Gallant Scoundrel (36 page)

Examination of the front parlor by the pale light of the street lamps across the way revealed expensive looking
objects d’ art
adorning mantel, tables and walls. It appeared Mr. Biddle was given to ostentatious display. After dropping several smaller pieces into his sack, Harry crossed the hall to the sumptuously appointed dining room—and the plate closet behind it.
 

Warming to his work now, he again pulled out his lock-picks, only to find the key was already in the lock and the door ajar. Had those thieves Tig overheard beaten him here after all? Frowning now, he pushed the door open.

“Oi!” came a shout from within. “We got ’im!”

Quick footsteps sounded behind him, then a familiar voice drawled, “Let’s have a light, shall we, blokes? I’d like to take a good look at my prize before we turn him over to the authorities.”

Harry wheeled about, only to be seized from behind by whoever had been lying in ambush in the plate closet, a beefy arm around his neck. In the sudden flare of a tinder box, he saw Sir Barney Phillips standing in the dining room doorway, flanked by two larger men. Phillips, brandishing a small pistol, smirked broadly as one of the others lit a candle and held it aloft.

“You’ve fallen neatly into my trap, Thatcher. When I heard a rumor the Saint of Seven Dials was missing an arm, my suspicion immediately leapt to you. You can’t imagine how gratified I am to learn I was correct. Now, in addition to that most substantial reward—which I will of course share with my compatriots here—I’ll have the added satisfaction of seeing you swinging from a gibbet. Not a bad night’s work, if I say so myself.”

X
ENA
HAD
scarcely waited until Harry’s back was turned before softly following him along the narrow alleyway leading to Biddle’s Town house. Apart from how insulting it was to be told to wait such a distance away, she could surely watch and warn him more effectively from a closer vantage point.
 

She was also quite curious to see how he would gain entry, as the house was presumably well secured against its owner’s lengthy absence—but she hadn’t even reached the railing separating the small yard from the alley when Harry disappeared inside, closing the door behind him.

“Hmph,” she snorted quietly, annoyed and impressed. He clearly hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d claimed to know his business. She must remember to ask him where he’d picked up such skills, for he could scarcely have become so proficient in a mere matter of weeks.
 

Leaning against the wall separating Biddle’s kitchen garden from that of the next house, she discontentedly settled in to wait. Where was the adventure Harry had promised her?
 

On that very thought, movement behind a ground floor window near the door caught her eye. Squinting through the darkness, she perceived at least two figures moving inside, perhaps even three. Had Mr. Biddle left someone behind to guard his house after all? What if the man or men had guns?

Her heart beginning to pound, Xena moved away from the wall to creep through the yard to the back door, where she pressed her ear against the cold panel. She was almost certain she heard a faint whisper on the other side. Really anxious for Harry’s safety now, she forced herself to remain where she was while she slowly counted to twenty.
 

Then, ever so slowly and carefully, she turned the handle and pushed the door just far enough to peer through the crack. Tiptoeing down the hallway ahead, silhouetted by the pale light coming through the fanlight above the front door, were three men, one fairly slight but flanked by two much larger ones. Taking a deep, silent breath to steel her nerves, Xena opened the door far enough to slip inside, then pushed it nearly to behind her in case they glanced back.

Just then, a shout came from up ahead and the three men quickened their pace, no longer bothering to be quiet. Thankful she’d taken the precaution of wearing thin-soled shoes, Xena softly hurried after them, pulling her pistols from the pockets of her coat as she went.

*
       
*
       
*

Harry, meanwhile, glared at Phillips. “Looks like you’ve done a bit of housebreaking yourself, unless ‘Old Biddy,’ as you’ve named him, had a change of heart and gave you a key to his house. Wonder how he’ll like hearing about that?”
 

As he spoke, he desperately sized up his situation. It seemed hopeless enough, given the two louts on either side of Phillips and the one half-throttling him from behind. He wondered if there were any more. Either way, he had no intention of going quietly. If nothing else, a struggle would give Xena more time to escape.

