Thick As Thieves (11 page)

"I have had no occasion to practice lock picking. I was hoping for an unlocked window. We could use your carriage blanket to deaden the noise if we have to break it, but that would inform Grindley he has had an intruder."

"Leave your pearls behind. It has been my experience that something usually goes amiss in such a venture as this. The string might break, and it would be a pity to lose even one."

"I see! You are willing to risk my neck, but the pearls must not be put at peril!"

"Well, upon my word, if that is not just like a woman! You are the one who insisted on coming."

"I was joking, Mr. Dalton. Have you no sense of humor?"

"That joke had the sting of truth."

I removed the pearls and dropped them into the side pocket. Mr. Dalton pulled the check string and ordered John Groom to drive to East Street. We descended at the corner, and the groom drove along to park in the shadows beyond Harelson's house. The houses in this neighborhood were large and solid-looking, but not so elegant as those on Marine Parade. There was no traffic at this hour of the night.

"That is Harelson's house," he said, pointing to one much like its neighbors, except that no lights showed inside.

I hid behind a tree while Mr. Dalton knocked on the door. After no reply to his second knock, I joined him. "The front door is locked," he said in a low tone.

"We shall try the back."

The back was reached by a narrow, paved path. An arched gate led to the rear. There was a sense of abandon about the premises. Hank grass invaded the path, clutching at my skirt hem and no doubt marking it. Some dark hulks loomed up before us in the shadows, abandoned crates or rubbish bins or some such thing. Access was ridiculously easy. As I was pointing out an open window, Dalton turned the knob and said, "It's open."

We scuttled inside, closing the door behind us. A faint ray of moonlight at the window told us we were in the scullery. A teapot and the remains of a meal for two were still on the table. Harelson's valet and factotum, I assumed, I felt the pot; it was cold. We stood still for a moment, listening to the dead silence of an empty house.

"We shall need a light," I said, and began peering into the darkness. There was a lamp near the stove. Dalton lit it by sticking a straw into the dying embers of the stove and applying it to the wick.

We crept upstairs to the main floor. A ghostly saloon of adequate size, sparsely furnished, loomed on the left. We peered in and continued upstairs. "I wonder which rooms are Grindley's," I whispered.

Dalton spoke in a normal voice. "I shall recognize Harelson's things."

The first two chambers were obviously unoccupied. The beds were not made up, and the dresser tops were bare. The third door we tried was Grindley's. I knew instinctively that Lord Harelson was not so slovenly as to leave his dirty linen in a heap on the floor, and one boot on his bed. I lit another lamp, and while Dalton searched the clothes closet, I went to the desk. It was empty, save for a welter of bills (unpaid), and a receipt for fifty pounds, signed by Lord Harelson. That would be for Grindley's summer's rent. Not cheap either, for one room, but perhaps Grindley had the use of the saloon as well.

Next I went to the dresser, where a handsome leather-bound jewelry box held two pennies, a broken clasp knife, and a brass button from a man's jacket. There was a sound from below, muffled by distance, but certainly in the house, not outside.

"These old houses—squeaking rafters," he said vaguely.

I returned to work, quickly rifling the drawers, but found nothing incriminating.

"Nothing here," he said, turning from the clothespress.

"Perhaps under the mattress, or—"

We froze in place, as the sounds of footfalls coming up the stairs reached our ears. That "squeaking rafter" had been the front door opening. We knew Lord Harelson was at the concert, so it had to be Stewart Grindley, about to catch us red-handed searching his bedchamber.

I did not want to swoon in front of Dalton, after my proud boast of grace under pressure. As cool as cream cheese, I blew out the lamp and nipped over to the clothespress. "In here," I said, and climbed in, pushing Grindley's jackets aside.

Dalton grabbed the bedroom lamp from my hand and set it on the dresser, extinguished his own kitchen lamp, and wiggled in beside me, still holding the lamp. He drew the door to behind him. The smell of dying wick was powerful in that small, enclosed space.

