A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) (4 page)

And she had. She’d played them all and dozens of others over the years. Until that had become all that she was—a woman who played at being someone else.

I can be whatever you like. I am exactly who you want me to be. Just tell me who that is.

It wasn’t who she wanted to be now.

She would not play the chastised child for Samuel. She would be herself, and that would have to be good enough.

Commercial Street was a broad thoroughfare lined with tall, thin brick buildings pressed together like matchsticks stood on end. Most of the buildings had shops or warehouses on the ground floor and offices or rooms to let above. It was normally a bustling street, crowded with vendors, pedestrians, and street traffic, but a hard early morning rain had kept most people indoors. When Esther and Samuel arrived at midday, the residents were just beginning to emerge from their shelters to sweep the sidewalks or set out their wares.

“His shop was somewhere about here,” Esther said, motioning at a building of relatively new construction. “It was torn down two years ago to make room for the new building.”

“Where were you when the boy came with the note?” Samuel inquired.

“There.” She pointed down the street. “At the old clothes shop next to the booksellers on the corner.”

Though it was generally regarded as ungentlemanly to allow a lady to walk nearest the curb, Samuel put himself between Esther and the shops as they walked down the street. It wasn’t Commercial Street that worried him. It was the peripheral maze of winding, twisting alleys and lanes that broke away from the thoroughfare that posed the greater threat. It was in the crumbling old Huguenot mansions with people crammed inside like livestock, where misery, deprivation, and disease culminated in the desperation that too often bred violence.

A desperate man could slip in and out of the maze in the blink of an eye.

“We might have better luck looking for the boy at one of the markets,” he commented. “Better spot to nick a watch or purse.”

She stopped and turned to face him, and though he couldn’t see her features clearly beneath the veil, he was fairly certain she was scowling at him again. “That is a terrible thing to say. You don’t know he’s a thief. You don’t know the first thing about him other than that he had the misfortune to be born into poverty. He could be a perfectly honest, perfectly lovely little boy. You should be ashamed of yourself, insulting a child.”

“I didn’t think you’d consider ‘thief’ to be an insult.” Not in this particular instance.

“You don’t know the first thing about me either,” she said softly and turned away to resume her walk up the street in stony silence.

Samuel fell into step beside her.

He wasn’t going to apologize. He’d not said anything wrong.

He’d made a reasonable assumption about the boy, and about Esther. A hungry child might reasonably be expected to pick a pocket if it was the surest way of putting food in his mouth. Samuel didn’t condone the theft, but neither did he blame the child. He had assumed Esther would agree.

He looked down the next alleyway and spotted a pair of very small girls laboring over a washbasin set on the cobblestones. Even the youngest children worked in neighborhoods like this. They ran errands or took in laundry to earn a few coins. A few honest coins.

Uneasy, Samuel looked away. Maybe he hadn’t been completely reasonable in his assumptions. Maybe he was, on occasion, a bit hasty in his judgments.

Very well, he was routinely hasty.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “He might not be a thief.”

Esther nodded once but said nothing.

“I should not have prejudged him,” he admitted.

When she remained silent, he gently caught her arm and brought them both to a stop. He didn’t know why it was suddenly so important that he explain himself to her—it just was.

“I’ve spent years chasing the worst sort of men through slums like this. And years ferreting out people’s darkest, ugliest secrets.” Vice, infidelities, betrayals of every imaginable variety. And before that had been the war. Since the age of seventeen, he had been swamped in the worst humanity had to offer. “It has made me suspicious. And hard.”

“Suspicious, certainly.” She tilted her head at him. “But you’re not such a hard man, I think.”

“I am.” He wasn’t apologizing for it—he was merely stating a fact.

“Hard men aren’t nearly so quick to admit the flaw,” she countered, and a hint of a smile entered her voice. “Or chase a woman they don’t like across an entire country because her disappearance might interfere with the happiness of a friend.”

“I didn’t chase you. I tracked you.” And he hadn’t done either strictly for Renderwell’s sake. The truth was, he’d checked in on Esther at her cottage because he’d wanted to. He’d followed her to London because he’d been worried.

