The Gentleman Thief. Deborah Simmons

“Really?” he said, turning to Jeffries, and Georgiana had the pleasure of watching the Bow Street Runner squirm under the nobleman’s gaze. Although he had refused to heed her, a marquis was quite a different story, and Georgiana found herself smiling smugly at Jeffries’s discomfort. She congratulated herself on her choice of assistants, for Ashdowne really was proving himself most helpful.

      After a moment of fidgeting under the marquis’s unyielding stare, Jeffries cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose that I could have a little chat with Lord Whalsey, if you think it would be advisable,” he said.

      “Absolutely,” Ashdowne replied in his dry manner so different from her own rampant enthusiasm. Georgiana wondered what, if anything, excited the marquis, and then blushed at the conjectures that followed.

      “In fact, I insist upon it,” Ashdowne said. “Let us all make a visit to the house he is letting, for I have a man watching the place, and he has not gone out as yet.” As he spoke, Ashdowne turned in that direction, motioning for Georgiana to join him, and in reluctant surrender, Jeffries fell into step alongside them.

      Unable to contain her bliss, Georgiana glanced up at Ashdowne with an expression of gratitude. Perhaps it was too much for the contained marquis, for he looked decidedly uncomfortable before flashing her a smooth grin. Too smooth, Georgiana thought, but she was so thrilled she did not want to contend with her recurring suspicions about Ashdowne. Returning his smile, she eagerly anticipated the interview ahead, planning her strategy should poor Mr. Jeffries require her help in obtaining a confession from Whalsey.

      As it happened, their suspect was having a late breakfast when they arrived, but Ashdowne’s name gained them entrée and they were shown to a small salon, where they waited for only a few minutes until Whalsey’s arrival. Apparently he was all too eager to greet a marquis, for he hurried forward to give Ashdowne a deferential bow. But when he bent toward Georgiana, he straightened abruptly, a look of ill-disguised loathing upon his pale features.

      “You!” he muttered, taking a step back, and Georgiana, far from taking umbrage, was well pleased with his reaction. Already wary of her, the man ought to confess his guilt in no time at all!

      “I assume you’ve met Miss Bellewether,” Ashdowne said, ignoring Whalsey’s slight. “And this gentleman is Wilson Jeffries, a Bow Street Runner.”

      “Wh-what?” Whalsey blanched as he whirled toward Jeffries.

      The Bow Street Runner nodded respectfully. “Good morning, Lord Whalsey. I would like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

      “You most certainly may not! Wh-what is the meaning of this?” Whalsey asked, puffing with indignation.

      “Nothing to get yourself agitated about, my lord. I’m here in Bath doing some investigating, and I—” Jeffries began, only to be silenced by Whalsey’s loud huff.

      “You’ve been listening to her, haven’t you?” Whalsey accused, pointing a finger at Georgiana. Warmed by the recognition, she smiled, which only seemed to enrage the viscount further. “Surely, you cannot mean to believe the absurd prattle of this…this hoyden?” he asked, his voice rising shrilly. “Why, the woman’s a lunatic! She needs a keeper!”

      “Ah. That would be me,” Ashdowne said softly.

      Surprised, and somehow warmed, by the marquis’s show of support, Georgiana glanced at him gratefully, but any words she might have formed were lost as the doors to the room were flung open by a manservant. “Mr. Cheever, my lord!” the servant announced, as the man in question hurried into the room.

      To Georgiana’s delight, Whalsey made a strangled sound and turned toward the new arrival with a look of horror that made Cheever stop in his tracks. Georgiana suspected that the fellow would have turned tail and run if Jeffries had not chosen that moment to act. He rose to his feet. “Mr. Cheever, please join us, as I’d like to put a few questions to you.”

      Cheever remained arrested, a wary expression on his lean features, while Whalsey moved between Jeffries and the new arrival, as if to prevent their conversation. “This man is a Bow Street Runner,” Whalsey explained to Cheever with a significance that no one could miss. Georgiana smiled triumphantly at Ashdowne.

      “Please sit down,” Jeffries said to Cheever. His voice, although cordial, held an under

      lying insistence that Georgiana admired. She had to restrain herself from clapping and urging him on.

      Whalsey, however, did not join in her enthusiasm. He puffed his chest and his cheeks out once more, reminding Georgiana of a bellows. “This is an outrage!” he declared, most emphatically. “Y-you barge into my home, accost me, and now you are attacking my guests. Well, I—I won’t have it! You, sir, may leave the premises at once!”

      When Cheever inched toward the door, Whalsey shot him an exasperated glance. “Not you! You!” he clarified, pointing a finger at Jeffries. “Harassing your betters! Why, I’ll have you stripped of your position!”

      To his credit, Jeffries did not waver, and Cheever eventually sat on the edge of a faded damask-covered chair, where he proceeded to dart anxious glances toward a small gilt table. The only item on the worn surface was a simple wooden box that was hardly in keeping with the rather shabby elegance of the salon, and Georgiana drew in a sharp breath at the realization.

      While Whalsey continued to object to the presence of the visitors in no uncertain terms, Georgiana rose and walked casually toward the table that held so much fascination for Cheever. She was immediately rewarded with a squeak of horror from the man, which alerted his partner. Whalsey whirled toward her and gaped, his face growing red and mottled.

      “You! Get away from there, you wretched female!” he said.

      Excitement surged through Georgiana as she ignored the warning and stepped closer. Triumph, which had so often teased her, suddenly appeared to be within her grasp at last, for the significance of the box could mean only one thing. The overly confident thieves had hidden the necklace in plain sight, disguising its value in the rough container that normally would not have drawn a second glance.

      Moving behind the small piece of furniture, Georgiana gestured toward the box with a flourish. “Mr. Jeffries, I believe that you will find the stolen item in here!” she said, trying to contain the exhilaration that rushed through her. Surely, this was her finest hour! she thought, beaming at her audience.

      And then pandemonium erupted.

      Cheever shot to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides, but Ashdowne swiftly rose, too, a formidable figure among the shorter men. Whalsey, his blustering at an end, pulled out a handkerchief and began fanning himself as he fell onto a nearby chaise, moaning in distress, while Jeffries stepped toward her.

      “I’ll just have a look, my lord,” Jeffries said. No one made a move to stop him as he took up a stance at Georgiana’s side and reached for the lid. It stuck momentarily, but then Jeffries lifted it away to reveal the contents, and Georgiana held her breath only to release it in a hiss of disappointment.

      With dismay, she saw at once that no gold necklace lay inside, for instead of the glitter of emeralds, her gaze met the dull sheen of glass. Although she leaned forward, it was soon obvious that the box was empty except for a dark bottle. She blinked, but just as she opened her mouth to admit her shock, Whalsey spoke from his position across the room.

      “You cannot hold me accountable!” he said. “I’ve done nothing! Whatever is in there is Cheever’s, for he left that box here yesterday!”

      Startled, Georgiana swung her attention toward Cheever, who was gripping the arms of his chair in a rather fierce fashion, as if he could not decide whether to push to his feet or remain where he was. He glanced wildly at Whalsey and then back to the Bow Street Runner, his face pinched into a most desperate expression that puzzled Georgiana.

      “I left it here all right, but only because he paid me for it, the vain old bugger! I took the stuff, and the formula, too, but on his orders. It was all for him! What would I need with hair restorative?”