Never had I been as hungry and as unable to eat as when we returned home. My stomach cramped from the lack of food, but when I tried to chew or swallow the various items on my plate, I had a reaction similar to that of my attempt to eat the bread in the carriage. I found the taste abhorrent and quite sickening. I was able to drink a bit of beef broth and that eased the hunger spasms enough for me to visit Constance while Mother rested upstairs in her room.
As promised, Uncle Ernest had arranged for a horse, and after I changed into my apprentice costume, I met him and my ride far from the stables and house. Once mounted, I spurred the horse in the direction of the Straton cottage.
Constance appeared to be ready for me. Her hair had been brushed and her face washed as she had done at Underbyrne. A basket rested at her feet. When I reined in the horse in front of her cottage, she handed the basket to me first and then held out a hand for me to pull her onto the horse. She sat in front of me, and I reached around her to hold onto the reins.
As we headed out of the dirt yard in front of the cottage, she asked over her shoulder, “Did you bring any bread?”
I produced the loaf my mother had carried with us to the surgeon’s.
She took a bite and spoke around it. “It’s so easy to chew. You can tell it’s quality.”
As she continued to nibble on the loaf, I was aware of all her little movements: her jaw working as she chewed, the subtle shifts as she adjusted her balance, and the warmth of her body. All in all, it was quite a pleasurable interlude, and we rode for quite a while in silence, her enjoying the bread, and me, her company.
I finally broke the reverie by asking, “What’s the basket for?”
“It was my mum’s,” she said and caressed the woven handle along the top. “She kept her mendin’ in it. If you’re going to min a house, you gots to have a reason. This is mine.”
“Min?”
“Take something.” She turned to face me. “Not as hard as breaking a drum. Then you has to crawl through a window or break a lock to get into a house, but still, you gots to have a plan.”
“But you’re not going to steal anything. Just see if you can find where he’s keeping the ledger. No use taking it until after we have the replacement finished.”
“Steal. Replace. No matter. You needs to have a purpose to be there. The more they believe you, the more they’ll trust you. The more they trust you, the more time you has to look. Mendin’s perfect for getting into the constable’s house. She’ll have to go find somethin’ for me to mend. While I’m alone, I can seek your book.”
“And what should I do?”
“She knows you, right?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. She was at my mother’s luncheon a few days ago. I played the violin for them.”
She twisted around between my outstretched arms to gain a view of my face and cocked her head slightly as if in thought. “If you can’ts be seen by her, you have to stay away from the house. I could use a crow. Someone to keep an eye out so’s I don’t get caught spying about. Watch for the constable, and if he comes home, you figure out a way to keep him from goin’ inside until I leave.”
As with the surgeon’s home, Constable Gibbons’ residence was on the edge of the village. While he had an office in the village proper near the gaol, his job required him to be continuously patrolling the county to check with the watch officers under his supervision. Only those on night watch reported to him at his home. With his duties keeping him out and about, it seemed unlikely he would return prior to the evening meal. While the job didn’t seem particularly vital, I was glad to be of service.
After a pause, I said, “That seems possible.”
Constance ordered me to stop at a bend in the road about half a mile from the Gibbons’ house.
“You can put the horse in the trees here. Let me go first, but follow me to the hedge by the road. You can see both directions from there. If you see the constable comin’, run up to the house and rap on the side. I’ll meet you here.”
While I nodded, my palms became slick at the thought of the impending subterfuge we were committing. I marveled at Constance’s apparent calm. The hand grasping the basket handle was still and no perspiration shone on her lip.
“How do you know about all this?”
She paused before responding, as if considering her answer. “When I was in gaol, some of the others talked about how to min a house. Like dressin’ as a maid and goin’ to work in a big house like Lord Devony’s. While you dust, you lift some silver. Another trick is to wait for a tradesman to come to the door. While they’re talking in the front, you go in the back way to lift a few things. But what we’re doing now is the hardest because they see you. I wouldn’t do it ceptin’ that I’m not really takin’ anything. The minute somethin’ goes missin’, they remember who was about. The constable’s house. Lords, would I have a story to tell the others if I’m ever back there again.”
My admiration for the girl grew. I might know something of science and maths, but in terms of practical skills and knowledge, she surpassed me in many ways.
After securing the horse inside a stand of trees, she said, “Count to a hundred and then follow me.”
Once alone, I forced myself to count at an even, regular pace rather than rushing through the numbers. During the count, I checked the highway for any indication of the constable’s return. The moment I reached one hundred, I headed in the direction Constance had taken.
While the thoroughfare had its share of traffic this close to the village, I realized no one paid much attention to me in my current disguise. I was just one more pedestrian in a steady stream of workers, vendors, and people entering and leaving town. Loitering about the constable’s house, however, might spark some suspicion, and I determined I needed to stay out of sight once I reached my destination.
I noticed a group of bushes on the other side of the road and chose to hide out there. As Constance had predicted, I had a good vantage point from which to observe all pathways leading to the house and concentrated on spotting the constable’s uniformed figure among the approaching horses.
My duties proved both tedious and nerve-wracking. Staying in one place and simply watching offered little mental stimulation, but at the same time, I fretted over the interaction between Constance and Mrs. Gibbons.
Had the woman left her alone long enough for her to find the ledger?
As the minutes dragged by, my concern grew. What was taking her so long? Had she been caught and was Mrs. Gibbons holding her until the constable returned home?
I battled an increasing desire to either run to the house to check or return to the horse and flee.
This distraught debate almost made me miss Mr. Brown’s appearance. True, I had been on the watch for Constable Gibbons, but a cart slowing to turn into the drive should have alerted me sooner. I did, however, catch sight of Mr. Brown before he stopped in front of the constable’s house.