Phillips chuckled. “I figured out weeks ago which window offered easiest access to this place. Think you I’d stay in a tiny flat in Cheapside while Biddle and m’ mother gad about the Continent, leaving this palace empty? Long as I’m careful, they’ll be none the wiser on their return—and it offered the perfect bait to lure you in. Had my friends here drop news of the place within hearing of that little urchin who’s been helping you—the one who was so obliging as to boast of assisting the one-armed Saint only a few days since.”

Tig, no doubt. Flute had warned him the boy had a tendency to talk too much. Too late for regrets now, however.
 

Without warning, Harry drove his elbow into the stomach of the man holding him, then immediately crashed the back of his fist into his captor’s nose. Caught off-guard, the man doubled over, then went stumbling backward into the plate closet with a resounding crash. Harry kicked the door shut, turned the key, pocketed it, then set his back against the door, smiling grimly.
 

“One down. Who’s next? These fellows already know my mettle from when you sent them to rob me of your voucher a few weeks since. Care to try me yourself, Phillips? Or was being knocked down once enough for you?”

Sir Barney moved forward, bringing his pistol to bear, his expression first stunned, then furious. “Surely you jest, Thatcher! One trick move won’t get you out of this. Jim, Bill, hurry and bind him up—and don’t be too gentle.”

“I think not,” came a voice from the hallway. Xena stepped into the dining room, a pistol gleaming in each hand. “I taught you a lesson once, Phillips, and won’t hesitate to do so again—though this one is like to be more lasting.”

Harry didn’t know whether to curse or cheer. Before he could decide, Phillips whirled with an oath to train his pistol on Xena. Equally startled, his confederates turned as well.
 

“Gorblimey!” one exclaimed. “It’s a woman!”

Immediately taking advantage of their distraction, Harry launched himself at the nearest thug, who’d already come halfway around the dining table to carry out Phillips’s order. Hitting the man square in the back, he knocked him into a chair, which fell with a clatter.

As he’d hoped, it took Phillips’s attention off Xena. The pistol swung back around and he again brought it to bear on Harry. A shot rang out…and the pistol flew from his grasp. Phillips cried out, wringing his now-empty hand. “You bitch! I’ll—”

Before he could finish, Harry closed the distance and sent a fist crashing into his mouth. “I’ll thank you not to speak to my wife like that, Phillips.”

Recovering from their surprise, the other two men now entered the fray. The one Harry had pushed aimed a vicious kick his way while the other came around the table with a roar, to be stopped by the sight of Xena’s other pistol pointed his way. Meanwhile, Phillips was struggling to get to his feet and two loud thumps sounded from the plate closet door as the trapped man hurled himself against it from inside.

The man nearest Harry swung a wild punch at his head. Harry ducked, caught him behind the knees and sent him crashing onto his back. Snatching up Phillips’s pistol, Harry then moved back to keep the whole room in range.
 

Xena took two quick steps forward to press her still-loaded pistol into Phillips’s side while Harry aimed his at the man she’d been covering before.
 

“You witnessed what I did to French soldiers who overran our camp back on the Peninsula,” Xena reminded Phillips when he tried to pull away. “Don’t think I’ll hesitate now.”

“Should have known Thatcher needed an accomplice to act as the Saint of Seven Dials. You can hang, too and I’ll mourn you no more than I did the first time I thought you’d died.” He spat at her.

She laughed airily, not at all as though they might both be facing the gallows. “The Saint of Seven Dials? Harry? I presume you have proof of that?”

“He’s here, ain’t he? That’s proof enough. No one but the Saint would’ve known this house was empty and unguarded just now.”

Following Xena’s cue, Harry forced a chuckle. “No one? I knew, as did most everyone at the Guards’ Club and likely elsewhere. You’ve made no secret of your resentment that your mother’s wealthy husband took her off touring without helping you out of your numerous gaming debts—to include what you owe me, by the bye. Concerned you might attempt to burgle your stepfather’s house in his absence, I bethought me to check on the place.”

Xena took up the story. “Aye, and I persuaded Harry to let me come along in case his suspicion was well-founded—as it clearly was. Mr. Biddle will no doubt be most grateful we happened by to interrupt your larcenous scheme, Phillips.”

