Lady Rogue (2 page)

"I will
."  It was a promise Elizabeth Leighton could not keep.  Fragile and gently reared, she lacked the stamina to survive in the harsh environment.  Her condition quickly deteriorated, hastened by the onset of gaol fever.  Though Dawn did her best, Elizabeth lay on her bed in the dark corner, hardly moving,, never eating, rapidly wasting away. 

Though Dawn pleaded with the warden
, it was several days before a physician was called.  Something in the old man's eyes alarmed Dawn and told her it was too late. In two days time Elizabeth Leighton was dead.

"Mama!"  Dawn loved her mother desperately.  Now she wept silent, agonized tears
.  First her father and now her mother.  It wasn't fair! Why?  How could she survive the loneliness?

A debtor was allowed no coffin, no name-stone, thus Dawn and Robbie bore the added grief of seeing their mother buried in a p
auper's grave.  It was as if the beautiful woman they had known had never existed except in their memories.  Almost overnight Robbie changed from a laughing, teasing boy into a grim youth seething with defiance. Dawn became a solemn child filled with bitterness. 
Orphan
.  That's what people were calling them.  With no relatives to claim them, they were threatened with incarceration into a "home" for parentless children.

"Not me!  I won't go."  Restlessly Robbie kicked out at one of the rats before it could steal his supper.  Chattering, scolding, the rodent slithered away.  "They use a paddle on those who don't behave.  Make you work all the time.  I've heard the talk.  It's even worse there th
an here.  I won't go, Dawnie."

Then neither will I."  Dawn quickly made up her mind.  Slapping each other's palms twice in their childh
ood gesture of agreement, they made their plans.  Though they appeared  acquiescent when the gaoler came to fetch them, they were merely  waiting their chance. 

It came the moment they
were outside the Fleet.  Pushing free of the guards, they broke into a run.  Never had a race been held for such high stakes. The children were fleet of foot, agile.  Dodging the guards, racing through the narrow alleyways, they soon left their pursuers behind  Taking refuge behind a large rain barrel they giggled softly at the thought of their triumph.

"No o
rphanage for us!" Dawn crowed.

"We're free as birds," Robbie agreed, taking her by the hand.  "No more stone walls, nor locks....
"

"No more gr
uel.  Ugh!"  Dawn made a face.

"We'll go anywher
e we like, do anything we want.  It will be a frolicksome life, you'll see."

They spent the day exploring the city, from the docks to the gateway, from the highest point atop
London Bridge to that point on the quay where the bank sloped down.  For a time they were content, until their stomachs began to rumble with hunger.  They hadn’t so much as a farthing to spend for food.  Neither Dawn nor Robbie had ever gone hungry.  Food was something they had always taken for granted.  Even in prison they had been fed, though they had grumbled about the fare.  Now they were faced with sudden reality.  The streets were filled with vendors and tradesmen, but not a one was willing to part with his wares for free.

"Go on with ye.  Don't
be begging here!"  they scolded.

"Tattered little sparrows, I dare say.  Aye, that ye be.  But I have no meat pastries to spare
," insisted a frowning pieman.

"Ye be overbold.  Get out of here before I call the night watchman,
" threatened another.

Dawn and Robbie retreated to Billingsgate, clinging to the shadows, hoping for a more charitable attitude among the fishermen and cod-sellers. 
But their dirty clothing brought scorn, not sympathy.  The people of London had hardened their hearts against those who were in need.  Perhaps because there were so many, Dawn reflected.  They were not the only children wandering the streets in search of food.

"They don't care any more about us than they do the rats!"  Robbie snarled, breathing in the scent of fish, potent yet strangely a
ppetizing.

"They do!  Someone will give us food, you'll see.  They won't let us starve, Robbie."  Remembering her manners, Dawn approached a fishwife, asking politely for something to eat.  An upraised broom and a barrage of swear words was
the response.  That night, frightened and alone, they slept in a doorway, huddled together, sharing the misery of their aching stomachs.  Both swore it was the last time they would ever go hungry.

Prowling about for nails, old metals, twine, paper or broken glass to sell to the rag and bone man for a few pennies, Robbie and Dawn fared better the next few days.  When they could not find anything to sell
, they stole their dinner.  Desperation had its own lessons to teach.