If Grindley had his wits about him, he would catch the same scent in the bedroom. I waited with my heart in my mouth for the door to open. What possible excuse could we give if we were discovered? Perhaps I trembled, or perhaps Mr. Dalton just wanted some physical comfort, or perhaps his arm was cramped in the confined space. In any case, he put his arm around my waist and pulled me more closely against him.

I tensed up like a coiled spring, but as I was prevented by circumstances from objecting either verbally or physically, I soon relaxed and enjoyed the unexpected intimacy. His breaths fanned the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. His fingers tightened their grip on my waist. I hardly dared think what liberty might come next—but whatever it was, I would have to submit to it in silence.

Chapter Eleven

Through a crack in the clothespress door I could see that Grindley was carrying a lighted candle. He wore evening clothes, but still managed to look common. He sniffed the air a couple of times and looked around, but was apparently satisfied that there was nothing amiss. He strode purposefully toward the bed, lifted the mattress, and picked up something. Between the dim light and the small size of the article, I could not tell what it was, but I caught the wink of metal. He shook the object a moment in the palm of his hand, frowning, then slid it into his pocket and left.

We soon heard his footsteps running back downstairs, heard the front door close, and our hearts returned to our chests. I pushed open the closet door and stepped into a pitch-black room. I felt a little restraint from Dalton's arm, but that may be because I bolted forward unexpectedly. In any case, he did not try to detain me, nor did he turn flirtatious.

"Let us see what is under the mattress, then leave," I said at once. "This spree has killed my taste for adventure."

He relit his lamp, and we went to the bed. There was nothing under the mattress. We searched all the way around, and looked under the bed and under the pillow for good measure.

"I believe it was jewelry," I said, and described the metallic flash. "A ring, perhaps, or something small. It could have been an ear pendant. He has lost all his money at cards and is using jewelry for collateral."

Dalton rubbed his chin in a way I was coming to recognize was an habitual gesture. "That explains his hurry; he is eager to get back to the Rose and Thorn."

"You will be going there now?" He opened his lips, and I said, "Don't worry, I am not going to ask you to take me along. Should we have a look at the other rooms before leaving?"

"No, let us go before Harelson returns. Between bad singing and housebreaking, I have entertained you enough for one evening, but I shall let you know tomorrow if I learn anything at the inn."

When we returned below, the front door was actually hanging open. Grindley had been so eager to return to the card game that he had not bothered to close it properly. "No point bolting the door after the ring is gone," I said. We closed the door but did not try to lock it.

We slipped quietly out and went along the dark street to Dalton's carriage, parked in the shadows of a big elm tree. Dalton directed the groom to my house, and we were off.

"It looks as if Grindley is our man," I said.

"We have not proved anything, except that he is a shocking bad houseguest, leaving the door open. Thieves are usually more careful. Attention to detail is ingrained with them."

"Tonight he was not stealing. I daresay he is more careful when he is on the job, as it were."

"Hmmm. Before condemning the man, I should like to know what it was he removed from under the mattress."

"Why should he put anything beneath the mattress unless he wanted to hide it from Harelson? He would not have to hide his own jewelry, which suggests that whatever resided there was stolen. His jewelry box was empty, incidentally. He has already hawked all his own valuables."

"Has he run through all of Lady Harkness's money so soon? A thousand pounds."

"He bought a curricle and team. That does not come cheap. The circumstances are all against him, Mr. Dalton."

"You, of all people, must realize the fallibility of circumstantial evidence, Miss Denver," he said, with a grin.

"Are you never going to forget the manner of our meeting?"

I moved my hand to the side pocket to recover my pearls, and felt cold steel. I lilted the thing out and found myself holding a pistol. For a joke, I poked it into Dalton's ribs and said, "You should have paid more attention to circumstances, Dalton. Stand and deliver."

I caught a fleeting glimpse of his face in a shaft of moonlight. To my shock and consternation, he had taken me seriously. His face was a mask of astonishment, tinged with anger. "You choose a bad moment, Miss Denver," he said, in a cold, hard voice. "I am not carrying much cash on me."

"I was
fooling,
Dalton! You cannot think—"

An uneasy laugh escaped his lips. "I knew that." But he was in a great hurry to recover his pistol all the same. He reached out at once and took it from me.

