The Devil's Thief (32 page)

“Which ones are yours?” she asked, ignoring his question.

Wiley stopped and looked away. “Didn’t come here to see
them,” he mumbled.

“Didn’t you?” She stood up holding the baby, who gurgled at
Wiley and held his arms out. “Is it this little fellow?”

Wiley shook his head but wouldn’t look at her or the baby.

“Hmm,” she turned and surveyed the children playing.
“Avery,” she called. A little boy of about three with blond curls came running
over. His blue eyes widened when he saw Wiley still half-hidden in the bushes
and a smile broke over his face.

Wiley finally turned to look at the boy. The eyes had given him
away. After meeting Wiley at Blackman’s the first time, she’d visited the home
and examined the children. She’d guessed Avery was his right away because of
the remarkable blue eyes they shared. And the boy was sturdy, like Wiley. That
made the baby in her arms his as well, since he was Avery’s brother. They’d
been here almost a year.

“His name is Michael,” Wiley said quietly. “What the hell
kind of name is Avery? Are you trying to turn him into a bloody fop?” Wiley
crouched down and took his hat off. He held out a hand to the little boy. “But
I suppose you can name him whatever you want. I gave him up, didn’t I?”

“You could have left a note, telling us his name,” Julianna
told him without a trace of sympathy.

“Can’t write.” Wiley was very matter-of-fact about it.
Julianna could have kicked herself. She kept forgetting where he came from,
what he was.

“And this little fellow?” she asked, bouncing the toddler in
her arms.

“Donovan.”

“Oh, I like that much better than Augustus. Hello, Donovan,”
she cooed at the baby.

Wiley snorted. “Augustus? Where are you getting these names?
You just making them up as you go along?” Michael had wandered over and taken
Wiley’s hat from him. He sat down and started to pick the band off it. Wiley
let him.

“I thought I’d start with
A
names,”
Julianna explained sheepishly. “Naming someone is such a huge responsibility.” Curiosity
got the better of her after a moment. “Why is their mother in Newgate?”

Wiley gave her a grim smile. “Remembered that, did you?” He
shrugged. “Off’d a fellow over a little spat, she did.” He ran his thumb across
his throat and made a gurgling sound. “When they come to get her, she was drunk
as a loon, passed out next to the body. Forgot to tell anyone about the babies
sleeping in the next room. Good thing one of me girls came to get me. I brought
them here the next day.” He shuffled around and settled on the ground. “I’d
heard about you by then. Better than some of those other places.”

Julianna could feel how round her eyes had gotten. “She slit
his throat?”

Wiley nodded with a shudder. “She was always a bit off, that
one.” He pursed his lips. “Pretty, though.”

“Did you love her?” Julianna was aghast at Wiley’s tale, and
she held little Donovan tight.

Wiley made a face. “Nah. Love? What is that, anyway?” He sat
on the ground and tugged little Michael into his lap. “She was a fine piece,
and she looked good on me arm. If I had known she had bats in her belfry, I’d
have steered clear.”

“Did she love you?”

Wiley burst out laughing. “Her? No, and that’s a fact. I had
the blunt to buy her what she wanted, didn’t I? That was all she cared about.
Clothes and gin, and a bauble now and then.”

“What about the children? Did she love them?” Julianna
kissed Donovan’s cheek and he swatted at her, pulling her hair.

“No.” Wiley was looking at Michael, holding his little hand
and counting his fingers. He put the little boy’s hand up against his, palm to
palm. Michael laughed and clapped them together several times. “But I figured
as long as I kept an eye on them they would be all right with her. Shows what I
know, don’t it?” He shook his head. “They’re better off here, like I said.”

Julianna marched over and handed Donovan to Wiley. She
didn’t give him a chance to say no. He fumbled with the toddler for a second or
two, but then settled him against his chest, Michael still in his lap. They all
looked so right together. She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s obvious
you love them, Wiley. Don’t you think they’d rather be with you?” She looked
around and waved her hand at the other children. “I can only do so much, and
the same goes for Mrs. Eden, and whoever else we hire to help. Regardless of
whether or not we move to a better location, or attract new patrons, we are not
their parents. We can’t love them like you can.”

