Bronwyn Scott - Regency Sins - Pickpocket Countess / Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady

‘I can see why.’ Jack reached for the decanter of red wine and refilled his glass. ‘The countryside is perfect for grazing. The river has made the area ideal for sheep. It is hard to convince people to give up on a known way of life that has been successful for generations.’

‘They don’t understand they’re not being asked to trade one for the other. I want them to see that the old and new ways can co-exist. We need sheep wool for the factories. It is an incredible benefit to the cost of production if the mill doesn’t have to import the raw wool from long distances.’ Brandon warmed to his subject.

Jack steepled his hands against the tidal wave of Brandon’s vigorous assessment. ‘Your ardour for the subject is sincerely touching, but, philanthropy aside, one cannot forget the reason you’re doing this. You need the mill.’

Jack’s cynicism did not sit well with Brandon. ‘Of course I need the mill. I need a secure source of income to ensure the family coffers survive into the future. You needn’t make it sound as if I am hoodwinking the village into something that only benefits me. The mill is a good idea for their future too,’ Brandon argued. ‘Agriculture will not be able to sustain the estate alone in years to come. I am thinking of the Earls who will come after me.’

Brandon leaned over the table and lowered his voice to a near-whisper. ‘I am very sure the project will turn a profit. Why else would I so obviously sully my “noble” hands in trade? Once the factory is a success, the ton will overlook my eccentricity.’

Jack gave a bark of laughter. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. You can do no wrong, with your elegant manners, good looks and glib tongue. Gawd, man, you’re like a woman’s Midas.’

Brandon refused to be provoked. ‘As I said, I have responsibilities that take all my attention these days and I need your help.’

Jack poured another glass of wine. ‘Speaking of responsibilities, you missed the best part of the session when you high-tailed it up here. The House of Commons and the House of Lords are at each other’s throats over reform of the boroughs. If the reform bill is to pass the House of Lords, an Earl is going to have to cross party lines and it will have to happen this spring while the momentum is still there.’ Jack raised an elegant eyebrow in query. ‘What will you do?’

Brandon wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. The Prime Minister was hoping he would be the one to set a trend and vote for more liberal policies concerning the middle and lower classes. The Cat thought just the opposite, that he was a highbrow peer unwilling to use his power for the benefit of the masses.

‘Enough about my politics, Jack. Tell me what you have discovered about The Cat.’ Jack had access to all sorts of information that might shed some light on The Cat.

‘That’s a very abrupt conversational parry,’ Jack noted. ‘You are losing your touch.’

‘Enough, Jack. Now, tell me what you know.’

Jack leaned in close despite the privacy of their dining room. ‘The Cat of Manchester is not exclusive to this area. I think there is reason to believe that the moniker comes from the fact that The Cat is merely from this area. There are reports of similar burglaries taking place in Birmingham, Leeds and Bradford. As you know, those are cities whose situation is much like Manchester’s. They are highly industrialised and face the same social issues.’

‘Could it be that there are several people who call themselves by that name?’

Jack shook his head at the conjecture. ‘The timing of the burglaries does not suggest that there is a group of people acting in tandem. The timing would support that there is only one person and that the one person moves around from place to place. The only constant is the reference to the name. Wherever this thief goes, the name is the same as well as the cause.’

Brandon drummed his hands on the table, taking in Jack’s findings. ‘How long has The Cat been operating?’

‘Reports indicate three years. But that only indicates how long the name has been showing up. This person may have been active for years under different aliases.’

‘Are there any leftover Luddites still practising?’ Brandon knew the chance was slim. The Luddite movement, an organisation started by craftsmen who opposed the replacement of manual labor with textile machinery, had been wiped out years ago, but one never knew.

A sickening feeling formed in his gut. It was one thing to rationalise The Cat as being a misguided local with a Robin Hood complex. It was entirely another to know he had fraternised with a hardened criminal. The Luddites had used violent means to demolish machinery. Such behaviour had led to their downfall. How far would The Cat go to make her point? Would robbing lead to other crimes? Would she go as far as to destroy the mill if her earlier ploys failed to bring about the desired results? The truth was, Brandon didn’t honestly know.

Jack shook his head. ‘I checked the records from the 1813 Luddite trials in York. It is not likely that The Cat was among the group and is still rebelling nearly twenty years later. For starters, it would make The Cat awfully old for carrying on the shenanigans you’ve written to me about.’

‘What about Eleanor Habersham?’ Brandon asked the question he dreaded most. Once the connection was firm, he had no more excuses, but at least he could feel less guilty about his behaviour at Mrs Dalloway’s.

‘I have found nothing, which also means nothing. Your spinster is either what she claims to be and there are simply no records on her because she’s of no criminal threat to England or she’s a persona The Cat has conjured up. I can’t see why the burglar would do that. It makes no sense to create a spinster unless The Cat is a woman.’ Understanding dawned on Jack’s face. ‘You think The Cat is a woman, don’t you?’

Brandon nodded. ‘I know The Cat is a woman.’

‘How do you know?’

Brandon put a finger to his lips. ‘Wait until we get home.’

‘I need a drink.’ Jack poured himself a brandy and resumed his seat, where he’d sat riveted at Brandon’s encounters with The Cat. ‘I find it peculiar that you haven’t told anyone. Care to explain?’

‘At first I was embarrassed. I’d let The Cat get away.’

‘And later?’ Jack prompted.

‘Let it suffice to say that, later, catching The Cat held little novelty for me.’ Brandon took a swallow of brandy.

‘That must be how she gets away with it.’ Jack smiled triumphantly, gloating a bit at his friend’s discomfort. ‘Men don’t want to turn her in. If she’s caught, she simply cajoles them into compliance just as she’s done with you.’

‘She is not a trollop!’ Brandon protested, although he had nothing to base that claim on and plenty of evidence to the contrary. Jack’s comment had done its work.

‘I’ve yet to meet virgins who tie men to beds. Good lord, Brandon, do you think you’re the only man she’s tried this on?’ Jack pressed, then softened his tone. ‘You’re making no sense. You say you want me to help you catch The Cat. Now you’re telling me the opposite. Which is it? Do you want to catch her or not?’

Brandon said nothing. Jack’s eyes glinted with knowledge. ‘Ah, so that’s how it is. You want to catch her for yourself. Why? Jealousy? Can’t stand the thought of another man under The Cat’s thrall?’

‘I am not under her spell,’ Brandon argued, incensed by the implication that a thief could buy his loyalty with her charms. The claim to jealousy rankled. Was Jack right?

‘Then how do you explain this urge to protect her?’ Jack shook his head. ‘You should know already you can’t tame a wild thing. You can’t tame The Cat, Brandon.’