Cat and Mouse (18 page)

Katrina jumped into the conversation. “Oh, but, Maxwell, he can’t possibly go—”

“I’m not asking him to go back,” he said without looking at Katrina. “My brother-in-law is going to be the prosecuting attorney and we’d be most grateful if you would testify against Brenner.”

Jimmy eyed Max. “And will I be implicated in the process as well?”

“No. Quite the opposite. In fact, I am convinced you’ll get a full pardon for your participation.”

“If you could guarantee that—”

“I will. So do we have an agreement?”

Jimmy glanced at Katrina who nodded her encouragement. “All right, I’ll do it.”

“Great. I’ll get a message to Charles.” Max turned to go.

“Might I stay on here then?”

Max smiled but wasn’t concerned whether it looked sincere or not. Katrina’s young paramour was back from the dead, and Max had lost the only woman he had ever loved. “Of course you can.” He quit the stables and strode for the house.

“Wait, Maxwell.”

He didn’t heed the feminine request but increased his pace.

“Stop, Maxwell. Please.”

Max sighed and paused on the path.

“In spite of what that might have looked like, it’s not what you think.”

Without looking at her, he replied, “You have no idea what I think, Miss Harwood.”

* * * *

It was nearly breakfast time and Katrina’s throat was raw from crying. She couldn’t get Maxwell to listen to her no matter what approach she took, and it plagued her like the Devil. Last night, after she had heard him retire, she’d slipped a note under his door, but within minutes it had been shoved back under the door to her room, unopened. Yesterday he’d told her she had no idea what he was thinking, and that was the rub. If she knew what was going through his mind—however wrong he was, she was confident that she could convince him otherwise—convince him that she was not in love with Jimmy, but with
him
. All she needed from him was an admittance of his suspicions and she could clear things up with one sentence.

She leaned her head on the mantelpiece.
Maxwell
.

A knock came at the door. “Yes?” Katrina croaked, her voice sounding just like a bullfrog.

“It’s me, Mrs Dillard.”

She cleared her throat the best she could. “Come in.”

The woman brought in a tray Katrina was determined to once again refuse. “I—”

“No you don’t. I let you turn away the last two meals and Mr Simmons will have my head if this one comes back untouched.” She placed the food upon a small table between the fireplace and a comfortable blue brocade-covered chair.

Katrina sighed in surrender. “All right. But I’m not hungry.”

“Be that as it may, you’ll have to eat or I’ll be sacked.”

Knowing very well Simmons wouldn’t sack Mrs Dillard, Katrina sat down and Mrs Dillard pushed the table close to her.

She’d have to admit, the hot tea soothed her throat, but her stomach felt too occupied with apprehension about Maxwell. “Mrs Dillard, have you seen Mr Courtland yet today?”

“I did. He ate early and went directly to his study.”

Katrina set her tea cup down and inched closer to the edge of her chair. The downstairs rooms were connected by arches and doorways. Perhaps if she took the book she’d borrowed to read back to the library, she could inadvertently wander into the study. Then Maxwell would
have
to listen to her!

Pretending to be occupied with stirring her tea, she asked, “And… He’s there
now
?”

Mrs Dillard folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll answer that when half of your plate is clean.”

This is what it must be like to have a gaoler
. Determined to get her answer, Katrina carelessly shovelled the scrambled eggs into her mouth—not paying any mind that she’d used her tea spoon to do so. She practically swallowed one of the sausages whole, and by the second potato, Mrs Dillard gained her attention.

“Careful now, or it’ll come right back up.”

“Half. You said half!” A piece of food went flying out of her mouth, but she didn’t care.

“Och. Chew that and swallow it properly.” She handed Katrina a napkin. “I don’t need to see the contents of your mouth while ya eat.”

Katrina took the napkin, unfolded it with a shake and wiped her mouth. “There, see? Half.”

“Open that napkin, young lady.” Mrs Dillard pointed to the linen in her hands.

“What, do you think I’d spit my food out?”

“Just open it. We’ll discuss it when I see what you’ve done.”

Katrina hesitated, thankful that she’d decided to swallow her food instead of leaving the chewed contents of her mouth tucked inside the linen. She reached out her hand and opened the napkin. “See?”

