eight
Five years later
FOR AN EXPERT thief like Violante, nothing was more exciting than a busy pavement in central London, filled with rich people. Very rich, judging by the silk, jewels, and fine coats around. Rich and distracted. They didn’t pay attention to women like her who kept their heads down and brushed past them in a hurry. A little bump, a quick hand, and a wallet fat with banknotes would change the owner.
Violante pulled up her scarf over her face and her hat down to her nose, holding her basket more tightly. Rich people might be distracted, but covering her face was always a good idea. She inhaled the faint, mouldy smell of her scarf. No matter how many times she washed it, the worn wool stank. But then again, London’s air was no better. Coal and horse dung formed a powerful odour that stung her nostrils.
Where should she start? The gentleman just come out of his fancy club? The lady followed by a footman who carried all her shopping boxes?
She was spoilt for choice, but she didn’t want to get too greedy lest someone spot her. In the five years she’d lived on the streets, she’d had more brushes with the coppers than she would care to admit. Speed was good, but haste was dangerous.
Her stomach gave a loud roar, reminding her that the last thing she’d eaten had been a slice of pork pie two days ago. Maybe three.
She searched around, checking the jewels and the pockets. With that lady’s bracelet, she could feed herself for weeks on end, and with that gentleman’s pocket watch, she could rent a room. Something decent with a stove and clean bedsheets with no bugs. Not that dump she shared with rats and cutthroats. Her fingers itched for action. She wouldn’t steal more than a couple of things. Besides, she was too tired and hungry to lift more than a wallet. Hunger interfered with her usual speed and efficiency. If someone noticed her, she wouldn’t be able to run for more than a handful of minutes.
After all the years of struggling to survive, stealing, and cheating, the pang of guilt for committing a crime still bothered her. She’d only become a quicker pickpocket to push down the guilt and do what she had to. Although stealing from George the Blade, the rookery’s mobster, hadn’t brought her any guilt but instead a lot of trouble. If George found her, hunger would be the last of her problems.
A tall, broad gentleman in a fine dark suit caught her eye. His silk hat and gloves marked him as a rich one. A golden chain hung from the pocket of his shiny waistcoat. Surely, it was a pocket watch. Pocket watches were highly requested in the black market, sold for at ten pounds apiece. She might lift his wallet, too. Then she’d flee towards the gutter where people like her belonged.
Keeping her head down and her feet quick, she weaved through the crowd, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. Rich people didn’t like meeting poor people’s gazes. Those gazes reminded them of their humanity. Eye contact was also potentially problematic for her. The scandal around the Sharpe family had been long forgotten, especially since the Fenians hadbecome less active. But she didn’t want to meet someone who had lost a loved one because of the Fenians and had the brilliant idea of venting their anger on her.
The gentleman walked a few feet in front of her. Goodness, he was a broad and strapping one with bouncy dark hair and strong shoulders. Even his arms were thick. Better be quick. She didn’t want to get caught by him. She might choose another target, but that lady’s footman didn’t look less intimidating.
The tip of her big toe appeared through a hole in her shoes, and she winced as the bitter cold numbed her feet. No, she wouldn’t get enough from the watch to buy food, rent a room, buy new clothes, and also a new pair of shoes. She hadn’t bought a new pair of shoes in years. At best, she could find a discarded one along the banks of the Thames.
Her target hurried on. She sped up lest she lose him. Taking a deep breath, she pushed onwards to perform her quick, bumping move.
“Careful, madam,” the man said in a deep voice when she bumped into him.
“I’m sorry.” She brushed past him, snatching the watch. She dropped it in her basket and strode forwards without looking back.
Madam. The man had called her madam. No one called her madam.
Her pulse thundered as she tried not to slip on the wet cobbles. Only a few yards, then she would vanish in a dark alleyway leading to a maze of side streets that only people like her knew. The gentleman would never know what had happened to his precious watch.
She cut through the crowd and paused only to inhale the delicious scent of freshly baked bread. Nothing was more mouthwatering than freshly baked bread, when a slice was so hot that the butter would melt on it, releasing all its fragrance.Another cramp of hunger twisted her stomach. She shouldn’t think of food; it made hunger worse.
The street tilted for a moment. Nothing new. Her energy was rather low. To safety now. She exhaled once as she slid into the alleyway. Finally, a moment of respite. She leant against the brick wall and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was safe now. Thank good?—
Quick footsteps thundered into the alleyway. “Excuse me.”
She glanced behind her.Drat. It was the gentleman, striding towards her with all the power his strong legs provided. She ran, her scarf nearly unravelling.
“Stop.” The man was in full pursuit.
She sped up, breathing heavily. Her stomach cramped again, and she had to take a breather. Gosh. The pain was like a stab in her belly.
“You stole my watch.” The man hounded her. His heavy footsteps sounded dangerously close.
She turned a corner, but the brick walls closed in on her as her head became light. The world spun. A firm hand grabbed her arm, but she didn’t have the strength to shrug herself free. Oh, not now. Not another fainting.
“You—” The man’s face swept into focus. Harsh features delineated his male beauty. His intense dark eyes sucked her in. They were so dark the pupils weren’t distinguishable.
There was only one man with such deep black eyes like a bottomless abyss.
He faltered, his grip easing. “Violante?” he whispered in disbelief.
She didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter because two men appeared from behind him. Her heart jumped to her throat. George the Blade and his henchman from the rookery were staring at her.
