Page 82 of Thief Taker

In the kitchens below, Cook issued quick, precise instructions, directing the preparation of supper for the men who were treating the lives of others like so many gaming tokens. The two housemaids busied themselves in the reception rooms with their polishing cloths, working quickly and quietly. And Elias moved through it all, trying to think, which was proving harder than usual.

Eventually, he found young Tom, struggling to carry several boxes of candles up from the storeroom. Like everyone else, he was subdued. No doubt the boy had absorbed the mood of the house even if he didn’t understand its cause.

“Here, lad,” Elias said, taking three boxes of candles from his arms. “I’ll take those. You go and fetch the last box.”

“Ta, Mr. Cole,” the boy said, and scurried off to the storeroom.

Taking his time, Elias made his way back up to the first floor. He was dogged the whole way by the nagging unease he hadn’t been able to shake all day.

He just couldn’t forget the way Kit had stilled when Elias said Wessex’s name last night. Specifically, his sudden watchfulness and the speed with which he’d put forward Marlborough’s name instead of his brother’s.

Naturally, Kit would leap to his brother’s defence. That was to be expected.

What disturbed Elias was that Kit hadn’t been shocked by the accusation. In fact, after a startled moment, he’d been well prepared to argue Marlborough’s case. Elias might even say, well-rehearsed.

Could it mean that he suspected what Rowsley was up to? Elias didn’t much like the idea, or what it suggested, but he couldn’t ignore it.

With all these knotted thoughts in his head, he set the candles down on the landing table and went back to collect the last box from Tom.

By the time he returned to the card room, it was taking shape. The table sat at its centre, two new packs of cards in their wrappers set at the dealer’s position. Tobin was fussily directing the placement of the candlesticks, while on the sideboard, someone had filled the decanters. Elias imagined Marlborough’s hand lifting one, refilling Rowsley’s glass with solicitous good humour.

The bastard.

There’d been years of evenings like this, so Kit had said. Years of Marlborough’s company and attentiveness to a grieving husband sliding steadily towards ruin. Elias had seen it done before, and he’d seen the wreckage in the tenements of St. Giles. You gave a man what he wanted, be it gin, opium—or love. You made yourself necessary. And then, when he’d run out of everything else, you were there to receive what was left.

In this case, Ashbourne Abbey.

God, he wished Marlborough was Wessex. How much easier it would be to watch him hang! How much easier it would be for Kit to bear…

“The second branched candlestick,” Tobin said to the room in general, and a footman hurried away to fetch it.

Restless and uneasy, Elias moved to the window. Outside, the evening traffic was thinning, the light going grey and flat. In a few hours the guests would arrive. In a few hours Marlborough would walk through the front door of this house and sit down at the table with Rowsley. The deeds to Ashbourne would be—where? With Salter? Would he bring them here himself or leave them in a strongbox at his club?

Into his thoughts the sound of footsteps intruded.

Elias knew who it was before the man appeared; somewhere along the way, he’d learned Kit’s tread, as he’d learned his smile and his touch. Far too late now to do anything about it.

A moment later, Kit appeared in the doorway.

He was dressed for the evening, which meant he’d been upstairs for the past hour, and Elias regretted having missed that time alone with him. He wore a black, well-cut coat, his hair tamed into a queue. Handsome. The handsomest man Elias had ever met, and his heart gave a little thrill at the sight of him. But Kit did not look happy. He was composed, though, and watchful, standing in the doorway of the card room as his eyes moved over the preparations without expression. He had the air of a man who’d made a choice.

Their eyes met.

“Mr. Duvall,” Elias said, since Tobin was in the room.

Kit’s mouth moved slightly. Not quite a smile. “Cole.” He glanced at the table with the cards in their packets and his expression hardened. “Is there anything you need from me?”

“No, sir,” Elias said.

A pause, just a breath too long.

Elias thought again of Kit’s sudden stillness last night, and the doubt in the back of his mind returned. A small cold doubt with Tobias Salter’s voice: Do you suspect Duvall?

Kit favoured his left hand, it was true. And he had as much reason as Rowsley to reclaim his family’s fortune. He was tall, athletic and more physically capable than most of the gents Elias had encountered. Hadn’t that been one of the first things Elias had noticed about him, back at their first encounter in the study?

But, no, he couldn’t be Wessex. Elias had proved to his own satisfaction that Kit couldn’t be Wessex.

“Very well,” Kit said with a slight nod. And then he was gone, footsteps receding towards the stairs. Elias turned back to the window.