The Trouble With Moonlight (2 page)

She quickly turned and entered the house. What to do now? He was tempted to storm the house and demand to know how she had palmed the necklace. However, storming a widow’s home at such a disrespectful hour might raise a bit of unwanted attention. Better to observe the mysterious widow, make a few inquiries, and discover where her allegiances lay before making any rash moves.

A welcome breeze surrounded him with the strange floral fragrance he’d noted earlier. He took a deep breath, reliving the fascinating memory of all he didn’t see in the study. The widow’s techniques would certainly make her a formidable spy. That gave him pause. He glanced back up at the residence, noting the address. It shouldn’t be difficult to gather a bit of information about her tomorrow once the working world was about. He noted a shift at the draperies, then turned to retrace the path to Lord Pembroke’s house where his own carriage waited.

“HOW DID IT GO, DEAR?” AUNT EUGENIA ASKED.

Lusinda Havershaw hurried to the front window to peek out between the drapes. The lacy veil obscured her vision, but she didn’t dare move it until she was certain . . .

“Someone saw me tonight.”

“Oh dear!” Her aunt, a thickened, bespectacled, and older version of Lusinda herself, hurried to the window to add her scrutiny to the street. “Were you followed?”

“I’m not certain.” Lusinda tugged at her black gloves. “I had thought I had lost him once I reached the outside of the house, but there was a strange man on the pavement just now. I think he was watching me.”

She removed her hat and veil, then tossed them to the well-worn settee. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed two bells. Aunt Eugenia readjusted the draperies before turning toward her niece. She gasped.

“Dear heavens, I don’t suppose I’ll ever become accustomed to seeing you like that.”

Lusinda smiled, although she knew no one could see it. She had peeked at a mirror once when she was in full-phase. Viewing the headless dress reflected there had shocked even herself. She had avoided mirrors while in phase ever since.

She opened her reticule and retrieved the beautiful ruby necklace she had liberated from Pembroke’s safe. “Mrs. Farthington will be very happy to see we reclaimed her necklace. I hope she can keep it out of the hands of her foolish husband this time.”

“I hope she doesn’t.” Aunt Eugenia took the necklace from Lusinda’s invisible hand to store in their parlor safe hidden beneath a chintz tablecloth. She lifted the flowery fabric and inserted an ornately carved key into the exposed keyhole. “We make more money if he gambles it away. A woman on her own can never have enough money, dear, especially with four mouths to feed and a household to run.”

“Sinda?”

Lusinda turned quickly to see her youngest sister, Rhea, in the hallway. The sight of the eight-year-old clutching a bedraggled velveteen kitten brought a smile to her lips.

“I’m here, my sweet.”

“But I can’t see you,” the little one said with a yawn.

The child’s lament pulled at Lusinda’s heart. It was bad enough Rhea would never know her own mother, and then to add a sometimes invisible sister to the situation must certainly lead to insecurities. Thank heavens Rhea had Portia, the normal sister, and Aunt Eugenia to turn to on moonlit nights. Lusinda swooped the sleepy-eyed child into her arms while her aunt hastily closed the family safe. “You can feel me all around you.” She nuzzled the top of the little blonde head. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

She cast a disapproving glance at her aunt, but of course, her aunt was oblivious to her expression.

“I had a bad dream.” The child reached up and touched her face. “I thought you were gone.”

“The moon is still full and the stars are awake.” Lusinda kissed Rhea’s fingers. “Go back to bed, sweet angel, and tomorrow morning you’ll see me just fine.”

“Come on, little miss. I’ll see you back to bed.” Aunt Eugenia patted the child on the back.

The little girl puckered her lips in a kiss, while Lusinda moved her cheek to meet them. “Good night, Sinda.” Rhea clenched the ear of her bedraggled kitten, then proceeded to climb the stairs using both hands and feet.

“Your blessed mother would be proud of the way you’ve taken care of the girls,” Eugenia said as she passed by Lusinda, “as am I.”

“Thank you, Auntie.” Eugenia’s appreciation of her efforts warmed her like a welcome cup of tea. She stooped to kiss her aunt’s cheek as well, but as the older woman couldn’t see her, Eugenia continued by without pausing to receive the affectionate tribute. Lusinda’s pursed lips met only air.

