Rogue's Honor (20 page)

"Yes. Wake yourself up, Flute, and pack up my
things. I wish to be gone within the hour— before Lord Marcus
returns."

Instead of evincing surprise, Flute nodded
sagely. "Got wind of the Runners, did you? I meant to tell you as
soon as you got back."

Luke paused in the act of pulling out pen and
paper for the note he meant to write to Marcus. "The Runners?" Did
everyone know of this investigation except him? "Tell me."

Flute frowned, tugging at his straw-colored
forelock. "You didn't hear, then? Seems I was recognized by someone
hereabouts as the one what fenced them baubles last week. Old
Fenster described me to the Runners, the snitch. After all the
business I brung him. Then today, Missy from the kitchens tells me
one of 'em was here, talking to the stable lads."

"Bow Street Runners? Here?" It appeared
they'd be leaving just in time—if they
were
in time. "Have
you noticed anyone watching the house?"

"Not sure I would have, since I dursn't show
my face outdoors after what Missy said. She's a lively lass, she
is."

Luke shot him a grin. "You'll meet more
lively lasses, you young rapscallion. Now stop your mooning and
finish packing while I write my excuses."

Ten minutes later, the note to Marcus written
and Luke's single trunk packed, the two headed cautiously down the
back stairs. Leaving Flute with the trunk just inside the servants'
entrance, Luke stole back to prop the note against the library
mantelpiece. Marcus likely wouldn't believe his explanation of an
urgent summons from his aunt, but it was the best he could think of
under the circumstances.

Returning to Flute, he told him to remain
where he was while Luke went out to reconnoiter. Sure enough, a man
was leaning against a lamp post across the street, watching the
house. They'd need a distraction.

Still dressed in his finery, Luke was less
likely to excite suspicion than his confederate, particularly if
the Runners had Flute's description. Pinning an expression of grave
concern on his face, Luke walked right up to the man.

"Sir," he exclaimed, "one of the stable lads
says you are an officer of the law. I hope you can help my friend
—he was set upon by footpads not a block from here!"

The man straightened at once to regard Luke
warily. "I heard nothing," he said. "Are you sure?"

"Sure!" Luke waxed indignant. "I was with him
at the time, man! I helped to frighten them off, but my friend
sustained a blow, so I was obliged to go for help. My good friend,
Lord Marcus, is from home, or I'd have enlisted his aid."

At the invocation of Lord Marcus's name, the
man snapped to attention. "Of course, sir! Which way did you say,
sir?"

Luke pointed in the opposite direction from
the one he and Flute would take. "In the alley behind those houses
there. If someone else has rendered him aid by now, perhaps you can
catch the men who did this— there were three of them."

"Three. Very good, sir." Without further
hesitation, the man hurried off in the indicated direction.

Quickly, Luke returned to Flute and together
they disappeared into the shadows to make their way back to Seven
Dials. As the streets got narrower and dirtier, Luke felt his
spirits, briefly elevated by the encounter with the Runner, sinking
into his shoes. In vain he tried to tell himself that he was
happier here, free of the restraints trammeling the upper classes.
At the moment, all he could see was the squalor.

Abruptly, he realized that he was seeing
Seven Dials the way Pearl must have seen it, that first night he
met her. Not for a moment had she quailed, though the filth and
poverty had to be a completely new experience for her. Instead, she
had looked for ways to help those in need.

"Shall we separate here?" Flute recalled him
from his thoughts when he nearly walked past the building where he
had his lodgings.

"I think you'd better stay with me for the
time being," Luke replied. "It's entirely possible your crib is
being watched, if the authorities know who you are."

"Are you sure, sir?" Flute had only visited
Luke's lodgings once or twice before, and always surreptitiously,
so that they couldn't be tied to each other by witnesses.

"Have you anywhere else to go?"

Flute shrugged. "I can always find a corner
somewhere. I've done it often enough."

But Luke had had enough this night of
abandoning those who trusted him. "This will be warmer. Come
on."