"Why do you have a pistol in your carriage? I hope it is not loaded."

"An unloaded gun is not much use. Best put it away before you accidentally shoot someone."

He put it in the other side pocket, while I retrieved my rope of pearls and placed them around my neck again. "Do you always carry a gun?"

"I only began to do so after Tom robbed me. I determined I would not be caught off guard again."

"I could have shot you easily," I crowed. "Why did you not take it into Harelson's house? If Grindley had caught us, I would have been thankful for that pistol."

"That will teach me to go housebreaking with a lady. You were too much distraction for me," he replied, with a gallant little bow.

We were soon home. Dalton walked me to my front door. Nothing was said about his putting his arm around me in the clothespress. I was a little piqued about that, and more so that he had actually thought for even a moment that I was planning to hold him up with his own gun.

"Do I pass muster as an accomplice in crime, Mr. Dalton?" I asked saucily, to detain him a moment.

"No. I have just remembered another dereliction on my part. I left the kitchen lamp in Grindley's bedchamber. He will know, if he has his wits about him, that he had company."

"He will blame the servants."

"That chamber did not look to me as if it ever saw a servant from tip to toe of the week."

"True. It is difficult to comprehend a gentleman living in such a slovenly manner."

"Oh, we men are all savages beneath the skin. Prick any one of us, and you will find the primitive lurking."

"I do not think the savage is that close to the surface in you, Mr. Dalton."

"Don't count on it," he replied, with a suggestive smile. His tone, soft and low, spoke of romance. His hands rose and came slowly toward me, while his eyes glowed with admiration. His warm fingers touched my throat. The breath caught in my lungs, and just as I was about to close my eyes for a kiss, he removed the pearls from my neck.

"I shall return these to the vault," he said.

I felt warm all over from my folly. Had he seen my half-closed eyes, and the expression of a moonling on my waiting face? I said, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Dalton," in a stricken voice.

"I wish you will call me Richard. I feel like Papa when you call me Mr. Dalton. Now that we are partners in crime, it is time to lighten the formality,
n'est-ce pas?"

It seemed, incredibly, that he continued blind to my behavior. "Very well, Richard, and you must call me Eve."

"I have been doing so all evening, beneath my breath. Good night, Eve." He placed a fleeting kiss on the corner of my jaw, and left.

I went into the house, pretty well pleased with myself and Richard. Hennie had not returned yet. It was just after eleven when I arrived. I had a glass of wine to settle my nerves, and thumbed through the journals.

At eleven-thirty I decided I was hungry and asked Tumble for a sandwich. At twelve I had finished it, and still no sign of Hennie. The concert must have been over by eleven. What was keeping her? If Brockley had taken her to Mrs. Lament's gambling den again, I would give her a good Bear Garden jaw.

At twelve-thirty my nerves were on edge, and they did not improve when Hennie came home, smiling like the village idiot.

"Still up, Eve?" she said.

"I could not hope to sleep while you were out with that gambler. I daresay you have been at Lament's again?"

"No indeed. Lord Brockley took us all—Lady Filmore and Harelson and myself—to Cavendish Place for a late supper. It was lovely. Everyone was there."

Hennie left me with nothing to say except that I was disappointed to have missed it, which was true.

"Where did you and Mr. Dalton go?" she asked.

I hesitated a moment, then said, "We came straight home. I had a sandwich while I was waiting for you."

She glanced disparagingly at the plate. "We had lovely lobster patties and a raised partridge pie. So rich, I could do no more than sample the Chantilly." She knew Chantilly was my favorite treat.

"Dear me, I wonder what David would say of such dissipation."

"Folks have to eat," she said airily. "What are you and Mr. Dalton doing tomorrow?"

"Nothing special."

"Tomorrow Timothy—he asked me to call him Timothy—is taking me to tea with Lady Collifer. She told me to invite you, too, Eve, but I told her very likely you would be in hands with your garden party for the next day."

Another treat denied me! As the garden party was my first party, however, I did plan to oversee its preparation personally. I wanted everything to be as fine as I could make it. My only retort was to say, "Richard mentioned dropping in tomorrow morning. He asked me to call him Richard."