Amanda Quick - The River Knows

Stung, she clasped her hands tightly together. “There is no call for sarcasm, sir.”

“If it makes you feel any better, to my knowledge no one has ever managed to finesse the lock of an Apollo. Occasionally safecrackers have resorted to explosive devices to get into one, because thus far that’s been the only successful method.”

“Then how did you plan to open Hastings’s safe, sir? Because it is clear that was your intention tonight.”

“Forgive me, I should have said that almost no one has ever managed to finesse the lock. There is one exception.”

Her spirits soared. “You?”

“Yes.”

She braced herself. “In that case and given that we have come this far, I have a proposition for you.”

“Stop right there, Mrs. Bryce.” He held up a hand, palm out. “Do not say another word.”

“I was merely wondering if your professional services might be for hire,” she said quickly.

He did not move. “You wish to employ me to break into Hastings’s safe?”

“Precisely. I failed in my mission tonight, but you are obviously an expert in such matters.” She waved one hand to indicate his elegant evening clothes and the handsome, well-sprung carriage in which they rode. “Clearly, you have done very well for yourself in the past few years. I realize that you do not need to take on clients. But as you plan to open Hastings’s safe anyway, I would be extremely appreciative if you would have a little look around while you are at it. I’d be interested in any paperwork relating to a brothel. I will make it worth your while.”

“Mrs. Bryce, I do not take commissions for this sort of thing.”

“I understand.” She gave him her brightest, most encouraging smile. “But surely an intelligent businessman such as yourself would not turn down an offer of compensation from a grateful person.”

He said nothing at all for an extended length of time.

“Well, sir?” she prompted.

“You are an extraordinary female, Mrs. Bryce.”

“You are very much out of the ordinary, yourself, sir. I cannot imagine that there are a great many jewel thieves who move in Polite Circles.”

That remark appeared to amuse him. “You’d be surprised, madam. Statistically speaking, I’m sure it is safe to say that those who move in elevated circles are no more honest than people who move in other spheres.”

“On that we are agreed, sir,” she said, “but the difference between the two groups is that the highfliers are far less likely to pay for their crimes than are those in the lower classes.”

He cocked a brow. “You sound quite cynical, Mrs. Bryce.”

“I do not have any illusions about the wealthy and the powerful, sir. I know all too well the damage they can cause and how easy it is for them to escape justice. But I do not think this is the time to debate such matters, do you?”

“No,” he said. “We do appear to have more pressing problems.”

“You no doubt intend to go back to Hastings’s mansion later to finish your project. All I ask is that when you open his safe you look around for any documents dealing with Phoenix House. I will be quite happy to reimburse you for your trouble.”

“Assuming I do not get shot dead in the process.”

“Yes, well, I’m certain you are a very competent burglar, sir. After all, you have survived until now.”

“I appreciate your faith in my professional abilities.”

Hope surged through her. “Well? Will you agree to take the commission?”

“Why not?” he said, evidently resigned. “It’s not as though I have anything more interesting to do this evening.”

“Excellent.” She gave him another bright smile. “I’ll wait for you in this carriage.”

“No, you will not, madam. I will take you home first. We will discuss the results of my efforts tomorrow.”

“You do not appear to grasp a pertinent fact here, sir. I am paying you to do this job tonight. As your employer, I must insist on staying close by until you have finished the venture.”

“In other words, you do not entirely trust me.”

“My apologies, sir. I mean no offense. It is just that I have never had occasion to hire a professional thief. I would prefer to keep the arrangements as businesslike as possible.” She hesitated as another thought occurred. “By the way, how much do you charge for this sort of thing?”

His eyes tightened dangerously. “Rest assured, I will give that question close consideration, Mrs. Bryce.”

A businesslike arrangement. How in blazes had it come to this? He was about to crack Elwin Hastings’s safe while his new accomplice—make that client—waited for him in a closed carriage in a nearby lane. His already complicated life had developed a few new and decidedly convoluted twists tonight.

For the second time that evening Anthony studied the shadowed hallway outside Hastings’s bedchamber. The guard was gone. There was no indication that anyone else was lurking up here. He checked the alcove where he had hidden a short time earlier. It was empty.

Getting back inside the mansion had been simple enough. He had pulled on the long overcoat and low-crowned hat that he had brought along for the purpose. Louisa had watched closely, clearly intrigued by the sartorial transformation.

“If I am seen at a distance, it is unlikely that I will be recognized,” he explained.

“You look quite menacing in that coat and hat, sir. It is amazing how it affects your appearance. I vow, you could easily pass for a member of the criminal class.”

“The idea is to look like a respectable tradesman.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He had scaled the garden wall without incident, although he had been forced to crouch behind a hedge when the second guard, Royce, made what appeared to be a routine patrol of the grounds.

Guided by the floor plan he had studied that afternoon and what he had seen of the house earlier, he had no trouble locating the servants’ entrance. The back stairs that led to the upper floors were still clear. The harried staff was occupied on the ground floor dealing with the behind-the-scenes demands generated by a houseful of guests.

Satisfied that he had the hall to himself, he opened the door of Hastings’s bedroom. Inside he stood quietly for a moment, allowing himself to absorb the feel of the moonlit room. He had been studying Hastings for over a year. He knew a great deal about his quarry.

He raised the corner of the carpet and found the safe exactly where it was supposed to be. He did not need to strike a light to see what he was doing. When one opened an Apollo Patented Safe in a clandestine manner, one did it by touch, not sight.

He got the strongbox open very quickly. The small set of safecracking tools he had brought with him had been specially commissioned from one of the finest craftsmen in Birmingham. The implements were more delicate and more sensitive than a surgeon’s scalpels.

The interior of the Apollo was as dark as a small cave. He reached inside, pulled out all of the items, and placed them on the carpet in a shaft of bright moonlight. There were four velvet pouches of the sort used to hold jewelry, a number of business documents, five leather-bound journals, and an envelope containing three letters.

He flipped through the journals. Four were written by people other than Hastings or his wife. The fifth was a record of payments received from individuals who were identified only by initials. The letters in the envelope were signed by a young lady.

He tucked the journals, letters, and business papers into pockets on the inside of his overcoat. Turning to the jewelry pouches, he unlaced each in turn. The first three contained an assortment of bracelets, earrings, and necklaces fashioned of diamonds, pearls, and colored gems. All of the pieces were in the modern style. They had no doubt belonged to the first Mrs. Hastings. She had been much admired for her sense of fashion. He picked up the fourth sack and poured the contents into the palm of his hand. Moonlight glinted on an emerald-and-diamond necklace set in gold. The design was old-fashioned and very familiar.