As he had feared, the place had been
ransacked in his absence. For a moment anger assailed him. After
all the help he had given these people, he'd have thought— But no.
For the residents of Seven Dials, gratitude could scarcely compete
with hunger, or even the need for spirits to dull their pain.

Prying up a corner floorboard, Luke was
relieved to find that the thieves hadn't found his "safe"— the
place he kept a few small but valuable items. From the little
recess he pulled a pair of diamond earrings, a dozen gold coins and
an emerald watch fob. His retirement fund.

Flute gave a low whistle. "Good to see they
didn't get everything —not by a long shot! You want I should fence
those for you?"

Luke shook his head. "Too risky, now you're
being sought. These items were recognizable enough that I stashed
them away for a rainy day, some months since. For now, the gold
should see us through." He pocketed two of the coins, then
rewrapped the rest and replaced the bundle.

Only as he spoke did it occur to him what a
momentous decision he'd made. Though he wouldn't accept Pearl's
charity, he didn't intend to steal anymore. Not for himself, and
not for anyone else. No matter how he justified it, doing so
injured him more than it did his victims, destroying a tiny piece
of his soul with every theft.

No, the Saint of Seven Dials would never ride
again.

* * *

Pearl slept surprisingly well, considering
the dramatic turn her life had just taken. Awakening to bright
sunshine that chased away all fantasy and pretense, she found she
still could not regret what she and Luke had done the night before.
The experience had completed her somehow, even though she'd never
known before that anything was missing from her life.

With her usual impeccable timing, Hettie
entered as she stretched, carrying a steaming basin for her morning
wash. "I see you're feeling much recovered this morning, my lady,"
she said with a smile.

"Indeed I am," Pearl declared, hugging her
secret knowledge to herself. It seemed remarkable that Hettie could
not perceive a change in her, so profound was her shift in
perspective today.

Standing, she turned her face to the sunshine
streaming in the window. Even the slight soreness between her legs
could not dampen her spirits. She felt like dancing. Remembering
her plan, her smile broadened even further.

"I have a new project in mind, Hettie, and
again I'll need your help."

Not surprisingly, her abigail regarded her
with alarm. "Not another disguise, surely, my lady?"

Pearl laughed, perhaps a bit too gaily, for
Hettie's alarm did not abate. Forcing herself to something more
resembling her usual mien, she reassured the maid. "No, a mere fact
gathering mission. Who on our staff would you trust to make
inquiries, perhaps unusual inquiries, and keep anything he found to
himself?"

Hettie thought for a moment. "William, the
head coachman, has been with the family the longest, but I doubt
he'd do anything behind the Duke's back. There's Jimmy, who works
in the kitchens, who'd do anything for a price —but he's a bit too
fond of talking. Wait!" She snapped her fingers. "John Marley. He's
worked his way up from stable lad to footman, and I'd trust him
with my life."

"But will he not feel obliged to report to my
father?"

With a slight blush, Hettie shook her head.
"Not if I ask him to report only to you. He . . . seems to have a
fondness for me."

Pearl grinned, where two weeks ago she would
have frowned at such an admission. Though servants were generally
discouraged from forming attachments for each other, just now she
could not bring herself to condemn romance in any form. "He sounds
perfect. Once I have breakfasted, ask him to attend me in my
sitting room."

An hour later, seated in her favorite chair,
Pearl regarded the young footman who stood glancing nervously from
her to Hettie and back. Though not particularly handsome, he had an
honest, pleasant face. And Hettie trusted him. He would do.

"John, have you ever been to Edgeware?" she
asked without preamble.

Too well trained to show surprise, he merely
nodded. "Yes, milady. Twice."

"Good. I have a task for you." Quickly,
mindful that morning callers might be arriving downstairs at any
moment, she outlined what she wished him to do. Recalling every
snippet of information Luke had given her about his childhood, she
shared everything that might be helpful to the investigation.

"Report directly to me— through Hettie, if
you prefer —with any information you find. Of course, you'll be
well compensated, as this goes beyond your usual duties. I will see
Upwood does not question your absence."

