She’d known when she’d started her hunt that sacrifices would be needed. If she took a life, she’d have to give hers in return. The law didn’t make exceptions for revenge killings. Losing her future to avenge her sister was a trade she was willing to make.
But eternity was a very long time.
Mr. Strait shifted, his leg pressing into hers.
Her breathing steadied. Mr. Strait’s solidness was reassuring somehow. As irritating as all his boxes and categories were, there was a constancy to him. An immovability when she felt as tossed about as a feather in a storm.
She set her shoulders. For her sister’s sake, she would find strength.
She had a couple of threads regarding her sister. It was time she started pulling them.
Chapter Thirteen
“You should lodge a complaint with the manager.” Cyrus Verity cocked his hip against Miss Moore’s desk. “No one should have to be trained by this demanding bast— uh, blighter. Speak with Wilberforce. I’ll teach you.”
A growl rumbled up from Charles’s chest. “No poaching.” Now that he’d decided to make Miss Moore his pupil, he was damned if someone would steal her out from under him. He scooted his chair an inch closer to his desk and sorted his notes into three separate piles.
Hurst leaned back in his chair and tossed his legs up on his desk. “Either Cyrus or I will show you a much better time than that one.” He nodded at Charles, a smirk dancing about his lips.
The piece of lead snapped in Charles’s fingers. That was too much. Flirting with Miss Moore wasn’t something he’d tolerate, especially not in such a lewd manner. He tugged at the cuff of his coat. She was his responsibility and this was a place of work.
Miss Moore drew her eyebrows together. “This is a job. I’m not expecting to enjoy myself.”
Verity smothered a snort. “You’re sweet.”
Naïve was more like. But Charles’s shoulders unclenched. At least she hadn’t recognized the double entendre.
One edge of Miss Moore’s plump mouth curled up. “That is something I’ve never been accused of before.”
“Has no one any work to do?” Charles glared at Verity until he stepped away from Miss Moore and strolled back to his own desk. “I know Miss Moore and I have investigative notes to discuss.”
She pulled a fresh piece of paper in front of her and dipped her pen in the inkwell. She looked at him expectantly.
“Your impressions from our two interviews this morning?” He pulled the set of notes in front of him that he’d made after meeting with the host of the second party where a theft had occurred.
“The Earl of Chatsfield and his wife held a dinner party for thirty guests. Two of whom were unknown to them.” She rubbed her chin. “The theft, of Lady Mary’s walking stick with its ten carat gold crown in the shape of a globe, happened sometime between the first course, when a footman took it from her to place with her wrap and reticule, and after-dinner drinks when she requested it be fetched and it was discovered missing.”
“Unfortunately, the footman was fully exonerated.” A pickpocket, a sneak, and a safebreaker, as the third theft showed. Charles frowned. He could almost respect the thief, as skilled as he was at his craft. Almost. Such a talented man could surely have succeeded at a more honest profession.
“One guest was unknown to the third host.” Miss Moore bent her head to scribble upon her paper. “Although at such a large ball, he admits that anyone could have snuck into his house unobserved. Sometime between ten at night and two the next morning his safe was broken into and a sapphire necklace was removed. While other fine pieces of jewelry were left.” She tapped her thumb against her lips. “That part makes little sense.”
“He’s playing with us.” Charles gripped the edge of his desk. “Toying with his victims. I believe our thief enjoys the process as much as he does his ill-gotten gains.”
“Playing.” Miss Moore crossed something out, wrote something new. “With the disguises, that would make sense,” she murmured.
“Have you checked the local fences?” Hurst asked.
“Of course, I have,” Charles said the same time Miss Moore asked, “Fences?”
“A dealer in stolen goods,” Charles explained. “It’s thieves’ slang. From the idea that such trades need to happen under the defense of secrecy.”
“Why do you know the history of the word?” Verity asked.
“I read.”
“A play on words.” Miss Moore squinted down at her paper. Her face cleared and a delighted little chuckle emerged from her lips. “A play on words,” she said more loudly. She snatched up her paper and jumped to her feet, rushing over to Charles. She laid the paper on top of his stack of notes, sending the top pages from his stack fluttering to the floor. “Look.”
He bent to retrieve his papers before examining the list of five names. “What am I looking at? Aside from the list of the people who weren’t invited to the parties where the thefts occurred.”
