Lady Thief (4 page)

Breathlessly, Meg responded, “Until tomorrow.” She turned her horse toward home. At the edge of the woods, she gazed back at him, lifted a hand in farewell, then quickly rode on.

Robert stared after her. His face bemused, he turned finally and began to make his way toward the road, his horse trailing along after him.

It was a full half hour before he remembered to mount his horse.

Chapter Three

Jenny wound her way through the forest, her mind considering various ways in which she could leave her stepfather’s house. Not that it
was
his house—not really. But for the next year it might as well be his house. Lady Ross wasn’t about to stand up to her husband—even for her daughter’s sake. She would go on turning a blind eye to Sir George’s tyranny because it was easier for her to do so. She lacked her daughter’s strength of will.

After considering and rejecting several plans of escape, Jenny finally abandoned her unproductive line of thought. Oh, she could leave the manor easily. She had faith in her ability to take care of herself. But Meg was another matter entirely. Jenny had no intention of leaving Meg to Sir George’s tender mercies. Leaving the manor would mean a hand-to-mouth existence at best, and Meg was simply not suited to such a life.

Jenny sighed and brought her mind back to the reasons why she was riding out on such a depressingly cold, damp day. John had sent word that there was someone waiting for her at the inn. Someone, that is, waiting for the Cat. She had a strong suspicion that it was Jason. If it was indeed Jason, Jenny hoped he had chanced across another spy.

She could not be certain, of course, that her father’s killer was still in the business of selling information to enemies of England, but that still seemed her best chance of finding the murderer.

Jenny stopped her mare a hundred yards or so from the inn and dismounted. She tied the horse to a tree, then pulled on her hooded mask.

Moments later, she slipped silently inside the back door of the inn—so silently, in fact, that the man sitting at the table leaped to his feet and made an instinctive grab for his pistol when he looked up and saw her. He lowered his gun and glared at her. “For God’s sake, woman—d’ye have to creep about like a cat? I could ’ave blowed your brains out afore I knew what I was about!”

He was a hard looking man of medium height and middle age, wearing patched and frayed clothing. His boots were cracked with age, and a greasy muffler was wound about his neck. For all his tattered appearance, he contrived to give an impression of dignity and, even in the short time she had known him, Jenny had learned to respect this man—this highwayman.

She stepped forward, amusement in her golden eyes. “Sorry, Jason. I had to make certain you were alone.”

Jason laid his pistol on the table and continued to look irritated. “Sure, and who would I have with me? Me, that’s wanted by the Runners almost as bad as you are.”

Jenny chuckled and sat down across the table from him. “Never mind that, Jason. Why did you want to see me?”

He resumed his seat and stared at her. “I wish I knew why a lady like you would take to highway robbery.”

“I told you why. I am searching for a spy.”

“I remember what you told me. But I’ve got a few wits left, and I know there’s more to it than that. You’re too fine a lady to end with your neck in a noose. You ought to leave robbery to them that knows it best.”

“Like yourself?”

“Bloody right!” He frowned at her. “This spy of yours—why is he so important?”

Jenny clasped her hands upon the table and leaned forward slightly. “Jason, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t there an unwritten rule against one thief asking another thief awkward questions?”

Jason scowled. “I take that to mean you ain’t going to answer me.”

She smiled brilliantly. “I’m glad we understand one another. Now, if you wouldn’t mind telling me why you wanted to see me . . . ?”

Jason grunted. “If that’s how you want it.”

“It is.”

Obviously out of charity with her, he pulled a packet from inside his coat and tossed it across the table to her. “Took that off a gent the other night. Thought it might interest you.”

Jenny slowly picked up the packet and stared at the official seal. After a brief struggle with her conscience, she broke the seal and opened the packet. There was a long silence while she flipped through the papers. “Jason, who did you take these from?”

“Don’t you consider that an awkward question?” he asked with a sneer.

“Don’t be difficult, Jason. Who was it?”

He shrugged. “Damned if I know. Just a flashcove with a fat purse and no taste for playing the hero.”

“Meaning that he didn’t shoot at you.”

