Chapter Seven
“You’re a cuddler,” Molly said, after they had dozed. “You chased me into this corner of the bed and gave me no quarter until you had your arm around me.” Alice moved to pull her arm back, but Molly grabbed it, fixing it in place on her own waist. “Nah, I like it. I’d have shoved you off if I didn’t.”
“It’s true.” The first rays of sunlight were glinting off Alice’s loose hair. She stretched an arm lazily over her head. “I suppose I ought to get a cat.”
“I don’t think cats go in much for cuddles.” Not the ones Molly had known, at least, but they had mostly been a hungry, rat-obsessed bunch. Perhaps ladies’ cats had different priorities.
“Maybe a dog, then,” Alice said, yawning.
“Or a person,” Molly suggested.
“A person?”
Molly cringed at her own stupidity. “You seem to be doing all right in the bed with me, I mean to say. We could keep on doing this, if you like.”
Well, that woke her up. Molly watched in chagrin as all the sleepiness drained from Alice’s face. “But only for the remainder of the house party,” she said, her voice tight. “After that we’ll have our separate rooms.”
“It doesn’t need to be that way.”
Alice, her face once again set in that bland and harmless mask, glanced away to some point over Molly’s naked shoulder. “I doubt that even Mrs. Wraxhall would tolerate this kind of carrying on under her own roof.”
Was that what they were doing? Carrying on? Molly had thought it was more, something, unlike every bloody connection she had ever made, that might last longer than the other person had use for Molly, that might last longer than it took for the other person to find out what Molly really was.
She climbed out of bed and pulled a fresh shift out of the clothes press. Last night’s was God knew where. “It’s cold as a witch’s tit,” she said briskly. Alice still hadn’t gotten out of bed, and Molly hardly dared look for fear her expression would give her stupidity away. “You ought to get dressed before you catch your death, and then I’ll show you how to pick a lock.”
“I don’t believe you’ll need to teach me how to do that,” Alice said slowly.
“Having second thoughts about tolerating crime? You seemed keen enough on it last night.” Molly ought to be glad. She had no business risking her position. “Just as well, I suppose.”
“What?” Alice seemed genuinely bewildered. “Of course I was. And I am. What I meant was that I know how to pick a lock.”
Molly raised an eyebrow. “And how the devil did you learn to do that?”
“One of my brothers used to get locked in the cupboard as a punishment, and I would let him out after my father had drunk himself into oblivion.”
A real charmer, the vicar. Molly only raised an eyebrow.
“I used to sometimes pay the housemaid’s wages out of the strongbox after my father had fallen asleep,” Alice continued. “Or I would unlock the pantry to get bits of food.”
Bits of food? The way she described it, the vicarage sounded as bad as Newgate. “What do you use? Hairpins?” That was what people always tried first, which was perfectly fine, except—
“A pair of my longest embroidery needles.”
Twenty minutes later, Alice, using fearsome needles that looked like small stilettos more than the sort of thing a lady would use to produce cushions for the front parlor, locked and unlocked the door to their room, her own traveling case, and Mrs. Wraxhall’s jewel box.
“Well, I daresay you’ll be able to manage Tenpenny’s toilette case.”
They settled it between them. Molly would distract Tenpenny’s valet while Alice took the cravat pin. Then Alice would spend the rest of the day downstairs with the ladies and gentlemen, where she belonged, and Molly would try to get used to the idea that she was about to become nothing more than a tawdry memory.
Alice did not think it at all likely that she would develop an appetite for further crime. When she stepped into Mr. Tenpenny’s bedchamber, she expected to be immediately hauled away by thief-takers and magistrates. Instead, it was dark and quiet, the curtains drawn and the fire banked. The pounding of her heart was the loudest thing in the room. She took a deep breath that did nothing to steady her nerves.
Then she pretended that she was at the vicarage, pilfering a bit of bread from the pantry. This was only different in scale, really. Instead of bringing her brother the food he was denied because of their father’s tyranny, she was taking Mr. Tenpenny’s diamond to reclaim the life that was snatched from her. She had nevernotstolen—scraps of food to give to the poor, money for the servants’ wages, little bits and pieces to make things right. She had always thought it a necessary part of living in her father’s house—he didn’t have the moral fortitude to do what was needful, so she did it.
Today would be the first time she had taken for herself.
But it wasn’t only for herself. It was also for Molly. This was a joint venture. They were splitting the proceeds: half would go for Molly to put aside for Katie, and the other half would go for Alice to hire a small house where she could take in lodgers.
It seemed a waste to set up two separate households when they could get by more cheaply together, though. Neither of them was afraid of hard work, and with a bit of economy they could live quite decently and still put money aside. Molly would be able to have Katie with her every day, rather than waiting days and weeks between short visits. Perhaps she could be induced to give up the relative security of her post with Mrs. Wraxhall to run a boarding house with Alice. They could share the work and the profits, which seemed a very sensible and efficient arrangement.
