“I was told that Yarnell believed there to be hidden treasure on his property. Ancient treasure. Viking, Celtic, early Roman—that sort of thing. He dug looking for it. He and his cousin would spend hours digging these pits, sure they would uncover great riches. Well, the man sounded half mad to me, but not entirely so. I never would take advantage of someone truly mad.”
“Of course not,” Amanda said, as if her mother had just referenced Rule No. 5 of the Thieves Code.
“I devised a simple plan. I did a bit of research on such things and learned what these treasures looked like. Then I had someone make me an object that would pass for such an artifact. It could only be base metal painted to look gold, and paste jewels. I gambled that Yarnell would not know true quality if he saw it, and it was the best I could do.”
“Did you bury it on his land?” Amanda asked.
“I could hardly go dig a pit, could I? Nor did I want to. I went to Yarnell, showed him the object, and told him I had bought it off a man who claimed to know where much more was buried on Yarnell’s property and who could get me more if I wanted. I gave the object to Mr. Yarnell and apologized for having bought stolen property. As I expected, he wanted to know about this other man, and the location of the treasure.”
“You made him press you with the request, I expect. You first demurred,” Amanda said.
“Of course.”
“You finally agreed to learn more, and discovered that for a price, the fictitious man would provide the exact location, I assume,” Amanda said.
“Exactly.”
“What went wrong?” Gabriel asked.
Mrs. Waverly sighed. “His oafish cousin Mr. Pritchard arrived to help him. Suddenly my whole plan was in jeopardy. It was time to disappear.” She grimaced. “Only his cousin followed me, and hauled me back, and they threatened me with prosecution.”
“How unsporting of them,” Amanda said.
“Since your plan had not resulted in any actual theft, on what basis did they threaten to prosecute?”
Mrs. Waverly drank a bit of wine. She forced a neutral expression. She did not look at him or Amanda. “Knowing my initial plan was ruined, I confess that before I left his house the last time I helped myself to a few baubles. Nothing significant. He should never have noticed, but that is the kind of person he is. He probably takes an inventory every day just to make sure the servants are not robbing him. Odious little man.” She finally acknowledged the way Amanda glared at her. “A small silver box from the dining room. A little miniature from the small gallery. The image had no value, but the setting was worth at least five pounds. And a very small, very rare manuscript of the Hours from his library that he probably did not even know he owned. As I said, small baubles for my wasted time.”
“Did his cousin find these items in your possession when he caught you?” Amanda asked.
“Yes, regrettably. I did not know Pritchard followed, did I? I would have made sure I did not hold the goods if I had known. They tricked me. It was highly dishonorable.”
Gabriel swallowed the laugh that almost erupted.
“So he had you and had the evidence and most likely even had witnesses for when those goods were discovered,” Amanda said. “When did you mention me?”
“Right when he prepared to send his cousin for the magistrate so he could lay down information. Either I offered him a different solution, or—well, who knew? During our negotiations for the location of the supposed buried hoard, he mentioned having had another such treasure stolen from him. Hence all that digging. So I asked if he knew where the items stolen from him rested now. Things progressed from there.”
Gabriel controlled his anger with difficulty. This woman had all but sold Amanda to Yarnell in order to save herself. He was beginning to regret aiding her release.
“Describe Pritchard and Mr. Yarnell, Mrs. Waverly. And tell us how many servants are in that house.”
* * *
Gabriel paced in his chamber.
The woman resembled Amanda more than he liked. The dark hair and pale skin, the dark eyes and red lips, even their height and bearing reflected their blood connection. That was not what really preyed on his thoughts, however.
Today, Amanda had been her mother’s daughter in more than resemblance. Her skill at climbing that wall and working the lock, her stealth in moving through that house—Amanda the thief had revealed herself today. On the one hand, he could not help but admire her skills. On the other hand, the thoroughness of her training dismayed him.
Even while her mother told her tale, Amanda’s ability to think like a thief had startled him. She had been one step ahead of the story, guessing the next move, supplying half the details from her own imagination. And she had been correct each time. Her training went beyond scaling walls. She thought like a thief and could predict how her mother planned her crimes.
She had admitted her role in those London thefts. He of course knew she had shown both boldness and unusual skills. He had never actually seen it before, nor witnessed her mind working out how such a crime might be successful.
Unfit for sleep, he left the chamber to go below and drink himself numb. As he stepped onto the landing, he saw a familiar blue dress draped over the top step.
Mrs. Waverly looked up at him from where she sat. “She fell asleep on my shoulder. I laid her down and came out here so I would not disturb her. I doubt I will sleep much myself.” She stood and smoothed her skirt, to make way for him to descend.
“You are welcome to make use of my chamber while I am gone,” he said while he passed.