Life might have continued in the same pattern had not fate taken a hand
. Going about their daily routine, scrounging about for odds and ends to sell to the ragman, they suddenly came face to face with a band of young ruffians. Urchins her mother had once called them.  Now those rowdy and ragged beings came after the Dawn and Robbie, assaulting them with obscenities as well as fists.  Coming her brother’s aid, Dawn fought furiously, until one eye swelled shut and her lip split open. In the end they were defeated, pushed and shoved along the cobbled street, barely managing to avoid the open gutters of filth at their feet  and slop from pails being emptied from the windows above.  They soon learned that they had unknowingly encroached on the territory of one of  London’s boldest and most powerful thieves.  Now they were dragged trembling into his presence.

Black John Dunn greeted the two trespassers with a scowl
.  Dawn looked at the scarred, swarthy, black-bearded face with awe, certain she had come face to face with the very devil.  "BiGod!"  he thundered,  "Wot 'ave we 'ere?"

"Caught 'em pilfering, we did, John.  Staking 'emselves in our territory.  Brought 'em roight away to yer, we did."  The boy who spoke flashed Dawn a wide-gapped grin, obviously please
d with himself.

"We weren't
pilfering
, merely gathering a few discarded things so that we could make our way."  Holding her head up, trying to mask her fear, Dawn stepped forward.  "Please, Sir, we didn't mean any harm.  It's just that we have nowhere to go.  Selling things to the rag and bone man seemed to be the only way."

"Di
d it now?"  Black John Dunn crossed his thick arms across his massive chest.  Thick brows pulled together in a "V" as he questioned the feminine newcomer in their midst.  Dawn answered every inquiry with a truthful reply, pouring out the entire story in her need for comfort. 

"Orphans ye be?"  The mouth beneath th
e mustache twisted into a grimace.  "Wi' no plaice to go.  Such a pity." 

Dawn saw the wink he gave the others but didn't
grasp its meaning.  All she knew was that suddenly she and Robbie were being welcomed into the little band.  There was no retribution, only generosity.  He gave them food--carrots and ham—and told them to make themselves comfortable.  His was the first measure of kindness they had been granted since before their father's death.  Was it any wonder they capitulated to his churlish charm?

"Ye 'ave an 'ome wi' us fer as long as ye loike.  All that I ask is that ye do as I want.  Cooperate wi' me, ye might saiy.  We're all one big family 'ere, ain't we, Tweezer?"  The ga
p-toothed boy nodded his head.

"Family..."  The word sounded wonderful to Dawn.  To belo
ng once again, she and Robbie.

"Would ye loike to stay?"  A grin slashed its way across Black John Dunn's
face as he asked the question.

"Yes.  Oh, yes."  How could she say otherwise?  Searchingly she looked over at Ro
bbie, relieved when he agreed.

"Good.  Good. Now there's a little matter of yer schooling
.  Just 'ow much do yer know?"

"Robbie and I know how to read and write.  How to do our sums."  A chorus of giggles answered Dawn's statement but she was undaunted.  Making a face at the youth called
"Tweezer" she continued on.  "Mama taught us how to do the latest dances, so that we would know them when we got older."  Again the laughter.  Only by biting her lip did Dawn control her temper.  What boorishly rude oafs these boys were—these
urchins
.  Her mother had been right about them.

"'At's all very fine."  Black John silenced the guffaws with an upraised hand.  "I 'ave it in mind ter teach ye about othe
r things, 'owever," he said.  "Skills, 'at will 'elp yer to survive.  Lessons 'at will 'elp yer cheat the 'angman."

Dawn and Robbie didn't understand the full import of the robber-chief's words then
, but in the coming days they would come to understand.  By then it was too late.  Those who Black John Dunn took under his wing he never let go.  True to his word he schooled them in the art of thievery.  The children became part of the underworld, losing their innocence forever.

PART ONE
:  A Thief’s Angel

London
- 1810

“He that prigs what isn’t his’n,

When he’s cotched’ll go to prison……..”