A familiar jab of frustration stabbed at her, reminding her of the loneliness that went hand in hand with her unique ability. She had no choice but to accept her fate. She sighed. Anger couldn’t change what God had made. Better to concentrate on providing for her family, which brought her thoughts back to tonight.

Lusinda doused the oil lamps on the mantel and the gas jets on the wall before returning to the parlor window. She’d been spotted. Consequences always followed a sighting. At best the rumors of ghosts and headless horsemen would resurface; at worst they would need to once again find a new home. What would it be like not to schedule one’s existence according to the phases of the moon? To not constantly worry about being labeled the devil’s child or a witch? Perhaps she was being too vigilant. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about. Still, an uneasiness settled heavy about her heart.

THE NEXT MORNING, JAMES SPOTTED THE QUAINT TOWN house easily enough. Although the flowers that had bloomed so enchantingly in the moonlight were closed and twisted tight, he remembered the location and the glimmer of the brass plaque by the door. How could he forget it? Late into the wee hours of the morning, he had contemplated the mystery woman and her magnificent feats of magic—if, indeed, they were magic. One way or another, he was determined to find out.

Already he had learned through inquisition of the neighboring merchants that a widow, Mrs. Eugenia Gertrude, and her three nieces had rented the residence. The information pleased him as it validated his sighting of a widow the evening before.

The town house faced a park, so he found an empty bench and watched the front of the house. The day stretched on with no remarkable activity. Indeed he had invested enough time on that hard bench to have read his copy of the
Illustrated Times
five times, front to back. Waiting in the open air, however, would never again prove a hardship, not after all he had endured. Thank God he served the British Empire and earned their intervention when needed the most.

The rattle of an approaching closed carriage interrupted his thoughts. It rumbled to a stop in front of the town house. Watching with interest, he observed the rather broad Mrs. Farthington exit and climb the few steps to the town house with difficulty. She was ushered inside without incident.

James felt a smile pull at his lips. Mrs. Farthington’s husband, a gentleman who, it had been rumored, had fallen on some desperate times, was well known around the gambling hells Pembroke frequented. He’d be willing to bet that the Farthingtons were the link between the mystery widow and Lord Pembroke’s safe. James stood and nonchalantly crossed the street, moving closer to the front of the house.

When Mrs. Farthington reemerged thirty minutes later, Locke was ready. He hailed a cab to follow her home. The mystery widow did not realize it, but the noose about her enchanting neck was about to tighten.

JAMES HADN’T ENGAGED IN DISGUISE SINCE HIS TRAVELING days with a caravan crossing the Karakum Desert in central Asia. He affixed a bushy mustache that made his upper lip all but disappear, then added bushy eyebrows as well. Padding thickened his waist and gave him a bit of a belly. He covered it all with an unfashionable tweed jacket, knickerbockers, and gaiters. He checked his image in the mirror, confident that if the widow had glimpsed him in Pembroke’s study, she certainly wouldn’t recognize him now. With spirited determination, he journeyed to the widow’s address and rang the bell. He glanced at the brass plaque by the door, “Appointments during daylight only.” What in the devil did that mean?

A cat, black as the widow’s gown, jaunted up the steps and wove its lithe body between his legs. “What have we here?”

He scooped the cat up in his arms and was giving it a good scratch between the ears when the door opened.

“Oh my.” The stout woman held her hands out for the cat. “Has our Shadow been digging in your gardens? I’m so sorry.”

“Not at all.” Disappointment clawed at his throat. Although the woman at the door was dressed in widow’s weeds, she certainly couldn’t be the same woman he had observed leaving the brougham. Her height was about right. However, he would have taken an oath that she had been a bit thinner last evening. Perhaps the moonlight had played tricks with his vision. If so, it wouldn’t have been the first time last evening. He cleared his throat. “No, this fellow just joined me on the step.” He handed the cat over to its owner. “I had hoped to see the lady of the house.”

“I suppose that would be me, sir.” She stroked the cat’s head and studied Locke from her position in the doorway.

