study to pore over his papers, or scoured London searching for clues. Catching you became his life. And when you suddenly stopped stealing, he refused to believe it. He waited and waited for you to steal again, so he could finally lock you up and be celebrated for his efforts. But you didn't steal again. Yet instead of being grateful that your criminal spree was finally over, the public turned on him. The newspapers joked that the Dark Shadow got too old and fat waiting for Winters to catch him. My father was painted as a fool. He started drinking, and he took out his anger on his family. His career was destroyed. He was assigned to minor cases in the worst areas of London, and it was while investigating one of those that he had his head bashed in by some thug, leaving my mother, sister, and me destitute. So don't you bloody well stand there and tell me it had nothing to do with you, you goddamn bastard. It had
everything
to do with you. Your little penchant for jewels destroyed my father and got him killed, which, as I'm sure you can understand, had a rather devastating effect on the wife and children he left behind.”