What a Rogue Desires (4 page)

“That’s not so bad, then,” he said.

“It’s passing fair,” she said before Flynn could speak. “It’s our best take in a month.”

His mouth twisted. He didn’t want to admit that, after the way Simon had blundered. Vivian put up her chin and met his glare head-on.

“We ain’t sold it yet,” he growled. “It might be trouble to sell.” He was rolling the ring in his palm again. She could see he had taken a fancy to it, for all his complaints about the way Simon had gotten it. She felt a whisper of dread. One never knew what Flynn would take into his head, and he was as obstinate as a mule once he set his mind on something.

“I’ll take it tomorrow,” she said. Best to get rid of the blasted thing as soon as possible. “I’ll take the stage from Wallingford and find a pawn shop. It’ll be just another bit of gold.” She put out her hand for all the jewels. Still glowering, Flynn scooped them up and handed over everything but the ring. She kept her hand out, waiting. For a moment they stared at each other, neither willing to give. Vivian hid her clenched free hand in the folds of her shirt; if Flynn didn’t give over the ring, came the sudden thought, she could take it as a sign that it was time for her to go. She could sell the little things, hand over Flynn’s and Crum’s and Alice’s shares, and then go away with Simon. For the space of a second, she almost hoped he would refuse to hand it over, effectively announcing his lack of trust in her.

Flynn tossed the ring at her. With a flick of her wrist she caught it, dropping everything else in the process. Flynn barked with laughter as she collected it again, her lips pressed tight together. It was time to go, all right; she hated Flynn worse than ever then, for his mocking laugh and leering looks.

“We need to move on,” she said abruptly. “This bit of road is too dangerous now.”

Flynn quit laughing and frowned. “We move on when I say,” he snapped, “not until. You mind your role, girl, I’ll mind mine.”

She swallowed the protest that leaped to her lips. She forced herself to nod, and hide her thoughts. That was her sign, she thought furiously. They nearly got nabbed by the constables, and Flynn would ignore it out of bullish pride. Because he hadn’t said it first, he would refuse to do what any sensible person would do.

She put the valuables with her widow’s dress and got her blanket. There was a general shuffling as everyone shook out their blankets and Alice banked the fire for the night. Vivian rolled up in her blanket and lay down next to Simon. Her brother’s frame loomed larger than ever over her, and she felt another pang of worry for him. He would soon be too old to become anything but a hardened thief. In the faint firelight, she saw his crooked grin.

“Cheer up, Viv,” he whispered. “All will be well.”

She mustered a smile. “I know.” Somehow, someday, she supposed, it would. She would do her damnedest to make it so—beginning tomorrow, when she headed into London to sell those stolen pieces. Simon knew she was angry at him, and he knew she’d stuck up for him tonight. She couldn’t do it forever, though. Sooner or later she or Flynn would run the other through in a fury, if Flynn’s stupidity didn’t get them killed first. Long after the snores around her indicated everyone else had gone to sleep, Vivian stared at the ceiling.

She thought about Alice, asleep beside her, lying flat on her back with her mouth open a little. Alice had an unfocused, vague look in her eyes, and Vivian dimly remembered hearing something about her being kicked in the head by a horse. Alice never complained, never protested, never said much of anything. She went about her business with plodding determination, cooking for all of them and darning Crum’s old coats and socks. Vivian supposed Alice was sweet enough, but the sad truth was that Alice was simple, and would be lost without Crum.

Crum would be no help to her, either. He was Flynn’s man, through and through. He was kind and patient with Alice, but that was it. Flynn must have decided tolerating Alice was a fair price to pay for Crum’s unwavering loyalty, because Flynn never said a word against Alice, even when he didn’t mind tearing into Simon or Vivian for the smallest thing. It was as if Crum and Flynn had made a pact that they would leave each other alone and blame any misfortune on the two Beecham brats. As everyone knew, the Beecham brats had no one else to turn to, and nowhere else to go.

So it was only she and Simon, and her brother was more hindrance than help at times.

She sighed, stuffing an extra fold of the thin blanket under her head. She hated sleeping on the floor. When she had reason to take a room at an inn, Vivian went to bed early and stayed in it as long as she could. Linens, even coarse, not-entirely-clean ones, on top of a mattress, even a scratchy, lumpy, straw-filled one, made for much better sleeping than a threadbare blanket and a hard floor. In her cottage, some day, Vivian would have a nice soft bed to sleep in, even if she had to eat nothing but oatcakes for a year to buy it.