“Aye.” Jason laughed. “He whimpered and moaned like I was the devil ’imself. Nearly broke his neck, he was in such a hurry to hand over his purse and them papers.”

“Can you describe him to me?”

“Don’t be daft, lass—it was as dark as pitch.”

Jenny smiled wryly. “Sorry. I forgot that you refuse to ride on a moonlit night.”

“You’d do the same if you had any sense. One of these ‘moonlit’ nights, some cove’s gonna figure out who you really are; then the cat’ll be out of the bag for sure, if you’ll pardon my choice of words.”

Jenny laughed. “Perhaps. But, never mind that now. You were right about these papers—they interest me very much. I’m much obliged to you, Jason, for bringing them to me.”

Jason shrugged again. “No skin off my nose.”

Jenny tapped the packet against the table thoughtfully. “This will have to be returned to the War Office as soon as possible.” Her golden eyes were grim. “I
must
discover who was carrying these papers.” She gazed across the table at her highwayman friend. “Jason, was the coach traveling toward the coast?”

Jason nodded. “Aye. ’Twas on the road to Dover.”

“Was there baggage strapped on?”

He looked thoughtful. “Now that you mention it the top of the coach
did
seem a mite bulky. Happen the gent was planning to cross the Channel.”

Jenny slammed the packet down on the table, her eyes flashing angrily. “Damn. Sometimes I think that half of England is spying for the French.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s profitable.”

“It’s also traitorous.”

“Well now, lass, not everyone can be as loyal to England as you and me.” He grinned at her. “What’s in the bundle of papers anyway?”

Jenny continued to look angry, but her voice was calm as she replied, “Dispatches.”

“Dispatches?”

“Yes. From Wellesley. He plans to invade Southern France by crossing the Pyrenees. You can bet the French would love to know that.”

Jason looked suitably impressed. “Aye, they would at that. But, who could ’ave stolen the dispatches? Seems to me they’d be kept under lock and key.”

Jenny sighed. “They should have been, but things are very confused at the War Office these days.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And how would
you
know that, lass?”

She smiled easily. “You’re asking awkward questions again, Jason.”

Jason leaned back with a grunt. “If that ain’t just like a woman. Here I am trying my poor best to help you catch this spy of yours, and you won’t even answer a simple question.”

Jenny relented with a rueful smile. “Well, don’t get in a huff. I know what goes on in the War Office because I keep my ears open, that’s all.”

He looked irritated. “You could ’ave said so in the first place. You didn’t ’ave to be so bloody mysterious about it.”

She chuckled softly. “You should watch that temper of yours, Jason. It’ll get you into trouble one of these days.”

“Never mind my temper. What do you mean to do about those dispatches?”

She shrugged. “Return them to the War Office.” With a thoughtful frown, she continued slowly. “But I think I’ll hang on to them for a few days at least.”

“Why?”

“I’d like to be able to tell them who stole the dispatches.”

“Aye.” Jason responded wryly, “I can see it now. You just walk up to the War Office (wearing your mask, o’course), knock on the door, and then tell whoever answers that you’re the Cat and that you’d like to give them back some important dispatches that was stolen. Then you tell ’em who
stole
the dispatches, and leave.” He shook his head. “Not bloody likely. They’d ’ave a noose ’round your neck afore you could open your mouth.”

Jenny smiled faintly. “That wasn’t
quite
how I planned to do it, Jason.”

“
Any
way you plan, it is wrong. The Runners want you, lass—they want you bad.”

“
Damn
the Runners,” she responded irritably. “I’ll do whatever I have to do. If they catch me, they just catch me.”

“Now, lass—”

“Stop calling me lass.”

“Then tell me your Christian name.” He glared at her.

“What am I supposed to call you if I don’t know your name?”

Grudgingly, she replied, “Jenny. My name’s Jenny.”

“
Jenny
, then. You’ve made fools of the Runners for more than a year, but your luck won’t hold out forever. Sooner or later they
will
catch you, and then this spy of yours will be free to go on selling information to France. If you mean to catch the spy afore the Runner catch
you
, you got to be careful, la-er-Jenny.”

