From Rags to Kisses by Shana Galen
V
London 1806
“The thief is back again, my lord.”
“Oh, excellent, Quinnell!” Viscount Chamberlayne rose from the chair in his bed chamber and rubbed his hands together. “My ruse worked.”
“Yes, my lord. The house is dark, and all the servants have been instructed to stay quiet and in their rooms.”
His valet brought his dressing robe, and Roland donned it. “Is he entering the parlor again?”
“He is dawdling under that window, my lord. Are you certain you do not want to call the magistrate?”
“Quite certain.”
“The Bow Street Runners?”
“Not yet, Quinnell. Last time he was here, he took that Egyptian pendant, the one from the Middle Kingdom. I want to see if that was luck or if this thief knows what he is about.”
“Of course, my lord.” The butler stood straight as an arrow, his black hair swept back from his forehead. With his long nose, Quinnell had always struck Roland as looking rather like a crow.
“Slippers,” he told his valet. The valet brought them, and in a few moments, Roland was making his way soundlessly downstairs toward the parlor. He heard a faint thud and knew the thief had entered. How very exciting. The door had been left open just a crack, and he took his place now and peered inside.
To his surprise, the thief was not a boy at all, but a girl. It was easy to see why he’d made that mistake. She wore male clothing, but he could see the tail of her hair and the silhouette of slight curves.
She stood by the window she’d come in and silently lowered the pack she carried on her back to the carpeted floor then crouched to feel inside. A moment later she produced a long, flat piece of metal. Roland wondered what it might be. It looked rather deadly, and he hoped he hadn’t been mistaken and the thief was actually a murderer.
She inserted the tool into a loop on her black trousers and moved around the perimeter of the room. She was in no hurry. She obviously thought he was out and would not return until the wee hours of the morning. It was barely midnight now. Still, she was silent. She moved like a shadow across the room, and Roland was impressed.
She stopped in front of a vase on a pedestal and studied it. Roland held his breath. It was valuable but she had to realize it would be hard to transport without breaking. She seemed to decide against the paintings on the walls as well as she gave them only a cursory glance. Or perhaps she did not know much about art and didn’t realize their value. The thief moved to a glass display case with a variety of perfume bottles and pieces of jewelry. She pulled the metal piece from the loop and jammed it between the crack in the door. Roland winced at the damage that would do but watched with interest as she gave the tool a swift upward thrust. The cabinet lock sprang free, and the glass door swung silently open.
She admired several of the pieces then closed the door again. Roland was surprised. He had been certain she would take a piece from the cabinet. Why else would she open it? It amazed him she didn’t just empty the entire contents into her sack. Why didn’t she take it all?
She crossed to his bookshelf where several books were laid out. She ignored those standing upright and lifted at those lying flat. Could she read? She lifted one book, opened it to reveal an illustrated page, then nodded and continued her perusal. Finally, she tucked a book in her sack and then glanced back at the jewelry. Roland could almost hear her weighing the risks and benefits. Jewelry was hard to pawn. Anyone who knew the real value of the piece would ask too many questions. But she could pawn a piece to someone who didn’t know the value for pocket change. The thought appalled him, but then he’d often found treasure among junk.
She glanced out the window, and Roland almost moved forward to show himself. He didn’t want her leaving yet. But then she started back across the room. She eased the display case door open again and reached for one of the rings, her hand hesitating as she debated between two rings.
This was his chance. Roland eased the oiled door open and stepped into the parlor. Slowly, she turned her head to the side and met his gaze. Her face showed a moment of shock, but her hand held steady.
“Ye must be the viscount,” she said, her accent making an absolute wreck of the English language. But she hadn’t screamed or fought or ran. She stood there as though his appearance was not unexpected.
“Which will you choose?” he asked, trying to sound less interested than he was. She looked momentarily confused, so he clarified. “The rings.”
“The signet ring,” she said, lowering her finger to stroke it.
“Not the ruby?”
“It’s right fetching,” she said, “but the signet ring is worth more.”
“Right you are,” he said. “Clever girl. Quinnell, check her rucksack, will you?”
The door opened further to admit Quinnell, who set a lamp on the table. In the light, Roland could see her more clearly. She was barely more than a child. He would eat the ring she was eyeing if she’d yet reached twenty. She was pretty in a rough sort of way. She had pale gray eyes and dark hair. She was just a bit shorter than average and slim of build. He looked into her eyes again. They were hard as flint, and he felt them assessing him.
Quinnell walked across the room, lifted the sack she’d left by the window and pulled out the book. And still the thief didn’t move, hand still poised above the signet ring, though it shook slightly now.
“It’s the Gutenberg, my lord.”
Roland gave her an approving look. “Very clever girl.”
The thief looked from him to Quinnell, obviously unhappy to have her escape routes blocked. “I suppose ye’ll call the magistrate now,” she said.
“That would be a waste.”
She stared at him, brows lowering. “Then I can go?”
“That would also be a waste.” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I have a better idea.”
“I’m not taking me clothes off,” she said, stepping back from the display case.
He jerked back in shock. The very idea! “Why would I want you to disrobe? This is purely a business meeting. Quinnell, would you bring tea? And sandwiches as well, I think. You’re hungry, I take it?”
“Ye think I’ll let ye roger me for a sandwich?”