“Oh!” He snatched the brown bowler from his head. “I’m Laurence Langtree.” He cast a nervous eye to the street. “I’m told that we might be able to do business.”

“Is that so?” She cocked her head and frowned. “And what kind of business would that be?”

Mrs. Farthington had prepared him for this very question. He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a conspirator’s hiss. “Recovery business.”

Her face brightened. “Then I suppose you should come in so we can talk.” She backed from the doorway to let him cross the threshold, then steered him to the front parlor.

He quickly surveyed the room, absorbing the intelligence the furnishings offered. An ornate grandfather clock complete with a lunar phase dial immediately caught his attention. It was clearly the most valuable piece of furniture in the cluttered room. However, if he wasn’t mistaken, that bump beneath the flowery tablecloth hid the lock mechanism for a small safe. He smiled, remembering his last encounter with a safe and his purpose in being here.

“I have been advised that you possess, shall we say, some remarkable attributes in the area of recovery.” He fidgeted, waiting for the woman to sit. The furnishings, though frayed about the edges, were clean and welcoming. Not the normal abode for a thief of extraordinary talents.

“I, sir?” The woman smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. She sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and he followed suit. She pushed her lenses up higher on the bridge of her nose. “Whoever told you that?”

“I am loath to name sources. I wish to respect privacy whenever possible.”

“In that case, I’m afraid you are mistaken, Mr. . . .”

“Langtree. Laurence Langtree,” he said with a broad smile that he hoped would earn him the woman’s confidence. He suspected she was not English by birth. His ear detected the undercurrents of a foreign accent, though it was too suppressed to identify as yet. In time, he was sure, it would come to him.

Light footsteps sounded behind him. He tensed.

“Aunt Eugenia, I wonder if you would mind—”

James gained his feet at the sound of a feminine voice and turned, stunned. This was the one. This had to be her. She had a proud straight nose with just the slightest uplift on the end, and the high cheekbones that had molded the veil. Yet, there was so much more. Her eyes were the deep blue of the evening sky just before the sun slipped from view, made all the more striking by her almost luminous skin. It had been wise of her to wear a black veil, he thought with appreciation, for skin like that would outshine the moon.

“Mr. Langtree,” the older woman said, quickly appearing at his side. “Allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Lusinda Havershaw.”

“Miss Havershaw.” He casually bowed, acknowledging the introduction. Even her name suited her, Lusinda, with hair the color of moonlight and, he noted, a curtsy borne of good manners.

“Mr. Langtree believes he has need of your recovery services, ” the aunt said.

“Oh?” Miss Havershaw’s head cocked and intelligent eyes assessed him. He felt a stirring in his bones. Yes, this was the talented one he’d encountered last night. She removed a handkerchief from her serviceable pinafore, then wiped her hands. “I apologize, sir. I was doing a bit of gardening in back.” She motioned for them to sit, while her aunt disappeared in pursuit of refreshments. “What precisely did you wish recovered, Mr. Langtree?”

Not surprising, her voice was as enchanting as her appearance. He was in the presence of an angel. Even her scent was bewitching. Something floral, something familiar . . .

“Mr. Langtree?”

Pull yourself together, man! She’ll think you’re a drooling idiot.
He cleared his throat. “A pocket watch of great sentimental value.”

“You’ve lost your watch?”

“In a manner of speaking, it is in another’s possession.” He watched her amazing eyes. He could almost see the clockwork of her mind, the tumblers clicking . . . Unfortunately, he noticed her eyes narrow as if insulted.

“I’m not a thief, Mr. Langtree.”

“Of course not.”
Liar. A thief is exactly what you are, and one of the best I’ve ever seen.
He smiled, ever so slightly. “The watch belongs to me even though it currently resides in another’s pocket.”

Her brows lifted. “How could such an injustice have ever occurred?”

Sarcasm! He swallowed the grin that threatened to spread across his face, enjoying perhaps a little too much this encounter with the saucy thief.

“The watch was initially . . . my father’s.” He feigned sadness hoping to appear sincere. “As I mentioned, it has great sentimental value.” The aunt reappeared with the basic tea elements on a tray. He accepted the offered teacup and sipped. “My mother decided to gift it to her paramour even though it was not hers to give.”