--“Happy” Webb

(quoted by Lord William Lennox)

Chapter One

Rays of brilliant sunlight
danced down upon London’s church spires and  rooftops, giving promise of a scorching July day. Even so, Dawn Leighton kept her white mob-cap  pulled down tightly over her dark brown curls.  Blending in with the servants, workmen and day-people  of the city, she assessed the pickings of the day.  From the corner of her eye she watched her brother Robbie merge into the crowd, moving  cautiously, yet effortlessly so as not to attract attention.

"Dust-ho!  Dust-ho!"  Ringing a bell
, the dust-man called out as he tried his best to clean the streets of litter and grime.  Coughing and choking on the powdery dirt stirred up by his broom, Dawn rubbed at her eyes, narrowly escaping being run down by the rumbling wheels of a market cart as it clattered over the rough cobblestones of the street.  Forgetting herself, in her anger she raised her fists, giving vent to a curse that inspired an ostler's stare.  Much to her dismay, the man fell into step a few paces behind her.  Pretending not to notice, she strolled along, feigning interest in the shops as she walked untill she outdistanced him.

"Pancakes
!" cried out a shrill voice.

"Dumplins!  Dumplins!  Diddle, diddle, dumplins ho!" called  another, vying for her trade. 
The city never slept.  If the nights were filled with those seeking adventure and gaiety, the days were for those of a more regulated existence--the workers of London.

"Hot baked w
arden pears and pippins!"  A hopeful little man in white apron stepped out in front of her, nearly colliding with Dawn as she passed his way.  Though she was hungry, she shook her head, determined nonetheless to taste of a delicacy as soon as the vendor's back was turned.  The appearance of another customer gave her a chance.  Her nimble fingers captured one of the yellow-hued apples and carefully concealed it in her apron pocket.             

"Looks like it's gonna be an 'ot one, it does," she said
with an angelic smile as he turned around.

"Hot as hades I would imagine."  He eyed her suspiciously but Dawn quickly retreated down the street
.  Taking refuge behind the corner of a building and scanning the street for any sign of pursuit, she relished the tartly sweet fruit with a chuckle, threw the apple core over her shoulder, then continued nonchalantly on her way.

London
's tradesmen and wealthier merchants were opening up their shutters, briskly setting up shops and stalls to display their wares.  Passing by a window showcasing china and glassware, Dawn felt a prick of nostalgia, remembering those days long ago when she'd helped her father with this morning routine.  It seemed a lifetime ago.   Now she and stole from men like her father.  Any twinge of guilt she might have felt was washed away, however, by terrible memories of the Fleet and days and nights spent wandering the streets.  No one had offered her comfort.  It was just as Black John said, "every man for 'isself!"

Thievery and trickery was the life she’d become accustomed to.
  True to his word Black John Dunn had  tirelessly  trained Dawn and Robbie in their new vocation.  But Dawn still remembered the fine manner in which she and her brother had once lived, and she could never quite seem to push her dream of being a lady permanently from her mind.  Someday, she knew, she'd be just like one of those brightly dressed peacocks she saw strutting around on the arms of handsome young dandies or riding in shiny black landaus.  Now those so-called
gentlemen
carefully avoided her, but one day she'd see a looks of admiration replace their expression of scorn.  Until then she'd have to make due with her present circumstances.  Above all, Dawn was a survivor.  Experience had taught her that she had to be.

"Here's yer rare holland socks, four pairs a shi
lling!"  The cobbled streets were slowly but certainly becoming crowded with tradesmen, hawkers and shoppers.  Dawn's specialty was handkerchiefs, a skill she'd been taught right from the first.  Satin and lace confections fetched a moderately decent price at the rag fair in Rosemary Lane or at its rival, Petticoat Lane, where second-hand clothing was bought, then sold again.  Robbie's skill lay in filching purses and pocketbooks. In their thieves’ circle both were credited with having a touch as light as the stroke of a butterfly's wing.

I oughtta be able to find me quite a lot of fancy wipes among this bunch
, she thought, eyeing each person that passed with a calculating eye.  Adroitly she weaved in and out of the crowd in search of  prizes to be plundered.  She did not see the tall chimney sweep that loomed in her way until she ran headlong into him.

