“Sure. But before that.” When Nathan didn’t answer, Brigham went on to examine other parts of the room. He found a Bible in the nightstand drawer. “Here,” he said, tossing the book to Nathan. “Take this.”
Nathan fumbled the Bible, scooping it up a moment before it thudded to the floor. He glared at Brigham. “Ye lookin’ to get caught? Someone might o’ ’eard this if it fell.”
“Who’s to ’ear? I told ye she lives alone.”
“The housekeeper.”
“Gone tonight. Gone every Friday. I wouldn’t ’ave suggested it otherwise.”
Nathan breathed a little easier. He opened the Bible. The woman’s name was written on the frontispiece. Beth Ann Ondine. Another shiver of sadness and sympathy traveled down Nathan’s spine. He set the Bible aside.
“What’s wrong with it?” Brigham asked.
“I don’t want ta take it. It should be buried with ’er.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Do ye think she cares about that?”
“I do,” Nathan said quietly.
Brigham’s tawny brows knitted. He fixed Nathan with a sharp glance and detected a trembling in Nathan’s taut body. His jaw was set stiffly, as if to hold himself in check, and his bony chin poked out defiantly. Brigham set out to bring him down a few notches. “That Bible will bring a few shillings.”
“We’re doin’ all right without it.”
“What about those pistols we ’ad our sights on? Wouldn’t ’ave to steal ’em. We’d each ’ave our own pops and a galloper. A cinnamon stallion for me and a wild black rogue of a ’orse for ye. Highwaymen we’d be, and none’d be lookin’ down their noses at us. Flash as Dick Turpin in our finery, kissin’ the ladies and cullin’ the gents of their trinkets.”
Nathan shook his head stubbornly. The Bible wasn’t worth so much as all that and it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been. “I’m not takin’ it.”
“She’s a whore, Nath. That Bible’s fer show, naught else.”
A whore? Brigham had never said anything about their mark being a whore. Besides, a whore didn’t have pearl earrings, exquisite brooches, or expensive gold lockets. “These baubles don’t belong to an ordinary whore,” Nathan said, then added, “And it doesn’t matter what she was. She’s entitled to a Christian burial just the same.” He hoped it was so. He knew it was something he wanted when his time came. If God could accept a whore, then surely He would accept a sneaksman with rum daddles.
“I didn’t say she was ordinary, but she’s a whore just like any o’ them waterfront doxies. She’s a rich gent’s mistress and that makes ’er a whore.”
Nathan’s heart hammered in his rib cage. A rich man’s mistress! The peelers would be everywhere looking to catch the murderer. Almost against his will he heard himself asking for a name.
“Lord Cheyne.”
Nathan closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. He repeated the name under his breath then swore softly. “Wot was goin’ through yer mind when ye thought o’ this mad scheme? Lord Cheyne’s mistress! It’s Botany Bay for sure if we’re caught. It won’t matter if anyone believes we done ’er in or not!”
“Don’t worry. I tell ye, we’re safe enough. ’E won’t be ’ere for another hour or so. Never comes before ten bells on a Friday night.”
As far as Nathan was concerned they had already stayed too long. He was known for the speed of his heists as well as the cleanness of their execution. Tonight’s caper was one unwitting blunder after another. “Let’s go. I ’ave all we need.” He headed for the window but stopped when he saw Brigham drop to his hands and knees near the bed. “What are ye doin’?” he demanded nervously. “C’mon, Brigham. Don’t play—”
Brigham made one sweep beneath the bed with his outstretched hand. “I thought I saw...” He paused, his fingers touching something cold and wet. A moment later he was smiling triumphantly, holding up a dagger. The hilt was encrusted with seed pearls. The blade was crusted with blood.
“Put that back!” Nathan said, nearly stamping his foot in frustration. He raked a free hand through his dark hair, his expression frankly disbelieving.
Brigham paid no attention. “Would you look at this! It’s beautiful!” He examined it in the pool of flickering candlelight. He felt Nathan come up behind him. “Give me yer bag,” Brigham said.
Used to taking orders from Brigham, Nathan responded to his tone without thinking. He watched as Brigham took out one of the handkerchiefs he’d stolen and used it to wipe blood off the dagger. “What are ye goin’ to do wi—”
“I want it,” Brigham said firmly. “I’ve never seen the like before.”
Nathan’s gray eyes widened and he offered a protest. “It’s what was used to kill ’er. Ye can’t be thinkin’—”
“I want it,” Brigham said again.
And that, Nathan supposed, was that. He shifted uneasily on his feet as Brigham stuffed the lace-edged handkerchief into the bag and followed it with the dagger. The bag was unceremoniously jammed into Nathan’s hands, just as Nathan had known it would be. He might be an accomplished sneaksman, but Brigham was still older, still more experienced, and still the leader. It was up to Nathan to take the lion’s share of the risks. He said somewhat sulkily, “Don’t know what good it is. Ye don’t know ’ow to use it. Not a dagger like that.”
