Moriarty Meets His Match: A Professor & Mrs. Moriarty Mystery (The Professor & Mrs. Moriarty Mystery Series Book 1) (9 page)

Peg chuckled, and Angelina shot her a quelling glance. Love was love. “I understand, darling, and I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Not good enough.” Lucy shook her head. “He admires you. Anyone can see it. He follows you everywhere and does whatever you ask. But his father won’t let him marry you; you’re too common. His lordship prefers me, as far as that part goes. I want you to make Reginald propose to me.”

“My lady, I’m really not sure I can —”

“Yes. You can if you want to. You’re clever. Look at how you’ve fooled everyone.” Lucy’s eyes gleamed. She held the whip hand here and she knew it. “Make him propose to me by the Hainstone fête. That gives you about two weeks. During the fête would be even better; then we can announce it to everyone on the spot and he won’t be able to back out.”

Angelina traded glances with Peg. They had two weeks to find the letters and scarper or to figure out another way out of this spot. The clock began to chime the three-quarter hour. She’d run out of time to bargain. “I’ll do it. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way. And now I really, really must go.”

“One more thing,” Lucy said. “I want part of the swag, or part of the money. Whatever it is you get. I need some new bits and bobs. I feel so dowdy, especially in black. I’d love some new jet earrings.”

Another share of the profits, but she could hardly refuse. Angelina heaved another sigh and nodded her agreement. She devoutly hoped Mrs. Colonel Oxwich had a taste for the fancy.

Chapter Nine

Angelina walked down to Piccadilly as quickly as she could without attracting attention. She found Sandy and Zeke waiting in a line of other cabs at Hyde Park Corner. Sandy opened the doors with his lever and she hopped in.
So
much easier in trousers! Speaking to her henchmen through the trap door in the roof, she asked, “Aren’t we worried about all the people still out and about? There seem to be cabs galore, to say nothing of the gents toing and froing from their clubs.”

“It’s best this way, Miss.” Zeke’s thin face filled the square hole. “What’s one more cabbie ’anging about, ’oping for a fare? Less remarkable, is what I mean.”

They made their way into darkest Belgravia and dropped the boy at a corner near the colonel’s block of elegant terraces. Sandy pulled up alongside a narrow square and let Angelina out. He handed the reins without a word to a boy in an enormous greatcoat who happened to be idling on the pavement.

“Who was that?” she inquired as they crossed the square.

“Rolly. A pal of Zeke’s.” Sandy flashed her a grin. “It’s a two-boy job.”

“Another split?” She was thinking about her dresses. With Lucy, they now had seven partners divvying up the goods.

“He’ll be content with a few bob. He hasn’t anything else to do.”

“Hmm.” Angelina knew there were urchins aplenty in London, with families too poor to mind them or no family at all. But knowing was not the same as liking. When they got through the current crisis, she and Peg would set up housekeeping somewhere handy to the theater district. They’d need a smart lad to run errands and black boots. Perhaps she could find a place for this Rolly.

They slipped into an alley and found Zeke peeking out a garden door. He’d scampered up the wall and into the basement through a window, where he’d snagged the housekeeper’s key ring. Now the three thieves strolled easily in through the back door, wiping their feet on the mat.

“Let’s start with the library.” Sandy spoke in a normal voice, a shade softer than usual. Whispers carried over garden walls with their unusual hissings and hushings.

They made their way down the darkened hall and up the stairs, climbing in single file. Like every other house of this design, the library occupied the best room on the first floor. The drapes across the front windows had been drawn and the fire in the hearth properly banked. Zeke and Sandy used spunks to light the hooded lanterns they’d carried under their loose coats. Sandy had even brought an extra small one.

Of course they needed light; they were searching for documents. That sensible preparation did more to reassure Angelina than any other part of this whole mad plan.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said to Zeke now that she could see him properly. He had bright blue eyes and nice features under the layer of grime.

“Ezekiel Prendergast, at your service.” He bowed deeply with one hand folded across his chest.

“Prendergast?” she echoed in her plummiest accent.

“Too much?” He straightened up and rubbed his nose. “’Ow about Smyvvering? Got a nice ring to it, doncha fink?”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider it. “Let's keep trying. Names are important. They tell folks what sort of a bloke you are.”

Zeke grinned and turned to shine his lantern around the room, revealing a well-appointed gentleman’s repose with an astonishing arsenal of exotic weaponry displayed above the marble mantelpiece: a set of bow and arrows, various curved knives, a long curved sword with a painted sheath, and a gun with an intricately decorated stock that looked to be as long as Zeke was tall.