Wiley got a mulish look on his face and he stood, gently
depositing both boys on the ground side by side. “That may be true, but you can
keep them from growing up like me, that’s for sure. Do a better job educating
them and the like.”

Julianna sat back down on the bench, her chin in her hand as
she stared morosely at the abandoned boys. “Look at us, Wiley. We’ve both hurt
the ones we love, for all the wrong reasons.” She sat up and looked down at her
hands clasped in her lap. “I thought stealing from Alasdair would solve all my
problems, but it’s only created new ones.” She sighed. “And in the end I had to
admit I didn’t do it to help the children, I did it for my own selfish reasons,
because I was a besotted, misguided fool. Please don’t make the same mistake I
did,” she entreated him. “Don’t do something you’ll regret because you think it
will solve all your problems. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re doing it
for them. They need a father.” She looked at him and saw the indecision written
on his face. “Make this right, Wiley,” she pleaded. “We both have to make
things right.”

“You are,” he said, his face stubborn once again. “You’ve
found someone to help, haven’t you? Moving to a better place, taking care of
business. And that Sharp, he don’t care about the pearl, does he? Or he
wouldn’t have asked you to marry him. Your problems are solved. No matter why
you did it, it worked out just fine in the end.”

Julianna smiled weakly. “Of course,” she agreed, knowing
what he wanted to hear, but sick at having to tell another lie. “But I still
regret what I did.”

“Well, I don’t,”
Wiley
said. “I
ain’t got no kind of life to be bringing them into it. Got enough people living
off of me, ain’t I?” He marched to the gate and yanked it open. “I’ll be
bidding you and the little ones good-bye, miss. No reason for me to come back
around, now is there?” His shoulders slumped. “Some things we can’t make
right,” he muttered.

Before Julianna could answer, he’d
closed the gate behind him. “Oh, Wiley,” she whispered, though he couldn’t hear
her. “I do hope you’re wrong.”

*
         
*
         
*

Hil came awake slowly, surprised to note that it was still
dark. He usually slept straight through the night and into the afternoon. But
there was something bothering him, something out of place. He sighed and
stretched languorously, shrugging off his unease, determined to go back to
sleep.

“Oh no, you don’t,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Wake up,
Sleeping Beauty.”

Hil sat up, his wide eyes rapidly adjusting to the dark. To
his complete shock he realized that a boy was sitting on the top of his armoire,
watching him with a disgusted look on his face.

“I’ve been sitting here for the better part of half an
hour,” he complained, “watching you sleep. Could of slit your throat, I could,
and not a bloody soul in this mausoleum would be the wiser.”

Hil coughed delicately at the reminder of his vulnerability
and then got comfortable on the bed, not at all alarmed. After all, the boy
hadn’t slit his throat yet, had he?
If that was his errand he
would have done it and moved on to the next piece of business.

“Well, I thank you for your consideration,” Hil said
congenially. “I find I am rather fond of my throat. To what do I owe the
pleasure of this nocturnal visit, Mr. Wiley? You
are
Mr. Wiley, are you not?”

“Bloody buggers,” the boy muttered, “always turning a simple
question into Greek.” He blithely jumped down from his perch, lithe and
athletic. His language and clothing indicated he was of the lower orders, but
clearly no servant. There was no deference in his tone. “And it’s Wiley, just
Wiley
. I’ve got a problem, you see,” he explained. “I made a
promise to a . . . friend. But I think the promise might not be what’s good for
her, you understand? So I’m trying to find a way to save her bloody little
troublesome hide without breaking it.”

Hil lost any lingering traces of sleep. “A girl? Miss Harte,
I take it. You’ve promised her not to interfere. And is there some way that I
can be of assistance?” He was at a loss as to why this brash young man had come
to him for help now when he’d been avoiding them for the last few days.

