The Gentleman Thief

“Lord Whalsey?” Jeffries echoed with a groan. “Pardon me, miss, but must all your suspects be noblemen or churchmen? Don’t tell me! Let me guess. This fellow’s a bloody duke, isn’t he?”

Georgiana was disturbed, not by Jeffries’s language, which was undoubtedly the cant of the streets, but by his accusation. She lifted her chin. “I assure you that I did not choose these men for their titles,” she said. “And besides, Whalsey is only a viscount with pockets to let, driving him to engineer the commission of a crime.”

Jeffries shook his head, an unhappy look on his plain features. “First you accuse a marquis, then a vicar, and now a viscount. Miss, I do believe you have a most lively imagination.”

Georgiana blinked in dismay, for she sensed she was losing him. “Are you suggesting that such persons never venture onto the wrong side of the law?” she asked.

“No, miss,” he replied.

“Then you must hear me out! I tell you, I did not search for Whalsey and his cohort. Quite by accident I fell upon them hatching their scheme.” And as precisely as she could recall, Georgiana related her experience behind the large potted plant, leaving out the calamitous entanglement with Ashdowne, of course.

She was a bit disappointed that Jeffries did not take notes and resolved to suggest that course to him later, but in the meantime she was determined to convince him of the truth of her conclusions. And so she told him about her confrontation with the viscount in the Pump Room.

They had nearly reached that center of Bath by the time she had finished, and she had the distinct pleasure of watching him lift a hand to rub his chin in contemplation. “It sounds bad, miss, but I can hardly march up to his lordship without more evidence.”

“But surely you can question him at least!” Georgiana protested. The interrogative talents of the Bow Street men were legendary. “I am certain that he would confess in a thrice!”

“I don’t know, miss,” Jeffries said, shaking his head again, and Georgiana was seized by a fit of temper. All her life she had been faced with skeptics and scoffers, but she had never expected this professional to doubt her. He was one of the best! He was one of her heroes! How could he not take her seriously?

Georgiana turned on him, prepared to demand that he at least speak with Whalsey before it was too late. She swung her reticule back and forth, tempted to use it to knock some sense into his wooden head, but she was uncertain as to the penalty for striking an official of the law. Fortunately, she was saved from that desperate choice by the sound of her name.

“Ah, Miss Bellewether. I see that you are busy already this morning.”

Ashdowne! Never had Georgiana thought she would welcome the presence of the marquis, for she had accepted his assistance of necessity, but now…now she felt like throwing herself into his strong arms. Her happiness must have shown on her face, for he hesitated a moment as if startled by her enthusiasm, before smiling smoothly.

“Ashdowne! I am so glad you are here!”

“So I gathered,” he said, bending over her hand with a wry expression. “To what may I attribute this sudden delight in my company?”

Ignoring the way he set her pulse pounding, Georgiana tugged her fingers free and gestured toward Jeffries. “My lord, this is Wilson Jeffries, a Bow Street Runner who is investigating the theft of Lady Culpepper’s necklace.”

“Jeffries.” Ashdowne acknowledged the man with a nod. “But what is there to investigate? Surely you have given him the benefit of your expertise?” he asked Georgiana, lifting one dark brow.

Georgiana was uncertain for a moment whether he was teasing her, but he appeared expectant. “Well, yes, I have, and he doesn’t believe me! Can you imagine?”

Ashdowne looked properly affronted, and Georgiana was immediately mollified. “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?”

Georgiana finally found her voice. “Hair restorative?” she asked as Jeffries gingerly lifted the bottle from its berth.

“Aye, miss,” Cheever said. “It’s a secret formula, created by a certain Dr. Withipoll here in Bath, and nothing would do but that his lordship must get hold of some. And when the doctor wouldn’t sell, that’s when he called me in. It was all his doing! He forced me to steal it!” Cheever whined, eyeing the Bow Street Runner with canny intent.