The footman accepted his dismissal with a
bow. "Thank you, milady. You can count on me. If the information
you seek exists, I will find it." His speech, a shade better than
the average footman's, made it clear he was still striving to
better himself. Pearl thoroughly approved such an effort.

"Thank you, John. I'm sure you will."

* * *

"Very well, Mr. di Santo. You may check back
in a week to see if we've found anything for you." The bespectacled
clerk at the tiny employment office closed his book, pointedly
dismissing him.

Luke gave the man a terse nod and took his
leave, fighting an urge to tell the officious clerk to go to hell.
This was the fourth office he'd visited, giving his Oxford name at
two of them, for those positions where a formal education would be
required, and his real name at the others, for more humble
prospects. Using either name was risky, of course, but he was
reluctant to invent yet a third one.

This whole process was even more degrading
than he had expected —a massive step down from pseudo-gentleman or
even legendary thief. He wondered whether he'd be able to hold to
his resolve after all.

It had been nearly a week now since he'd left
Mayfair behind him, and he'd made a point of reading the scandal
sheets every day. So far there'd been no mention whatsoever of any
furor to do with the Lady Pearl. That could only mean that she
hadn't told anyone after all. It made his position here safer, but
he couldn't help wondering at her reasons.

Whether she was too ashamed to admit their
liaison, or whether she remained silent out of concern for him, it
made no difference, he reminded himself. They were of different
worlds and it was best for both of them if they remained in those
separate spheres.

He was in no very pleasant frame of mind when
Flute greeted him at the door of his lodgings.

"I saw me old master," he said, his
expression as sullen as Luke himself felt. "Had to nip 'round a
corner so's he wouldn't spot me. I won't be able to work that
crossing as sweeper no more. If he don't finger me for the reward,
one of me old chums will."

Luke nodded heavily. "No, you mustn't risk
it. We'll find you something less visible to do, until the Runners
have given over looking for you."

Flute's "master" was the head of a flash
house, a den of thieves, from whom Luke had rescued the boy two
years since. The scoundrel had never forgiven Flute for leaving, of
course, and would snatch at a chance to make an example of him to
the other boys.

"I could always go back to work for him
again," Flute ventured, though without much enthusiasm. "He weren't
as bad as some— didn't beat us unless we went two days in a row
without bringing him brass, except when he was in his cups."

Luke supposed that in comparison to his
earlier life as a climbing boy, picking pockets had seemed a soft
job to Flute. His master there was far more lenient than the old
chimney sweep who'd forced him through the narrow, soot-filled
pipes of London until he got too big for the task. But he wasn't
about to let Flute go back —it would be an admission that he had
failed the boy completely.

"Nonsense," he said with a heartiness he was
far from feeling. "You've got some education now. Didn't I teach
you to read? We'll find you something far better, though it may not
pay as well at first."

"Aye, sir, we will." Flute grinned, his
spirits reviving. The total confidence he showed in Luke's
abilities was rather unnerving, outstripping Luke's own confidence
substantially.

He tousled the lad's hair, laughing at his
protests. "I've got some fair prospects now," he lied. "If I get
the position I'm hoping for, I'll be able to hire you myself, as my
manservant."

"Really, sir?"

Luke steeled himself against the eagerness in
the boy's eyes. Somehow he had to make good on his words —and he
would. "Really. So why don't you practice right now, by polishing
these boots for me while we eat? I have a few more stops to make
before nightfall."

Flute took to the task with enthusiasm, and
Luke watched him for a moment before turning away to cut up bread
and cheese for their simple midday meal. Despite his resolve to
reform, he couldn't help thinking that one spectacular theft might
be enough to set him —and Flute —up in relative comfort for a year
or more.

Without Pearl his life had no meaning anyway.
What was the point of integrity, after all, without her there to
applaud it? And then there were all of the people who still
desperately needed whatever help he could offer. Perhaps one last
burglary would be worth the risk after all.