“Coo! Look at all them fancy pig-stickers! Must be worth a bleedin’ fortune,” Zeke said. “Do we bag ’em?”

“Best to leave them,” Sandy said. “They’d be tricky to sell. They’re from Afghanistan, very rare and very old. Stolen, I shouldn’t doubt, from looted houses.”

The bitterness in his tone set Angelina’s intuition humming. “You speak as if you know this Colonel Oxwich. Was he a cavalry man as well?”

“He still is. And yes, I knew him.” Sandy smiled grimly at her, his face made devilish by the wavering yellow light of the lanterns. “Everything in this house was stolen, one way or another. Oxwich is a far slicker thief than we are, Mrs. Gould.”

“Oh, call me Lina, I beg you!” Angelina gestured at her tailcoat and trousers. “I think I’ve proved I’m not a lady tonight. We’re a gang, we three. Let’s leave off the formalities.”

“As you wish, Lina. Let’s get to work.” He directed his beam around the bookshelves, across the desk, and into a far corner, where a small safe stood next to a bank of oak file drawers. “I’ll tackle those files. You take the desk. Zeke, start collecting the pawnables.”

“Wish Rolly could’ve come inside wiv us,” Zeke said. “’E’d make quick work of that safe.”

Angelina seated herself at the desk. She set her lantern to cast its light on the drawers and crossed the fingers of both hands for luck. While she opened drawers and scanned papers for traces of Sebastian’s handwriting, she thought about Zeke’s high-flown taste in surnames. Who was she to find fault? She’d been born Buddle, then made her name as Lovington for a decade or so until the Chairman invented the Amazing Archers and rechristened them all on the spot. After that wicked young baron had deserted her in Rome, she’d reinvented herself as Angelica Della Rosa, an Italian contessa from a decayed family, bravely making her own way by singing light opera. That had lasted until she’d met Victor Gould in San Francisco. She’d taken his name for simplicity’s sake, though they’d never actually married. They’d had fun though, for two glorious years until he’d gotten the mining fever again and gone south to Bolivia to meet his doom.

He’d left her enough to move to New York and a name that opened doors, if dropped to the right people at the right moment. She hadn’t given any thought to what she would call herself when this game was over. It would depend on where she ended up. A good name reflected as well as enhanced your circumstances.

“Jiminy!” Zeke cried. “Dis fing weighs a ton!” He was balanced on the hearth screen trying to lift a large obsidian clock with a gold sphinx on the top.

“Leave it, then,” Sandy said. “Try the butler’s pantry for the silver. That’s the best bet anyway for cash value.”

Zeke hopped down and flashed a salute at Sandy on his way out.

Now that she’d seen the clock, Angelina couldn’t stop hearing its heavy
click-clack, click-clack,
ticking off the minutes until the footman returned. They didn’t have much time, not if they were going to lug sacks of booty out to the garden and wait for Sandy to fetch the cab around.

She pulled the drawers all the way out to shine her lantern into the depths of the desk, hoping to find a packet tacked up underneath somewhere. No such luck. She sighed. “You’d think Teaberry would trust an army colonel with his secrets.”

“I had hoped we’d find them here,” Sandy said. “It might have redeemed the old scoundrel a little, in a roundabout sort of way.” There was that bitter tone again.

“What happened to you, Sandy?” Angelina asked softly. “I wish you’d tell me. I know you weren’t born a cabman; your accent speaks privilege with every syllable. Eton first, wasn’t it? Then Oxford or Cambridge?”

“Oxford,” he answered and then fell silent. When he began to speak again, he kept his eyes on the files, now and then pulling out the odd sheet to give it a closer look. “My father is William Sandy, Sixth Viscount Draycott.”

“My stars! Your family must be frantic about you!”

“Not even a little ruffled.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I have two older brothers to sustain the family name. I only spent two years at university before getting sent down for a stupid prank: a sunrise cab race around the quad in which a boy was badly injured. I’d pulled such stunts before, so my father made good on his threats and bought me an office. Second lieutenant in the cavalry. Things started out well enough. I liked the army, both the discipline and the camaraderie. Travel broadened my view of life. It’s not too much to say it made a man of me. I rose to captain fairly quickly. The men liked me and I liked them. It was a good life, for a while.”

“What changed?”

He shrugged and shot her a quick glance. “My luck, I guess. I’d had my run. A large sum of money went missing from the company accounts during my turn as Officer of the Mess. The sergeant testified against me and his lies were supported by my superior officer, our friend Samuel Oxwich, a mere major at the time. They’d been doing the embezzling, the greedy bastards, getting bolder by the month. They picked me as their scapegoat because Oxwich’s daughter had shown a liking for me and he didn’t fancy me as a son-in-law. And because they knew I was a trusting sort of simpleminded fool.”