Across the room, Flynn grunted in his sleep, and Crum snored a little louder. Alice’s still face looked corpse-like in the wan moonlight. Vivian closed her eyes, hating it all. But how was she to get away from it? She’d been a thief for most of her life, and Simon had never known anything else. What could two thieves do besides steal?

She set off early the next morning in her worn gray dress, with some of the valuables in her reticule. Flynn and Crum still snored away, although she knew they’d be at the local pub by noon, drinking away their shares. Alice handed her a cold oatcake with a shy smile before dragging the bucket out to the brook for water. Simon alone got up and walked her partway to the nearest coaching inn.

“Be careful, Viv,” he said as they drew near the parting point. “That cove might put out a reward.”

She smiled. “That’s why we sell it today, see? No pawnbroker in town will know today about anything stolen yesterday.”

He frowned uncertainly. “I know. You’re quicker at this than me, for certain. Still…” His voice trailed off as he squinted into the rising sun, breaking over the trees. “I ought to start taking care of you now, not the other way around.”

Vivian almost rolled her eyes with impatience. “We take care of each other, and ourselves,” she said firmly. “Now get on back and tend to your chores.” Simon had the care of the horses when they weren’t working. Vivian would take the dusty stage into town and back. Alice would cook. Flynn and Crum would sit on their fat arses all day and do nothing, or even worse, walk into town to drink away money that should last them a month or longer. Bloody fools.

She squeezed her brother’s hand in farewell and continued into town. She counted out the coins for outside passage to London, readily telling her simple story to anyone who asked: she was a poor governess on holiday, going to visit her mother who was ill with consumption. By keeping her eyes downcast and her mouth shut, she wasn’t interesting enough to draw any notice, and arrived in London just after noon.

She disembarked at the Elephant and Castle and made her way into London. Being back in the city always made her a bit edgy. She didn’t like it here, with a thousand people pressed close around her. It was loud and dirty in the city, at least the parts Vivian knew. She’d grown up here, but never missed it. She walked quickly with her head down, clutching her reticule tightly, until she reached the edge of St. Giles. Here the houses were more crowded and dingy, the streets filled with ragged, dirty children. Vivian especially didn’t like it
here
, but here were the pawnshops.

She never visited the same one twice. She always had a different story. People in St. Giles didn’t ask many questions, but Vivian wanted to be certain no one could connect her visits. She knew she was exposed again, and she knew what would happen to her if she were caught with stolen property. So she walked and walked until her feet felt blistered, and finally found just the sort of shop she was looking for.

Vivian pushed open the door, making her eyes wide and nervous. The shop was small and plain, but fairly clean. It looked like a place a naïve young widow would think reputable. Clutching her reticule in front of her, she took tiny, hesitant steps to the counter where a rotund, balding man of indeterminate age watched her without a trace of expression, his chin propped on one hand.

It took only a glance to size him up. Expecting something dodgy. The sort who had seen everything and then some. She decided to try being pitiful and stupid. “Your pardon, sir,” she said in her youngest voice. “Might you be Mr. Burddock?”

“Aye.” Only his lower lip moved with the word. She swallowed and edged closer.

“Please, sir, I—I have some things to sell. They tell me you give fair prices.”

Still his face didn’t change. “Aye. A fair price for fair goods.”

“I have that,” she hurried to assure him. “My husband—that is, my late husband…” She shook her head and went to work on the reticule strings, bending her head as if in shame or sorrow. “I have some things of his,” she whispered. “Very fine.”

“Let’s have a look, then.” He spread his hands on the counter and cocked his head, waiting. Slowly Vivian brought out the pocket watch from the onion man yesterday. Mr. Burddock took it and examined it coolly. “Passable workmanship,” he said, sounding bored.

Vivian’s blush was real, although not from shame but anger. It was a fine watch, and he knew it. Just let him try to cheat her. “And this.” She drew out the pearl pin.

Burddock held it up to the light and yawned. “Is the pearl genuine?”

“Of course!”

He twisted his lips and put it down on the counter, but didn’t argue with her. Vivian was quite sure it was a fairly valuable piece. “That all?”

