Page 24 of The Swindler’s Daughter

“Emeline mentioned you planned to go later.”

I blinked. I had mentioned my change in plans to Emeline so that we could adjust our chores. But…“Why would she tell you that?”

He looked ahead, taking a moment to breathe before turning to look me in the eye. “Because I asked.”

His direct gaze made my stomach clench. It was unsettling, yet I couldn’t look away, nor did I want to. There was something delicious about being caught in his eyes. I swallowed. “You asked after me?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes roaming over my face. “I wanted to walk with you. I enjoy our conversations.”

My eyes dropped to the ground, unsure what to make of such a confession. Perhaps he only wanted someone to speak with about Isabel.

Our footsteps crunched over the gravel road. But I couldn’t look at him, much less speak.

“So then,” he said, finally breaking the silence, “why are you leaving at a different time?”

His admission had thrown my thoughts into disarray, so it took me some time to internally debate over whether I wanted him to know my reasons for leaving later. In the end, my need to understand Rowan, as well as Johnny, Oliver, and Tyson, won out. “I’m conducting an experiment.”

“How so?”

“It’s been my habit to get to market early, and upon my last two visits, the constables have been out, more visible and present than I’ve ever seen them. I wanted to go at a different time to see if perhaps they have a habit of interfering early, when the market is busier.”

“Hmm. I believe they make their presence known until the last vendor has packed up their stall.”

“And how do you know that?” I asked with thick skepticism. But then as I looked at him—at his guilty face and knowing gaze—the obvious answer struck me, and I let out a disgusted sigh. “Do you go thieving every week, then?”

“The objective isn’t the theft. We’re trying to balance the scales, to reclaim at least some of what has been stolen. And we don’t only steal from the constables.”

Shock and horror surely blanketed my face. “You steal from others as well?”

He pulled a frustrated hand down his face. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant is that stealing isn’t the only thing we do to help.”

I focused on the road ahead, unsure if that was any better. “What gave you the idea of stealing to help anyway?”

“My wife.”

My feet stuttered and I turned to stare at him in shock. Perhaps his wife was the reason he wanted to speak with me. A small bit of jealousy curled in my chest, but my more prominent feeling was pleasure. I was flattered that he would voluntarily share this part of himself with me. I hadn’t expected him to ever speak of his wife again, much less mention her so casually. “How so?” I managed to ask after my shock wore off.

“The first time I saw Isabel, she was stealing food for herself.”

My heart cried out for young Isabel, knowing what it was like to be that girl.

“She was eleven. I found out later that her parents had died only a few weeks before. She hadn’t been on the streets for long, and she really wasn’t any good at stealing. I was there with my mother, selling our herbs. That was before the apothecary set up his shop in the High Street. My mother and I were familiar with the other vendors. We considered them friends. So when Isabel came along and grabbed a handful of dried meats from the man next to us, I told him I’d go after her.” A small smile curved his mouth. “And I did.”

“Did you catch her?”

“Yes, easily. She was starving and had little strength and no stamina. I cornered her and demanded she return the food. She started crying and handed the meats back without any argument.”

“She was desperate,” I said, knowing exactly how that felt. The gnawing hunger, the fear that daylight would run out before you found enough scraps to quiet the growling of your belly.

He just nodded. “I didn’t know what to do. I’d run after her, ready to do the right thing, return the stolen goods. But her eyes tore me apart. She was so small and frail, I thought she was younger than me at the time.”

“Did you return the food?” I asked.

He gave a slow shake of his head. “No. I told her to wait for me. I went back and told the man that I hadn’t been able to catch her, then I took a portion of the lunch my mother had packed for us and I brought it back to her.”

He fell silent, and after a while, I was too curious to hold my tongue. “Then what?” I prompted.

He looked over at me like he’d almost forgotten I was there, then he smiled. “She came back the next week, but instead of stealing, she just came up to our stall—tentative, terrified. I gave her my portion of lunch again.”