"Omphhhh....!"  Black soot and ashes smudged her clothing from head to toe.  Grumbling, she brushed herself off.  "Watch where yer goin', ya blinkin' arse!" she scolded, even though th
e accident had been her fault.

"Sorry, Miss!"  He grinned, dabbing at her soiled gray cotton dress with large boned hands.  His efforts only worsened the problem until Dawn uttered a string of swear words, gave him a look of contempt and crossed the street. "I sweep yer chimneys clean o', sweep yer chimney's clean o," she heard him warble wistfully.

Suddenly a hand reached out to grab her shoulder.  Frightened, Dawn whirled around, expecting to be accosted by someone taking her to toll for her thievery a couple of blocks back.  Instead she found he brother's deep blue eyes appraising her.

"Ya looks as if yer was out fer a bleedin' stroll.   Step lively, sister dear.  Surely there mus' be some bloke wot looks profitable.  It's not me intent to roam the bloody streets all mornin'.  I got better things ta do wi' me time.  Can't be wat
chin's o'er you every minute."

"Watch over
me
?  Ha!" Indignantly Dawn put her hands on her hips.  "It's
me
wot watches over
you
.  Makin' certain ya don't go lurkin' all bloomin' mornin' in Weasel's tavern."

"And if I does?"  Robbie'
s brows danced up in question.

"I'll box yer ears, I will!  I won't lose me bro' to the likes o' gin."  Her frown softened.  "I love ya, Rob.  I'd protect ya wi' me life if I had ta.  Jus' you and me.  "At's all wot's important.  As long as we got each other we don't need nobody else."  Though Dawn was younger by two years than Robbie
, she guarded him.  Since the death of their mother it had always been that way.

"Yeh?  Well...."  Robbie caught his thumbs in the waistband of his patched trousers.  "But ya ain't me mum.  I want t
a get meself a staike in a card gaime, I do.  Profit twofold offen me skills."  His pouting mouth challenged her to tell him nay.  Instead Dawn merely sighed.  "I only answers to meself."

"Do wot ye will, Rob, but be careful, I say.  If ye ask me, yer gettin' a bit too cocksure
, and one o' these morns it'll do ye in, it wil!  Weasel is not to be trusted.  He'll fleece ye.  Just wait and see.  His flash house is the devil's own lair."   She snorted disdainfully.  "Even a thief must have some honor.  Besides, it ain't good ter steal more than we need plus Black John's  share.  It wouldn't do ter get caught."                           

"Caught?  Me?"  Holding up his hands he wiggled his fingers, proving his dexterity.  "No one can 'old a candle ta me.  Fastest fin
gers on Fleet Street, I 'ave."

"It taikes more 'n speed, I dare saiy."  She threw up her hands.  Black John had turned Robbie's head with his abundant praise.  "The truth i
s a thief needs luck as well."

"Luck?  I got 'at in abundance, I do."  He nodded in the direction of a rotund man dressed in tan pantaloons, cambric shirt and dark brown velvet frock coat.  "'E 'as the look o' wealth about 'im I dare saiy.  I wager I can lift 'is purse 'afore
'e can blink an eye.  Watch."

"No, Robbie...."  She might as well have been whistling in the wind for all the attention he paid
her.  Robbie always taunted  Dawn for her caution, and she was the one Black John took to task for not filching enough goods.

"It's  beneath 'er dignity," he would growl disparagingly.  "she thinks she's a blinkin' laidy,   she does.  A laidy in a rogue's court.  Laidy Rogue, she is."  It was a nickname that had endured, though Dawn had come to feel pride in it.  La
dy Rogue.  She liked the name.

Now Dawn wished Robbie
had just a bit of her  reserve.  She watched uneasily as Robbie approached the well-dressed, preening, top-hatted man.  There were too many people around.  It made her fidgety.  Robbie was taking  a risk.  One toff's purse was not worth hanging for, nor even going to prison for.  There wasn't enough money in the whole wide world worth a man's freedom.