She bit her lip as if in indecision. “Yes. No. I—I don’t know.” Taking care that her fingers trembled, she reached into the reticule again and took out the signet ring. Just its weight guaranteed a good price. It gleamed of riches even in the dusty light of the little shop. “His ring,” she said softly, keeping it in her hand instead of adding to the other items on the counter.

The man looked at it for a moment, and then finally a flicker of interest showed on his face. He reached for the ring and she let him take it, blinking rapidly. Mr. Burddock turned the ring from side to side, studying it, weighing it in his palm. “Family crest?” he asked with a keen glance.

“Yes,” she said. “He was the last of his family. And now—not even a son to follow him—” She broke off and bit her lip, looking down.

Burddock continued to roll the ring between his fingers. “Well, it seems a well-made piece.” He put it down. “A fine piece, in fact. I’d say it’s worth a fair sum.” His attitude had thawed considerably in a matter of seconds. Vivian gave him a cautious smile.

“Is it? Oh, I cannot tell you how that comforts me, that dear Charles may yet provide for me.”

“Left you badly off, did he?” Burddock nodded, peering at her face.

“It is a familiar tale to you, I’m certain,” she said with a sigh. “This is all I have left of him. Oh, sir, you wouldn’t cheat a poor widow, would you?” She assumed an expression she knew made her face look young and hopeful. “You have raised my hopes tremendously.”

Something like a smile flitted across his face. “Never say Thaddeus Burddock is a cheat, madam. Fair prices for fair pieces, is my creed.” And he named a sum that made Vivian almost gasp aloud, act or no act. It was even more than she’d hoped for. Flynn would have to shut his mouth about Simon’s rashness in taking the ring. With her share of that, plus the funds she’d already saved, she could apprentice Simon to a decent businessman. And with Simon safely settled, she could even think about extricating herself from thieving. An image sprang into her mind, of a small quiet cottage, with flowers and honeysuckle growing wild about it, and a fat cat sunning in the window.

She forced her imagination into submission and concentrated on the matter at hand. She mustn’t get ahead of herself. “Sir, that would be most acceptable,” she said breathlessly.

“I thought so.” He put the ring down. “It’s such a sum, though, I haven’t the funds on hand to pay you today. If you come again tomorrow morning, I shall have it.”

Vivian’s disappointment was tempered by anticipation of the lovely, high price he would pay. “I believe I can manage it,” she said. “And the other two pieces?”

With newly attentive eyes, he examined the pin and the watch again. “Perhaps these are a bit finer than I first thought,” he said. “Shall we make a deal for all three pieces? To be purchased tomorrow?”

Vivian agreed, especially when he named a sum within reason for the other two pieces. She slipped all three items into her reticule. “Until the morrow, then, Mr. Burddock.”

“The morrow,” he said. “I shall expect you.”

She ducked her head. “I will. Early tomorrow. Thank you, Mr. Burddock.”

“Thank you, madam.” He nodded, and Vivian left. She walked along as sedately as she could, clasping her shaking hands together in relief. She’d feared it would be a terrible task, selling that ring. Of course it was valuable, and a shop on the edge of St. Giles likely took in items of that kind every day, with no questions asked. Still, after she’d feared having to find someone to melt it and sell it as just a lump of gold…Even though it would mean another early morning trip into the city, she hurried through the streets all but wiggling with excitement.

The note arrived just before dinner. After a long and torturous day, David had finally succumbed to the headache that had never completely faded after his encounter with the highwaymen the previous day. He had accomplished his goals for the day, and felt rather proud of himself for doing so, but now his skull seemed to be squeezing his brain to the point of strangulation. He was lying on the sofa in his small drawing room, with a cushion over his face, when the bell rang. After a few moments it rang again, and then once more. David uncovered his face. “Bannet!”

At last shuffling footsteps sounded in the hall. The door opened, then closed. The servant tapped at the drawing room door. “A message for you, sir.”

David grunted, but the bell had disturbed his rest already. He levered himself into a sitting position, closing his eyes against the renewed dizziness the action caused, and tore open the note Bannet held out to him. David gazed blearily at it for a moment before realizing what it was. The message inside lifted his spirits greatly.
Come early tomorrow to meet your thief.–Burddock