Page 80 of Thief Taker

“Wessex?” he repeated, after another dozen beats of his galloping heart. “What of him?”

“He’s particular about who he targets,” Elias said, carefully, studying Kit. “And he’s particular about what he takes. Winnings from the gaming tables, or money destined for it. Watches, rings, fobs—but only from men in your brother’s set.”

Kit scrambled to gather his thoughts. “What are you saying? Surely you don’t imagine James is riding about the countryside holding up the mail coach?”

Was it possible that Elias believed James was Wessex? Was that the suspicion that had brought him to Curzon Street?

“Wessex don’t hold up the mail coach,” Elias said, his steady gaze still locked on Kit. “Like I said, he only robs men who’ve fleeced your brother at the gaming table.”

Kit stared. Fool that he was, it had never occurred to him that anyone would make that connection. Or that, if they did, James might be accused in his place. He’d never supposed that he was risking his brother’s life as well as his own.

“My point is,” Elias went on, “if Marlborough has driven your brother to this, then we might find some evidence of it in his possession. A recognisable piece of stolen property, perhaps. Something to bring him to account.”

“Are you suggesting Marlborough is some sort of…of fence?”

Elias made a face. “I admit that don’t seem likely.”

“Nor does the idea of James playing at highwayman. He hates to ride, for a start.”

Elias’s frown deepened as he contemplated this. “He’s a desperate man, Kit. Desperate men take desperate risks. And there’s no doubt that Marlborough has him in a vice.”

Kit opened his mouth to argue further, then stopped. He had to think.

One thing was certain—he would not allow James to be named as Wessex. Two choices were before him, then: confess the truth and put his life, and his family’s survival, into Elias’s hands, or dig himself deeper into the lies he’d already told.

Running a hand through his hair, he said, “James hates to ride, he never hunts. I agree he is desperate, but surely gaming away Ashbourne is desperation enough.” He shook his head. “No, you’re wrong, Elias. It’s not James. I know it’s not.” Elias started to speak, but Kit held up a hand to stop him. “But it could be Marlborough.”

Kit had made his choice, and the guilt was already souring his stomach.

“Marlborough?” Elias laughed at the idea. “No. He’s got no reason.”

“What reason does he need?” Kit pressed. “We know he has no respect for the law, no moral decency. And God knows he enjoys violence. Perhaps he finds it amusing to terrify his friends on the road?”

Elias frowned. “He does have an American connection,” he said after a moment’s thought, and Kit wondered what that meant. Did he know about Hartwell? “And I suppose he is the sort to commission a pair of silver pistols…”

Kit caught his breath. “Silver pistols?”

“Wessex has one. It’s a stupid affectation, something out of a chapbook. But I could imagine Marlborough being bold enough to commission his own weapon.”

Kit took a moment to curse Hartwell and his bloody silver pistols. Then he looked Elias straight in the eye and said, “If any man would enjoy robbing a coach at gunpoint, it would be Marlborough.”

He told himself that wasn’t a barefaced lie. Marlborough probably would enjoy it, and he’d certainly done worse.

After a long, shared look Elias said, “If Marlborough is involved in any way, this is how we bring him to justice. We just need to find the evidence.”

Evidence Kit could provide—stolen goods, a silver pistol, a black horse. That is, if he could bring himself to lay his own crime at another man’s door. And why not? It appeared he was willing to keep on lying to Elias. What was one more deception?

Perhaps Elias recognised something of this conflict in his eyes, because his expression changed, softening. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

“I very much doubt it.”

Elias stepped closer and put his hand on Kit’s arm. Warm, strong and reassuring. “Even if it is Marlborough, we won’t be able to prove it in time to save Ashbourne.”

“That’s certainly true,” Kit said. “Le Grand Jeu is tomorrow night.”

“Which means we’ll need to consider other options, after the wager. Should your brother lose.”

Kit didn’t understand. “We?”