“There are nigh on eighty physicians practicing in Bath. Surely one of them could have been induced to help you with your…ah…problem, without resorting to robbery,” Ashdowne said dryly to a sputtering Whalsey.

Having no interest in male baldness or how to cure it, Georgiana broke in upon the conversation. “But what of the jewels?” she asked. Both Whalsey and Cheever looked at her blankly. “Lady Culpepper’s necklace?” she prompted.

Cheever’s small eyes grew wide, and whatever gentlemanly ways he had put on fell away like a mask. “Now, you hold on a minute there, miss. I don’t know a thing about that! I’m strictly smalltime, I swear it! I ain’t no jewel robber!”

“Nor am I!” Whalsey cried from across the room. “I may be a bit short of funds at the moment, but everyone knows I get my money by marrying it, not stealing it. It’s my hair I’m worried about! How will I find a rich widow, if it goes? A man can’t wear a wig all the time! I simply must keep my hair!” he declared with passionate ferocity.

Jeffries held up the bottle, and Georgiana could see that it was filled with some sort of dark liquid. “And you think this here’s going to do the job?” the Bow Street Runner asked.

“Oh, most certainly! It will grow hair on a billiard ball!” Whalsey claimed.

“The professor swears by it!” Cheever put in. “And you should see the head of hair he has on him!”

“A mane that he was no doubt born with,” Georgiana muttered as disappointment swamped her. After all her careful investigation, she had not recovered the missing gems! And the nefarious scheme she had overheard had come to this: two men fighting over a stolen batch of hair restorative.

It was decidedly lowering.

Jeffries cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that whether or not this concoction works is irrelevant, for either way, it’s been stolen, and I’ll be returning it to the rightful owner,” he said firmly. “I’ll have the formula, too, if you please.”

With another loud huff, Whalsey pulled a paper from his coat pocket and thrust it angrily at the Bow Street Runner.

“Is this the only copy?” Jeffries asked.

“Yes!” Whalsey snapped.

“Very good, then. I’ll be in touch with you two regarding any charges that the professor might want to make against you.”

“It was all his doing!” Cheever accused, scowling at Whalsey.

“I did nothing. You’re the one who approached me, you housebreaker!” Whalsey retorted.

The two were still arguing when Georgiana, Ashdowne and Jeffries left the house, and it was not until they stepped outside that silence reigned once more. Georgiana, for one, was too distressed to speak, and the three walked quietly down the steps that fronted the building. So mired in her own dejection was she that at first Georgiana didn’t hear the sound of a low chuckle. But by the time they reached the street, it was clearly audible. Did Ashdowne mock her?

Whirling on him, Georgiana prepared to give him a good set-down, but the look on his face stopped her. The marquis, who always seemed so elegant and assured, was grinning helplessly. “Hair restorative!” he murmured. And then he threw back his head and burst out laughing.

Watching his handsome face relax so fully, Georgiana felt her own tension ease. After all, Ashdowne was not finding humor in her miscalculations, but in the situation in which they had found themselves, which she had to admit was the silliest she had ever encountered.

Before she knew it, Georgiana was laughing, too, and then, to her surprise, Jeffries joined in with a rough growl of amusement, until all three of them were nearly making a spectacle of themselves on the streets of Bath. Her eyes watering in a most unladylike fashion, Georgiana swayed on her feet, but Ashdowne was there to lean on, and she decided that it was a most pleasant experience to share her mirth with a man.

It was only later, after sobering once more and parting with her companions, that Georgiana realized the awful truth. If Whalsey and Cheever were innocent, she was left with only two suspects.

And Ashdowne was one of them.

Chapter Five

Ashdowne stretched out upon the uncomfortable Grecian squab couch in his bedroom and propped his feet on the top of a carved stool. He had let the house, including the ghastly furniture, for the season, though he had only intended to stay a short while. Now he found himself hating the fashionable address in Camden Place. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time he had disliked his surroundings, but the pretentious trappings bothered him more than usual. Everything

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