Her smug tone didn’t move Mrs Dillard in the least. “I’ve had three sons. They’re grown now, but I know all the tricks.”

“So is Mr Courtland in his study or not?”

Mrs Dillard smiled as if she’d got her way. “Last I looked, he was.”

Katrina nearly overturned the tray as she ran to her bedside to grab her book. Mrs Dillard caught the edge just in time.

“Thank you, Mrs Dillard. You’re a dear!”

Mrs Dillard railed at her, but Katrina couldn’t hear the words as she was in the midst of dashing downstairs to find Maxwell. She’d clear up this misunderstanding if she had to follow him all the way to the necessary.

Katrina knew exactly which shelf she’d originally pulled the sentimental volume from. In fact, she could see the empty spot from across the room. But she needed to kill some time in order to peek into the study—
entirely
by mistake, of course. She’d feign surprise—maybe even drop her book, startled by his presence.

She slid her finger along the ‘A’ authors, mumbled along the ‘B’ and ‘C’ authors as if reading the names—the ‘D and E’ authors went by in a blur, until she stood one bookcase away from the entrance to Maxwell’s study.

Here we go
.

She took a deep breath and crossed the path that led to the study.

Her book fell to the floor—towards the study. “Oops!” She stepped through the doorway and picked up the book.

But Maxwell wasn’t there. Simmons was, and in the process of filling the desk lamp with oil.

“Oh. Simmons.”

He paused. “Miss Harwood. Can I help you?”

“I—I was looking for Mr Courtland.”

“Mr Courtland has gone to run some errands. Anything I can do?”

“No, no. I was just…putting this book away.” She turned back to the library and shoved the book back into place.

Shite
.

Even if she decided to pick up another book, it wouldn’t do any good. She couldn’t concentrate on reading a street sign right now. Turning on her heel, she stormed out and up the stairs to wait out the day in her room.

Mrs Dillard was still there, making the bed. “So, did you see him?”

“No,” she said, deflated. “He’s gone out.” She sat back down in the blue chair, the remains of her cold, unfinished breakfast mocking her pain from the tray.

“If it’s any solace, I know for a fact that he’s expecting you for supper.”

“How do you know that?”

“I heard him tell Simmons to make sure he had a place set for you for tonight.”

Well, I suppose that’s some sort of step towards an actual conversation with Maxwell
. “Thank you, Mrs Dillard.”

* * * *

The staff were in the process of clearing Maxwell’s dessert plate as she entered the dining room at five minutes to eight. His seat was vacant.

This was beginning to get ridiculous. She turned to find Simmons when he entered. “Ah, Simmons. Where is Mr Courtland?”

“Mr Courtland has gone to see Lord and Lady Kendrick.”

“Thank you.” She made to exit the room when he stopped her.

“Please, Miss Harwood. Sit and have something to eat. You’ve hardly partaken of anything in the last two days. Is it the cooking?”

She owed Simmons some sort of explanation. “No, of course not. I guess I’m just in a nervous state, is all.”

His shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “It must be going around.” He indicated the open newspaper next to Max’s place. “That is the same excuse Mr Courtland gave just before he left this evening. Will that be all, Miss Harwood?”

Katrina’s gaze fell upon the headline,
‘Thief Ring Exposed, Linchpin Taken Into Custody’
. She took up the paper to read the article. “No, Simmons, thank you.”

Barely able to breathe, she fell into Max’s chair and absorbed every word. The article noted that Scotland Yard had raided ‘a nest of thievery’ and a man named Larson Brenner had been brought in. All sorts of charges had been named, and many items had been confiscated from the warehouse where the raid had taken place. The Yard asked anyone who had been robbed within the last two months to come forward, and if their description matched any of the evidence procured, they would be allowed to press additional charges.

This could very well be the end of Brenner, if things went right. Odd, but the article didn’t mention whether any of the others had been brought in. Did they know Brenner had been taken in? Had Scotland Yard placed officers near the Den in order to bring in the rest of the thieves at a later time?

No, this wouldn’t do at all. Some of those men were there because they had nowhere else to go—just as she’d had nowhere else to go after her father died. If Maxwell hadn’t come along when he had, that could very well have been her about to be pounced on by the authorities.

Something needed to be done—someone had to go and warn the rest of them—
tonight
.