“Jason, I have every intention of being careful. I don’t
want
the Runners to catch me, I assure you. But my most important task is to discover the identity of the spy.” Beneath her breath, she muttered, “I only hope he’s the right one.”

As low as the words were, Jason caught them. With a quizzical tilt of his head, he asked, “What do you mean ‘right one’?”

Jenny shrugged. “Nothing. Forget it.”

After a moment of frowning silence, Jason’s air of puzzlement vanished. Slowly, he said, “You ain’t looking for spies—you’re looking for
one
spy. Who is he, Jenny? Why is he so important to you?”

Glaring at him, she responded, “I said to forget it. It isn’t important—and it isn’t any of your business.”

“Jenny . . .” He hesitated, and then continued gruffly, “If I knew
why
you’re looking for this spy, why he’s so important to you, I mean, then maybe I could help.”

For a long moment, Jenny was silent. Then, slowly, she said, “This particular spy is also a murderer. He killed someone very dear to me. I intend to see that he pays for it.”

“Who did he kill, lass?”

“My father.”

“I’m sorry, Jenny.” He shook his head slowly. “I guess maybe you want this gent pretty bad.”

“You guess correctly.” Her voice was grim. “He’ll hang for what he did—or I’ll put a bullet in him myself.”

Jason studied the young woman silently. He could not see her face—had never seen it—but he knew that she was very young—too young to devote her life to guns and masks and violence. He guessed from the tone of her voice and manner of speaking that she was gently born, and he had wondered from the first moment of meeting her why she had chosen such a violent life. Now he knew. But his curiosity about her remained strong.

He smiled inwardly as he remembered his one attempt, weeks before, to see her face. He had thought, mistakenly as it turned out, that he could wrest the mask from her by force. The attempt had gone sadly awry. He had found himself looking over the barrel of her pistol into a pair of coldly glittering tawny eyes—this before he had even begun to carry out his plan. She had an uncanny ability to seemingly read his mind.

She trusted him, but only to a certain point. He respected her for her caution; in fact, he respected the lady herself. She was quite a woman.

Jenny stirred slightly beneath his intense scrutiny. “Jason, will you please stop staring at me.”

He grinned suddenly. “You’re no thief. I always wondered about that. You come into the world hosed and shod—you’ve no need for thievin’. Now I see what it is. You want to find this gent that killed your father, so this is how you hunt for him.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice.”

He shook his head slowly. “By choosing this way, though, you’ve gotten yourself in a pack of trouble. You have to watch every move you make because of the Runners. And if some gent gets lucky and finds out who you really are . . .” His voice trailed off. After a moment, he continued slowly, “You’ll hang. Lady or not, you’ll hang.”

Jenny smiled wryly. “That’s one of the qualities I like about you, Jason—you’re always so cheerful.”

“You know it’s the truth.”

“Of course.” Her eyes were grim. “I’m well aware of the fact that I’ve broken the law, and I don’t expect any special consideration because I’m a woman. But, no matter what happens, I intend to find the man who killed my father. If the Runners try to catch me before then, they’ll have to kill me to do it.”

Jason frowned. “Your father’s dead, lass. No matter what you do, you can’t bring him back.”

“No, I can’t,” she agreed. “But, perhaps I can help him rest a little easier.”

“He won’t rest easier if you’re dangling at the end of a rope—or bleeding to death on some deserted back road,” Jason replied starkly.

Jenny winced slightly.

He looked irritated. “You’ve got to face facts, Jenny. You can’t help your father—and you’ve got your whole life before you. You’re too young to waste it on some wild notion of revenge.”

“It’s not a wild notion. Jason, the man is a traitor. He’s also a murderer and I mean to stop him.”

Jason sighed in defeat. “Well, since you’re hell-bent to get yourself killed, I’ll ask about and see if any of my friends have heard anything about a traitor. Maybe I can find out something.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Jason—I knew I could count on you.” She looked thoughtful. “Why don’t you meet me here tonight?”

“I can’t find out anything
that
soon,” Jason objected.