She snorted at his comment, then twirled her lacy black parasol against her shoulder. “It occurs to me that if this boy tries to pick your pocket, I’m going to feel like a fool.”

“You shouldn’t.” He offered his arm and was absurdly gratified when she took it. “There is nothing shameful in assuming the best of someone.”

“Shameful, no. Foolish, yes. It is surely wiser to hope for the best, rather than expect it, but it feels wrong not to give people, especially children, the benefit of the doubt.”

Samuel agreed with her, but he still searched the last alley they passed before the old clothes shop with a sharp eye.

The woman at the shop remembered speaking with Esther but had no recollection of a small boy with dark hair and large eyes carrying a note. Might be little Jim Hanning or Michael Landsworth or Sean Jennings. Could be any one of dozens of children who passed by her shop every day.

They tried the neighboring shops next, then several shops across the street, but no one remembered seeing the lad.

“We’ll just have to walk the street,” Esther decided as she maneuvered around a shoe shiner. “See what we can find. We can speak with everyone I visited on Tuesday.”

To Samuel’s dismay, it appeared as if Esther had visited nearly everyone in Spitalfields on Tuesday. They stopped in a cobbler shop, a butcher’s shop, two apothecaries, a draper’s shop, and several emporiums of useless bric-a-brac. They even stopped to talk to a man selling peppermints from a cart.

“Why would you speak with a street vendor?” Samuel demanded as they stepped away. “Did you honestly imagine he was selling his goods in that very spot over a decade ago?”

“No. I just wanted a peppermint. No harm in asking him about Mr. Smith whilst I was at it. I thought perhaps the vendor might have lived here all his life.”

He lifted a brow in question.

“He’s from Leeds,” she admitted with a shrug and moved on.

* * *

Esther wrinkled her nose as she veered around a puddle with a suspicious layer of foam on its surface. In the country a soaking rain left everything fresh and renewed, but London was like a filthy dog: you could dump a bucket of water on it, but that didn’t make it clean. It just made it wet.

On the whole, however, the excursion down Commercial Street was a far more pleasant endeavor than it had been when she’d come on Tuesday. People had looked at her askance then. Those she had spoken with had leaned close, trying to peer through the veil. She’d been nervous, wary of everyone she met, every person she passed. After she’d read the note, she’d been afraid.

Although she wasn’t inclined to mention it aloud, she understood why Samuel questioned the risk she took in coming to town. It was dangerous for her here. And having spent the last nine years rusticating in the country, she was a little out of practice when it came to facing danger—a fact she’d been acutely conscious of when she’d been alone.

She drew plenty of attention today, of course. Some people gawked at Samuel, either because they recognized him or simply because of his size. Others seemed to find the sight of a woman in deep mourning out for a stroll with a fashionable gentleman in Spitalfields simply an interesting spectacle. But those extra looks didn’t bother her today. With Samuel at her side, she felt safe. Cautious still, but emboldened.

They came to a stop outside a tavern. Samuel frowned at the sizable group of men visible through the window, then turned and studied the bustling street.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. Was it better to leave her outside alone or expose her to the sort of men who drank in the middle of the day?

“I’ll wait here,” she offered, not because she was particularly afraid of the men inside, but because the scent of tobacco smoke and ale never failed to bring up memories that made her queasy.

“Stay close,” Samuel instructed. “I’ll only be a minute.”

When he left, she turned and watched the passing pedestrians, hoping for a glimpse of the boy or young man they sought.

“Spare a coin, mum?”

She looked over her shoulder at the unexpected question and discovered a man lounging against the wall not ten feet away. He stood in the shadow of a neighboring shop blind, and his head was bowed low. All she could see of his features beneath the brim of his hat was a bullish chin.

Her skin prickled with nerves. He’d not been there a moment ago. She was certain of it. And people who hid their faces couldn’t be trusted.

She ought to know. “I’m afraid I—”

“Have a heart. I only need enough for a crust of bread.”

It didn’t look as if he was in immediate need of feeding. He looked hale and strong, and his workman’s clothes, while worn, were free of patches and frayed ends. She glanced at his feet. Beneath several layers of caked-on dirt was a very fine pair of boots.

She wondered what poor sod had been forced to relinquish them.