“Oh, Sandy! I’m so sorry.”

Another shrug. He was willing to talk — he’d wanted to talk — but wasn’t accepting any sympathy.

“I was cashiered and sent home with my reputation in ruins. My family disowned me by overseas post. I took my time sailing home, kicking around Africa a little, southern France, doing this and that. When I finally got back to London, I spent a few chilly weeks feeling sorry for myself and then followed my nose to the nearest hackney stable. One year of hard work later and I had my own cab and pair. And no regrets, I might add. I like this life. I’m freer than I ever was and twice as useful.”

But all alone. What kind of family would turn their backs on such a man? The thought made Angelina’s blood boil. She let a small silence grow to honor the end of his sad story and then offered what she had. “We’re not exactly honorable, we Archers. We were brought up to think the rules are there to make the pigeons easier to pluck. But we’re loyal to each other when push comes to shove. For what little we’re worth, you’re welcome to us.”

Sandy stopped still, his hands suspended over the drawer. He looked at her with the sweetest expression of astonishment and gratitude, breaking her heart for him again. “That’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Angelina made herself a solemn vow to see that kinder things were said and done as soon as she could arrange them. She’d find this man just the right sort of wife as soon as she sorted out the twins’ present crisis.

Zeke barged through the door with a sack in his arms. “D’ye fink I can toss this lot out the winder? There’s the most magnificent hellyphant, sitting on his fat arse, waving ’is four harms, all gold and shining bits. It’d fetch a mint, Guv’nor. Or we could keep it, couldn’t we? Fig up our digs a bit?”

“An elephant?” Angelina frowned at Sandy, who chuckled. “A statue of one of the Hindu gods from India, I imagine.” To Zeke he said, “Too rare, old Cock. Hard to sell.”

“Besides,” Angelina said, “we’re not here to collect souvenirs.” She eyed the half-empty sack. “Is that all the plate they have in the house?”

“One silver tea set, one silver platter. The rest is the gray kind. Not so pretty. Wot’s it called? Puker?”

“Pewter,” Sandy said. “Probably not worth the effort.” He and Angelina traded doubtful glances. “What’s the old crook doing with his money, I wonder? I’m not seeing papers from an estate or other houses.”

“Whatever he’s got is doubtless in that safe we can’t open.” Angelina turned back to Zeke. “Why don’t you trot that sack down to the garden and come back for some books. We should take the most recent ones for Viola to study at home.”

“Books!” Zeke shone his lantern across the shelves lining two walls of the library, loaded up to the ceiling with leather-bound volumes. “We can’t carry all them books! Fink of poor Reckless!” Reckless must have been the name of Sandy’s horse.

Sandy said, “We don’t need all of them. Only the ledgers.”

“Ledges? Big flat ones, you mean?”

“That’s right,” Angelina said. “Look for a set of matching ones on a low shelf. A big flat book full of numbers.”

Zeke’s small face took on a crafty look. “Numbers, eh?”

She doubted the boy could read. Another thing to attend to once this crisis was past. She really ought to start making a list.

The boy turned his lantern toward the safe. “I’d rather take a crack at that Chubb.”

“We can’t get into it without the combination,” Angelina said. “But that’s where the letters are, most likely, if they’re here at all. They’re certainly not in this desk.” She rose and shone her lantern along the lowest shelves of books. “I’ll help you with the ledgers, Zeke. Although what the police will say when the colonel reports these missing along with his tea service, I cannot begin to imagine.”

“They’ll fink we’re plottin’ somefing even bigger,” Zeke said. “They’ll make us famous, they will.”

“Heaven forfend! The last thing we need is notoriety.” Angelina opened a few ledgers to check the dates on the first and last pages, setting the ones from the past year in a stack.

Zeke left his lantern near her. “Eyes like a cat, that’s me.” He took his sack of booty downstairs and returned in a few minutes. Then he opened another of the gunny sacks they’d brought and filled it with the ledgers. “Never thought I’d fall so low as to find meself pinchin’ paper,” he grumbled.

“Aha!” Sandy pulled a sheet from the files and waved it at them.

“Sebastian’s letters?” Angelina leapt across the room and snatched the sheet from his hand.

“No, sorry. But the next best thing.” He shone his lantern on the page so she could read it. “It’s the receipt from Chubb & Sons Lock and Safe Company, with the combination printed on the bottom. The blithering idiot! You’re supposed to cut that portion off.”