“What? You can’t— That’s a load of horse dung and you know it!” Phillips sputtered. “It was on
my
orders my men here let that boy, your helper, hear them talking about this place standing empty, pretending they meant to rob it, just so as to draw the Saint out.”

“Boy? What boy might that be?” Harry asked mildly, keeping a foot planted on the downed man’s chest, as a precaution. The silence from the plate closet suggested the third man was either listening or had managed to knock himself senseless.
 

“I don’t know his name, blast it! But they heard him boasting of helping the Saint of Seven Dials a few days since, so—”

Harry raised his brows. “You’re saying your so-called evidence consists of something these fellows—whom I can
personally
attest are thieves—overheard from some nameless street urchin? If necessary, I can bring numerous highly-placed witnesses forward to affirm my whereabouts during the Saint’s various capers. Can you do the same?”

Now Phillips blanched. “I… You… I’ve never stolen anything in my life!”

“How upstanding of you.” Xena’s voice dripped sarcasm. “It’s a shame your friends here can’t claim the same. I’ll wager they’re already known to the Bow Street Runners—in which case the Runners are likely keeping an eye on you as well, Phillips. London may no longer be the, ah, healthiest place for any of you.”

Phillips and his still-standing accomplice exchanged worried glances.

“‘Ere, we won’t say nothin’ if you’ll just let us go,” the one on the floor grunted. “What’s it to us if yer the Saint?”

“Let you go? I don’t see how we can in conscience do that,” Harry drawled, thoroughly enjoying Phillips’s growing panic. “I suggest instead that you three join your companion in crime in the plate closet while we fetch the Runners. Shouldn’t take us more than an hour or so.”

With some grumbling but an air of general relief, the three men went docilely into the closet, clearly confident they could contrive to escape before the Runners arrived. Whether they escaped or not mattered little to Harry, as he had no plans to notify Bow Street in any case. His only concern was to get Xena safely away.

Once the closet was again locked from the outside, Harry extended his arm to her. “Shall we go?”

Lips twitching, she took his arm. “Let’s.”

Not until they were back outside did they start laughing.

“You were magnificent, Harry,” Xena gasped, hugging him.

“I was about to say the same. I can’t even be angry at you for directly disobeying my orders, as you likely saved my life by doing so.”
 

She grinned up at him. “I never was very good at following orders.”

“Don’t I know it!” He began laughing again. “Can’t imagine what I was thinking to expect it.”

Sobering then, she leaned her head against his chest. “You wished to protect me—just as I felt compelled to protect you. Together we make quite a good team, do we not?”

“We do indeed. Even so, given Phillips’s suspicions, I believe it would be wisest for this Saint to retire for good.”

Xena sighed. “I fear you are right, much as I hate to say so. At least I was able to enjoy one real adventure first!”

“Far more adventure than I’d bargained for,” he agreed.
 

In fact, he’d never been more frightened in his life than when Phillips threatened her with that pistol. He hoped never to feel that way again. Though, knowing Xena, he suspected it was a vain hope.

*
       
*
       
*

Xena strove to keep various other emotions at bay by reliving their triumph as they continued on toward Oxford Street. “I wonder if Phillips and his footpad friends will manage to escape from that plate closet?” she mused.

“Though there’s scarcely one brain between the four of them, there’s easily brawn enough to break down a door. Not that I’ll be stricken with guilt should they starve in there.”

“Nor I. Especially after—” She broke off to look up at him. “Oh, Harry, I’m so terribly sorry I insisted we go there tonight. Had they succeeded, it would have been entirely my fault. When I think how close I came to losing you yet again, I—”

He silenced her with a kiss, then said, “It was thanks to you they did not. Pray don’t forget that. I won’t.”

She managed a grudging smile in return but could not so easily ignore the fact that her stubbornness had nearly cost her all—again. Tonight’s near-disaster finally forced her to admit what she’d attempted to deny for days…nay, years. She was totally and utterly in love with this man.

And he deserved to know it.

“Harry, do you recall what my views on matrimony were when we first met?”