Hugh strode over and wrapped her in a hug. “Yes, my blackbird,” he whispered into hair that smelled of smoke and lemon juice. “I believe we are.”
“Then be careful.” She tightened her hold around his waist. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to either of you.”
Amelia laid a hand on Phoebe’s shoulder. “Do not fear, tonight should not be too perilous for us.”
“That’s good.” She drew back, wiped her eyes and stiffened her spine. “I need to toughen myself up if I wish to do this type of work. Like you and Papa.”
“Not at all, Phoebe,” Amelia said softly. “Compassion and concern for others are just as important. Those must be retained also in order to keep our humanity. To remember why we do this.”
Phoebe’s eyes lifted. “I understand.” She nodded. “For…for my father. Then thank you. Take care and Godspeed.” She bussed Hugh’s cheek and gave Amelia a tight hug before departing with coal dust on her nose.
Amelia blinked. “She hugged me.”
“My ward is most fond of you.” Hugh bent to kiss her lightly. “As am I. Now, no more dallying. I detest being late for breaking and entering. Best done at precisely one of the morn.” And he turned on his heel.
“A quarter past,” murmured Amelia as she sashayed out the door behind him. “The watchman does his rounds on the hour.”
The London Officefor the 32ndRegiment of Foot was a smart abode on Sackville Street, but within the rather malodorous back alley, Hugh gave his footpad on the prowl a foot-up over the wall, wincing as his wounded arm protested.
Amelia clambered over in those pleated skirts before a thud signalled her boots meeting earth. So, without ado, Hugh lugged over her bag, and then with his superior height, grabbed the wall top, hauled himself up and swung his legs over.
Amelia harrumphed.
The moon drifted from behind a cloud, illuminating them to any neighbours yet to seek their beds so they hurried over the grass towards the back door.
Two stout locks, one upper and one lower. With luck, no further bolts on the inside as jemmying the door with the paraphernalia in Amelia’s bag of tricks would no doubt cause a commotion.
“I’ll do the upper,” he rumbled low. “You do the other.”
A nod and she reached into her bag to reveal a small velvet pouch.
Hugh’s brows raised as she unravelled it to reveal a neat row of picks, hollow keys and other cracksman accoutrements.
With a rueful smile, he shoved a hand to his inside pocket to produce a more rudimentary three pick keys on a brass ring. As a rule, one of them would fit.
Selecting his favourite, he inserted it and slowly twisted, lips parted, feeling the mechanism shudder against the key’s curves. A bit more joggling and lifting and…
The lock clicked.
Hugh peered down with triumph only to find Amelia had already done hers and was tidily stowing away her items, so he withdrew his key from the lock and kissed the brass-cast of a scantily clad woman adorning its bow. “My Kate never leaves me wanting.”
Amelia merely rolled her eyes while he tested the handle.
And let out a breath as it ceded to his hand, the door opening without a creak.
They stepped into a deserted kitchen and Amelia cocked her head to the far door. It was ajar so they hastened through and headed for the stairs, Amelia’s black cloak swirling.
Being Regiment Offices, all was spick and span, the staircase treads oiled and door hinges greased. The 32nd, he knew, was a regiment renowned for bravery, having fought in many a battle on the Peninsula – Roliça and Vimeiro under Wellesley. They’d been struck by malaria but had still been back in Spain to help storm Salamanca and then fight for victory at Waterloo.
Hugh shook his head. If Roberts had been part of this regiment, which Hugh had no reason to doubt, he was a valiant man and yet… Violence seethed within him still, a need for destruction and death.
They emerged into a hallway as black as Phoebe’s hair, but Amelia was akin to a cat, stalking for a door at the far end, leaning her ear against it and then rotating the handle.
He didn’t ask how she knew which door to head for.
It opened and they stepped into the room.
Pitch.