Quickly she inched her way forward, watching as Robbie slashed the strings of the man's money pouch with a deft flick of his wrist.  His eyes were sparkling with triumph, a grin cut its way from ear to ear as he winked in he
r direction.  Taking the bulging pouch in one grubby hand and hefting it confidently in his closed fist, Robbie strutted back across the street.  He didn't realize that he had been observed, but Dawn saw a cadaverously thin man dressed in black move forward.

"Robbie....!"  Dawn gasped
, gesticulating wildly. The dark-garbed man had the stealthy look of a Bow Street Runner.  Now he was following her brother step by step.  "Robbie!"

"Thief!  Thief!"  The  cry rang through the air
.  Others had seen Robbie's deed.  "Catch him."

"Bloody damn!"  Dawn's warning had come too late.  Now she watched in helpless horror as a crowd of several blue-suited men closed in.  Dear God, Robbie was cornered!  "Robbie...!"  she shouted again.  Vi
sions of his capture assailed her, but her brother was as agile and as cunning as a cat.  Pushing into the pudding and pie man, he overturned the cart, vaulting over it to safety as he threw the pouch Dawn's way.  The money bag sailed over the heads of Robbie's pursuers to land in Dawn's outstretched hands.  With reflex action born of years of practice she juggled it like a hot potato, then clutched it to her bosom, watching as Robbie sprinted down the street, vanishing into the crowd.

"To the Dial!"  she heard him say.  He was heading to 
Seven Dials, that haven of safety amidst the rookeries, where seven streets intersected.  If he made it there quickly he would lose his pursuers, for no one could tell down which street a thief had fled when that trickery of subterfuge was used.

"That young woman has your purse, Sir!"  A bootblack boy added his voice to the tumult
, pointing unflinchingly in Dawn's direction.  Like a tide the throng of pursuers changed direction in mid-stride as she took to her heels.  From the looks on their faces, she'd get no mercy from anyone in the square.

Purposefully Dawn followed her brother's example and tipped over a fruit peddler's cart, scattering apples, oranges and pears all over the cobbled street.  The men following after her slipped and stumbled, giving her at least a head start.  Flitting across the road on legs made agile by desperation, she used her wits to avoid capture.  Changing direction several times, she confused her pursuers.  The ominous shadow of Newgate goaded her on to run, run, run  even when she was too winded to go on.  How much long
er could she outdistance them?

Dawn's eyes darted from one side of the street to the other as she frantically sought a place to hide and catch her breath.  The open door of a shiny black carriage offered haven
. Her wish had been granted.  A
toff's
carriage, she thought, the last place her followers would think to look.  Scrambling inside, closing the door behind her, Dawn shrank back into the shadows, throwing herself to the soft rug on the floor.  Anxiously she counted to ten, listening as the sound of clomping feet stampeded past the coach's window.

"Go on, ye blighters," she breathed, feeling much like the fox at a foxhunt.  This time she had bested the hounds and she felt the
exhilaration such a thought provoked.  "Let them run their bloomin' legs off-- they'll never catch me now." 

L
ifting her head, she peered cautiously out the oblong window as the swarm of men moved off in the distance.  They looked like a group of angry ants, she reflected, stifling a triumphant giggle with the back of her hand.  With avid interest she watched until they were out of sight, then leaned her head against the padded leather seat, closing her eyes.

"What the devil!" 

Dawn’s head snapped around to look at the man who owned the rich baritone voice. Bloody hell! She wasn’t safe yet.

"Well....?"  With a snort of exasper
ation a tall  man jerked the door open and eyed Dawn up and down with obvious irritation.  "Who are you?"  Seeing the surprise and apprehension clearly etched on her face, he guessed the answer.  "You're the one they were looking for."

"No....no!"  Dawn stared back into the bold blue eyes
. She was apprehensive, but even so a spark of defiance lit her eyes.  "Suppose 'at they were?  Wot's it ter ya?" 
Bloody bastard
, she thought.  He was probably afraid she'd soil his fine carriage.  Oh, she knew the type all right.  His well-tailored garments, the arrogance in his manner, his precise manner of speech proclaimed his wealth.  A rich bloke.

"Just curious."  He quirked a brow, clutching at a stack of papers as he too
k a step closer.  "Were they?"