He sat in his favorite chair, which was upholstered in gold and royal blue fabric, and crossed his legs. He was careful to move slowly so as not to startle her. She was like a bird. Ready to fly away at the slightest sound. “I don’t want to roger you. No offense. I’m sure under that dirt you’re a pretty girl, but I’m more interested in your mind, you see. Why did you take the book and not, say, the vase? It’s from the Han dynasty and very valuable.”
Quinnell slipped out of the room, and her gaze went back to the window. She was already planning her escape. He didn’t have much time left. She edged toward the window. “Easy to break,” she answered. “And ‘ard to pawn.”
“But surely you have a confederate who would buy it from you.”
“A wot?”
“A confederate. A partner, so to speak.”
“I ‘ad a partner until about a year ago. Now I work alone. Wot’s it to ye?”
“Suspicious sort, aren’t you? I suppose you have to be.” He waved a hand. “We have a lot in common, you know.”
He laughed at the disbelief on her face. “What I mean, dear girl, is we are both collectors.”
The thief glanced around the room and Roland knew he saw appreciation on her face.
“You have an eye for the rare and valuable, and that is not something that can be taught. Believe you me, I have tried.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “How old are you?”
“Old enough. ‘Ow old are ye?”
“Three and twenty,” he said. “I’ve been collecting since I was younger than you. Have you ever thought what you would do with these antiquities if you did not have to steal them?”
She shrugged. “That’s the sort of question a man with soft ‘ands and wearing a silk dress asks.”
“It’s a banyan, and I suppose it is a question you’ve not considered before.”
“I don’t believe in fairy tales.”
“No time for them, I’m sure.” He considered. He’d intrigued her, but now to harness that interest. “What if I told you I have other rooms like this with items just as valuable, if not more valuable? What if I said I need someone to catalogue and appraise them?”
“I’d ask where they were.”
He laughed again. “So you could steal the items. Yes, I see.”
She curled her lip, clearly confused as to why he found her answer so amusing.
“But what if I paid you to study the artifacts? What if I paid you to travel with me and buy others even more valuable?”
The thief stared at him. Hope bloomed on her face but she just as quickly snuffed it out. “Why would ye do that?”
“Because you have a rare talent.” He gestured to her hand inside her trouser pocket. “Take the ring out of your pocket,” he said.
She started. She obviously didn’t think he’d seen her palm it.
“Go on, take it out. Then bring it close to the light.” He rose and lit a lamp on a long table then unrolled a deep blue strip of velvet. “Lay it here and take a look.”
The thief didn’t move.
Roland frowned at her. “Humor me. If my proposal doesn’t appeal, you can keep the ring for hearing me out.”
“I can keep the ring?” she said.
“If you hear me out.”
“That’s the only catch?”
“That is my sole condition. I give you my word as a gentleman.”
That didn’t seem to reassure her, but after a brief internal battle, she brought him the ring.
“Place it here.” He indicated the velvet. She placed the ring on the fabric, and the viscount moved the lamp closer. The ring looked lovely against the deep blue background and in the warm lamplight.
Roland pulled two items from a velvet bag and laid them beside the ring. One looked like some sort of medical instrument while the other was round and looked like a lens from spectacles.
“This is a loupe,” he said, holding up the lens. “It magnifies the item so you might see details invisible or too small to be seen clearly by the naked eye.” He held it out to her, and she took it and reached for the ring. His hand stayed hers. “These are pincers,” he said, holding up the metal medical-looking instrument. “They allow you to hold the item still and without dirtying it with your hands. May I show you?”
He held his hand out for the loupe back. Reluctantly, she handed it over and watched as he held the ring with the end of the pincers and used the loupe to examine the inside band. “Ah, yes. There it is.” He handed the pincers and the loupe back to her. “Have a look.”
She did so, and he watched as she squinted then drew back then looked again.
“That’s the maker’s mark,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “I have books and books of those marks. That one is from the 1600s and a jeweler in France. He served the Bourbon family—the royal family.”
She looked up at him. “This was the ring of a king?”
“It was. This ring belonged to Louis le Juste. That was Louis XIII.”
She looked at the ring through the loupe again.
“So you see, when you chose the signet ring, you unknowingly chose one of the most valuable items I possess. Think what you could do with some training.”
“Training?” She looked up at him.
“Like an apprenticeship,” he said, stepping back. “I will teach you what I know. In return, you help me find the great treasures of the world.”
“The world?”
“Have you ever even been outside of London, dear girl? Would you like to go to Paris? Constantinople? Berlin?”
She stared at him. “Wot’s the catch?”
“You will have to bathe regularly, for one. And you’ll have to learn to read—in several languages. You’ll have to study for years to be good enough. And in return...”
“Yes?” she asked. He heard eagerness in her voice, though she tried to muffle it.
“I will provide you with a salary as well as room and board—not here. This is a purely professional partnership. You’ll be my apprentice and one day, if you are good enough, my partner.”
“I’m good enough,” she said.
“Then we have a deal?” He held out his hand, and she stared at it.
“You shake it,” he said. She looked at him sharply, and something changed in her expression. He saw it soften. Then she put her hand in his and he squeezed it warmly, hoping he was right about her. Hoping she didn’t rob him blind and murder him in his sleep.