This man didn’t need her coin, and she was tempted to deny him just on principle. But if he decided to press the matter…

She dug into her bag and retrieved a coin, which she held out for him. Better she waste a little money and be rid of him quickly.

The stranger stepped to the edge of the shadows and reached for the coin. His fingers closed over her own and lingered.

She snatched her hand back. “That’s plenty for something to eat. Now—”

“You can’t do better?” He cocked his head, as if studying her, and she noticed a small, indented scar on the side of his chin. “You look as if you could. Looks as if someone set you up proper.”

Something in his tone made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She shifted the grip on her parasol.

It was dangerous for her here.

“That is all I have for you, sir. Be on your way.”

“Oh, I think you’ve—”

The shop door opened behind her. A second later, Samuel was at her side. He took one look at the man and moved to stand in front of her. “Problem?”

The man hunched his shoulders, bent at the waist, and bobbed his head like a serf genuflecting to his master. “None, sir. Not a bit of it.” He held the coin up and began to back away, bowing all the while. “The lady showed me a kindness, is all. Bless her. Sir. Mum. Fair day to you both.”

Samuel took a step forward, but Esther stopped him with a touch on the arm and a shake of her head. They had quite enough on their hands without bothering with a false beggar.

As the stranger turned a corner and disappeared, uneasiness gave way to annoyance. “Oh, he was all deference and good manners with
you
, wasn’t he?” she grumbled.

Samuel looked down at her. “What did he say to you?”

“He wanted coin, that’s all.” He’d been aggressive about it, and he’d been strange. But this was London. Aggressive and strange were to be expected.

“He was hiding his face.”

“I noticed.” Transferring her parasol to the other hand, she wiggled the tension out of her fingers. “I also noticed, as I’m sure you did, that he was considerably too large to have been the man from the station.”

“Men don’t hide their faces unless they have a reason.”

“I suspect someone wants him for something.” The fine boots, like as not. “But he’s not the man we’re looking for, and if we start chasing after every suspicious, overzealous beggar in the city, we’ll never get around to doing anything else.”

Samuel considered this a moment before agreeing with a single nod. Taking her arm, he ushered her away from the tavern.

“Did you learn anything inside?” she asked as they crossed the street.

“No.”

“Pity, but—oh, look there.” She pointed toward a trio of young girls sitting on the curb and industriously arranging the small piles of flowers at their feet into nosegays they placed in baskets.

“The flower girl in the green dress was here on Tuesday. I didn’t speak with her, but she might remember the boy.”

All three girls scrambled to their feet as Esther and Samuel approached.

The girl in green held out her half-filled basket. “Flowers for the lady, sir?”

“Thank you, no. I’m looking for a boy. Somewhere near to eight years of age, dark hair, large eyes. He was on this street on Tuesday, possibly carrying a note.”

“Big eyes and dark hair?” the girl in green repeated.

“You know him?” Samuel asked.

The girl looked him over with a shrewd expression, then tapped her basket. “I’ve carnations, violets, roses, and lavender, sir. Sweetest you’ll find anywhere. And only two pennies a bunch.”

Samuel heaved a sigh. “Right.”

He purchased a nosegay of violets and lavender and shoved it at Esther without any ceremony whatsoever. Without so much as looking at her, in fact.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she muttered under her breath and plucked the flowers from his fist before he could damage the blooms. She carefully inserted the small stems into the belt at her waist next to her chatelaine bag. “You’re quite the most romantic automaton I know.”

“What’d she call you?” one of the girls asked. “Auto-what?”

“Ignore her. What do you remember?”

Rather than answer Samuel directly, the flower girl gave her friends a knowing bob of the head. “Could be Lizzy’s boy.”

The youngest of the girls made a face. “Lizzy Hopkins?”

“No, not Hopkins,” the third girl retorted with the impatience of an older sister. “Causer. Her with all them pretty-eyed lads.”

“Do you have a name?” Samuel inquired.

The girl in the green dress shook her head. “Just Lizzy Causer’s lads.” She pointed down the street. “Peerpoint Alley. Mind you, I won’t be having them flowers back if it ain’t him.”

“Thank you,” Esther called out as Samuel took her by the elbow and hurried her off.

In the wrong direction.