“ ‘I can be of assistance,’ ” the young man mimicked. “For
Christ’s sake, just ask, ‘Can I help?’ That’s what normal people do, you know.
Speak the bloody King’s English, for God’s sake.”

Hil smiled in spite of the man’s tone. “Can I help?”

Wiley had wandered closer, but he still kept his distance.
Hil couldn’t reach him without getting out of bed. He was more intrigued every
moment. He wanted to know more about this young man. He had not heard of Wiley
before, though he had assisted Bow Street in investigations, and had recently
taken on some private inquiries himself if he found them interesting enough.
The science of investigation fascinated him, as did the world inhabited by
petty criminals such as Wiley. But he still had a lot to learn about the London
criminal class.

Wiley sighed. “Lord knows I wish I didn’t have to come to
the likes of you, but you know the bloody sod, and so it makes sense.”

“And which bloody sod would that be?” At the young man’s
frown, Hil shrugged. “I know so many.”

“Too right,” the young man agreed. “But it’s Alasdair bloody
Sharp
I’m talking about. Stupid sod. Why she’d want to
kill herself over that, I don’t know. Women,” he scoffed.

Hil threw back the covers and bounded out of bed. The young
man took an alarmed step back and made a disgruntled sound at the sight of
Hil’s nakedness.

“Give a man some bloody warning!” he complained. “Cover that
up, for God’s sake.”

Hil was no longer in the mood to bandy words. “What has she
done? Where is Miss Harte? Is she all right?” he fired off the questions as he
threw open the drawers of his armoire and started dressing. “Roger!” he called
out at the top of his voice.

“Oh, Christ,” muttered the young man. “How many Nancy boys
do we have to bring? Can’t you bloody lot walk or take a piss without a crew
tagging along?”

“Answer me,” Hil barked, glaring at the young man as he
yanked on a shirt.

He sighed. “Fine. Miss Harte was alive and chirping the last
time I saw her. But she’s got some asinine plan to steal back the pearl—you
know about the pearl?” Hil nodded. “Well, she’s been planning to break into
Blackman’s, see. She told me today that she’d changed her mind, but I know
better than to believe it. Stupid female, she’s got some bloody fool notions
about love and honor and some other such shite. And she don’t trust Sharp to
help her without getting himself hurt.”

By now Hil was dressed. He grabbed the young man’s arm and
dragged him protesting into the hall. “Is she at Blackman’s now?” he demanded.

“Here now, I’ve done my duty. Let go,” he demanded right
back, trying to break free.

He was young and strong, but Hil was taller and heavier and
he easily kept a hold of him. “Answer me.”

“You’re bloody bossy,” the young man muttered. “Has anyone
ever told you that?”

“Yes,” Hil replied. He threw open the door to Roger’s room.
“Roger, get up. We’ve got to go get Sharp and rescue Miss Harte.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Roger moaned from his bed. “Can’t those
two just fuck and leave the rest of us alone? Why must they turn all of London
on its ear and disrupt my sleep?”

“Too right,” the young man agreed. “Listen to the Nancy
boy.”

Hil frowned at him. “Roger, do get up and get dressed. We
owe it to Miss Harte to help her. Apparently she has taken it into her head
that she must steal the pearl back.”

Roger sat up, his hair on end. “Sharp has really got to
break her of that habit before they marry. If she were mine, I’d be tying her
to the bed.”

The young man beside Hil bristled. “And I’d be blacking your
eye for it,” he growled.

Roger looked taken aback. “Who the hell are you?”

“Wiley, that’s who,” the young man snarled. “And it’s a name
well-known on the streets. I do what I say I’ll do and make no mistake.”

Roger blinked several times. “Well, that answers that
question. But
have no fear, Wiley
,
Miss
Harte belongs to Sharp
. She already gave me a rather harsh set down and,
believe it or not, shows no interest in my considerable charms.”

“Well, she’s not that stupid,”
Wiley
said in disgust. “She’d not be taken in by the likes of you.”