Page 48 of Thief Taker

Leaving the basin, he went to the chest where he’d left his own clothes—the ones Cole had helped him into this morning. Dressing quickly, he tucked his shirt into clean breeches and shrugged on his waistcoat. The buttons were tricky with his injured hand, but he managed well enough. He tied a simple knot in his neckcloth and slipped into his coat. Wessex’s muddy boots he left in the trunk, along with his plain coat, battered hat, and the pistol.

Glancing in the small mirror, he ran fingers through his hair and retied the queue at the base of his neck. Duvall looked back, and Wessex was put aside.

Pulling on his top boots and greatcoat, he tucked the heavy purse Hutchinson had given him into his pocket and snatched his beaver hat from the back of the door.

Ned Hartwell had modest rooms on Marylebone Lane, a twenty-minute walk from Kit’s rooms in Soho. He skirted St. Giles as he headed north, before crossing Oxford Street and entering the more open and rural area of Marylebone. Perfect for stabling their horses, and close to the Bath Road and the heath.

At Kit’s sharp knock, Hartwell opened the door in his shirtsleeves. “Well?” he said. “How did it go?”

“May I come in?”

“Suppose you’d better.” Hartwell checked the hallway was empty before closing the door. “What happened? You’ve an odd look about you.”

“Nothing. I—” He set down his hat, peeled off his coat and laid it across one of the two chairs that sat next to the fireplace. There was a decent blaze, enough for the small room, and he stood there and warmed his hands against the chill of the evening. “I got thirty guineas for the lot.”

“That’s good,” Hartwell said as Kit retrieved the purse from his coat. “A fair price.”

Kit nodded, sat down and began counting out Hartwell’s share of the prize. Keeping his eyes on the golden coins, he said, “I did something rather foolish tonight. Regarding Cole.”

He felt Hartwell’s eyes on him, heard the unstopping of a bottle and the glug of a drink pouring. “Let me guess,” Hartwell said, setting a glass down before him. “You made an unwelcome advance, and he tried to punch you.”

Kit looked up. “What?”

Ned gestured to his hand. “You’ve been fighting.”

“No, that was—” He flexed his bruised fingers. “I was helping him escape. We got caught trying to break into Salter’s last night.”

“Christ, Kit! And this is the man you’re not telling about any of this?” Hartwell fumed. “What the devil are you playing at?”

“He knows nothing of you, I swear it. He’s helping me with Ashbourne, that’s all.”

“Kind of him,” Hartwell observed dryly. “Somewhat beyond the duties of a thief taker, I’d have thought. Or a valet.”

Kit began stacking Ned’s coins in neat piles of four, with three to spare.

“Ah, so that’s how it is,” Hartwell said slowly. “He’s gone to his knees for you, or you for him, perhaps?”

“No. He—” Refused me. “His judgement is better than mine. He’s a man of principle, I believe.”

“Principle?” Hartwell groaned. “Kit, the only thing he cares about is the reward on our heads.”

Kit frowned. “No, you’re wrong. He’s a good man. And it’s not money that drives him, it’s the pursuit of justice. He told me so.”

“For the love of God! I thought you were pretending not to know what he is?”

“I am, we—” Grimacing, Kit made himself look up. “I spoke to him tonight, as Wessex.”

Ned’s face lost colour. “You did what?”

“I stumbled across him in St. Giles—he came into the Bowl while I was doing business with Hutchinson. I escaped out the back, but…” Hartwell’s expression was darkening with every word. Kit held up his hands. “I know it was foolish. I shouldn’t have followed him, but I wanted to…to convince him to stop. To explain myself.”

“Explain…” Ned dropped heavily into the other seat. “What the devil have you done?”

“I’ve not given us away,” Kit assured him. “I offered him money to stop, but he refused. I truly believe he’s an honest man.”

Ned was silent for a moment, sipping his whiskey. Then, darkly, he said, “Francis Gale was an honest man, Kit. My brother was an honest man. The honest ones are just as dangerous as the dishonest—and a man convinced of his own righteousness is the most dangerous of all.”

It was a painful reminder, but not unwarranted. Kit’s misplaced faith in Francis had nearly cost both his and Hartwell’s lives. “It’s not like that,” he said, “I—I just wish I could know Cole better, that’s all. In different circumstances.”