Chapter Twenty

Having donned her mourning gown, Katrina slipped out of the front door. The evening air was cold. She wondered at the fact that after only a few days with access to a warm, comfortable bed, she wasn’t used to the gnawing dampness of a night on the streets.

Despite her circumstances, she knew it wouldn’t have been prudent to depart for the Den from the back of the house, because Jimmy was sure to try to talk her out of the scheme. He’d likely insist on tagging along, but who knew what would befall him this time if he confronted the thieves—
if
there were any that had lingered after the raid.

Alternatively, her former associates might have all scattered once they found out that Brenner was gone. Endless scenarios progressed through her mind as if she were reading them aloud from a list. Whatever the reason turned out to be, Katrina had to make sure the place was abandoned. Her conscience demanded that she do so.

She’d kept to the waterfront for a good mile or more, looking behind her every now and again as to be positive she hadn’t been followed. Discovering one of the ways that led to an entrance to the Den, she tiptoed inside and made her way through the labyrinth of corridors until she reached the inner sanctum. It seemed deserted—dark. Not even a glimmer of light. They must have got the hint and scattered. She peered up at the catwalks that led to the rooms above, when she was seized by the arm. A scream rose up in her throat, but bitter fear hindered its release.

“What the ‘ell are you doin’ ‘ere?”

“I—I—” She gasped for air. “You scared the Devil out of me, Oliver.”

“I asked you a question.”

The flame of a match flared, ignited a candle wick, and in the small circle of light Katrina saw about a dozen familiar faces.

“Returnin’ to the scene of the crime, I’ll wager,” one of the men accused.

“Not at all. I’ve come to—”

“What I want to know is, what did she have to do with last night’s raid?” another one asked.

“I beg your pardon,” Katrina said with no small amount of indignation “I came because I read in the paper that Mr Brenner had run into some trouble.”

Oliver scoffed. “Heh, ‘run into some trouble.’ That’s a fine way of puttin’ it.”

“She’s guilty, no doubt,” one of them announced, rolling up his sleeves as if he had a dirty job to do.

“Those blokes took it all. Cleaned us out. Even Brenner’s stash.”

“An’ it’s all ‘er fault!” a man shouted and pointed an accusing finger in her face.

Katrina blinked at the action.

“What to do wif ‘er is the next question.”

“Do away wif ‘er. She knows too much already.”

They were firing statements at her so quick she couldn’t figure out who’d spoken. “Now, gentlemen. You must understand—”

“We understand that you’ve always been able to waltz in and out of here by yer own will since you come to the Den.” Oliver bared his yellow and black teeth at her.

“I smell a rat.”

A tall, dirty ginger Scot, who normally kept to himself, stepped forward. “Or a pigeon.”

“Just a moment. I won’t be spoken to in this manner. I came here tonight to make sure the rest of you leave.”

“Leave? What for?”

“Get yourselves out of town. What if they make Mr Brenner name names?”

“‘E’d never do such.”

“You don’t know that! For heaven’s sake, listen to reason!”

“She has a point, but I still don’t believe she’s innocent of turnin’ Brenner in,” the Scot scoffed, spun on his heel and stalked away from the circle.

Oliver agreed with a nod. “An’ if she didn’t turn ‘im in, then it’s that Jimmy Lock. He wanted out anyway, recall it?”

Every one of their faces turned to her and her entire body went numb. “D-don’t be ridiculous. Jimmy is dead.”

“Is ‘e now?”

“I don’t fink ‘is body was ever found.”

She swallowed, hoping no one noticed. “What does that prove? Perhaps he was…eaten…by dogs or something.”

A stirring of murmured doubt echoed through the filthy lot and she took advantage of it. “Look, all of you, I’m telling the truth. I came here tonight to make sure whoever was left got out of town before anything else happens.”

Oliver finally let her go and chimed in. “This is gettin’ us nowheres. We’d ‘a’ known by now if she was followed, and besides that, ‘er daft suspicions have managed to crawl under my skin. I’m gonna take ‘er advice and leave. It’s safer than stickin’ ‘round ‘ere, anyway.”

One of the other men took Katrina by the arm. “If I find out that bloody
Lock
had anything to do with this, I’ll ‘unt both of you down and feed you to the dogs meself.”