Despite the cool day, perspiration blossomed across my face. I had no way to make it to the house without the honey man seeing me. I had to reassure myself that even if he saw and recognized Constance, he would have no reason to suspect her of any wrongdoing. Fighting the urge to extract myself from the hedge and pace beside the road, I focused on my breathing to calm my heart rate. My uncle had shared tales of yogis who could sit in positions for hours, even days, without moving. If they could achieve that, I should be able to hold my place for a few minutes. No sooner had I reached what I considered a calm state than Constance appeared, stepping lively on the path from the constable’s house, the basket swinging at her side. Reminding myself to maintain my place, I waited for her to pass and turn in the direction of the hidden horse before finally removing myself from the behind the bushes and following her.
“Lords, you took your time,” she said before I could ask her about the results of her mission.
“I didn’t want to be seen. I made a terrible mistake. I hid on the other side of the road. I had no way to warn you without being seen.”
“You have a ways to go before you’re a good crow, but most times, you wouldn’t min a house in daylight, so I’ll forgive you.”
While her assessment of my skills as a lookout stung, they were true. More pressing matters, however, filled my mind. “Did you find it?”
“No.” Her forehead creased, and mine responded in kind. “I searched his office as much as I could, but no red book. Then the honey man came. When I heard him say he was lookin’ for the constable, I waited to hear what he wanted. He asked about what the constable found when he searched your house.”
“He knew about the search,” I said, more to myself than to Constance. “What did Mrs. Gibbons say?”
“She didn’t know anything. He’d have to ask her husband, and he should be in his office in town.”
Before I could even express an interest in hearing what the constable would tell him, I heard a wagon pass near our hiding spot. I crept forward, staying hidden by the foliage. Mr. Brown lumbered past in the wagon, heading to town.
“Let’s follow him. Find out what the constable says.”
“To his office? Next to the gaol?” She shook her head. “I won’t go there.”
I glanced over my shoulder in the direction the wagon had gone. While I had no idea what I would do once I reached the constable’s office, I had to make an effort to find out what Mr. Brown was sharing with the constable.
“I don’t have time to take you back and then get to town. You can stay with the horse far away from the gaol. I’ll find out what the men share on my own.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and studied me for a moment. Following a deep sigh, as if she had finally come to a regrettable decision, she said, “Don’t muck up being my crow this time. It’s one thing to sweet-talk the constable’s wife. A whole other thing with the constable.”
A smile stretched across my face as relief flooded through me. I was definitely dependent upon her skills at the moment. But with her help, I could develop some of the same finesse she already possessed. The past hour, however, showed me how much I still had to learn.
“Who’s that gent heading to the office? If I weren’t with you, I'd be talkin’ him up as fast as I could cross the street.”
I turned my attention from the constable’s office across the street to the man Constance had noticed. We’d ridden into the village and left the horse tied to a post on a side street. From our vantage point by an alleyway, we’d been discussing how best to overhear Brown’s conversation with the constable. The beekeeper had only just entered his office.
The object of Constance’s attention was tall and thin. He wore a well-tailored suit, his beard was more of a goatee, and he carried a valise. A set of spectacles perched on his pointed noise. After my few months at Eton and my years of tutors, I easily recognized the professorial type—only this one's clothing and hand luggage appeared more expensive than any I'd known myself.
“What’s so important about him?”
“Look at ’im. The man’s gots a silk handkerchief almost hanging out his pocket. I'd have that in my hand before he even had time to turn down my matches.”
On the way into town, Constance had regaled me with tales of her abilities to offer matches to “gents” while simultaneously relieving them of certain resaleable items such as silk handkerchiefs, pocket watches, or cigar cases.
“And he’s heading to the constable’s office. You think someone already robbed him?”
“Not with that lovely hangin’ out. Somebody would’ve already minned it.”
I stared at the door where the man had just entered. The valise suggested he’d just arrived in town and his clothes were too well-tailored for a tradesman. He had to be from London. What was he doing here? Given so few crimes requiring any assistance from a Londoner, my stomach’s contraction told me his visit wasn’t coincidental.
As if to confirm my concern, he reappeared moments later with Constable Gibbons and Mr. Brown. The constable took his leave of the honey man. Constance and I ducked our heads and slid back into the alley. While the new arrival and the constable headed toward town, Mr. Brown moved to his wagon tied to one side of Gibbons’ office. I stepped toward the street, planning to follow the men from the opposite side, but Constance put a hand on my arm.
“Hold on.”
“I want to follow them,” I said. “Hear what they say. I think it’s important.”
“Watch out or Brown will see us.”
As soon as he drove off, we strolled across the street and caught sight of the two men just as they turned into a building. They had entered the main hotel, which catered to the village’s most elite clientele. Knowing their destination, I continued up the street, intent on following them inside. Constance grabbed my elbow and pushed me past the entrance and around the building’s side.
“You gots to be more careful when you’re in disguise. People like me and you—at least how you’re dressed at the moment—can’t go into a hotel like that without rousin’ people’s attentions.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it as I realized she had a legitimate point. Dressed as a squire’s son, I might have been allowed to enter under the assumption my parents were guests. As an apprentice, however, the only assumption would be I was there for mischief, and I’d be booted out as soon as I stepped inside.
“I have to find out who he is,” I said, as much to myself as to my companion.
With a glance at the main street, she chewed her lip before breaking into a grin. “I think I gots a plan. Come on.”
She continued along the side of the building to an alleyway and headed to the back of the building. A single door opened onto the alley and the mixed aromas of various cooking meats and vegetables drifted on the air. She passed the opening without even a glance in that direction and turned to creep along the other side.
She signaled me to stay in the alley, and she moved from window to window, peeking into each one. At the third window, she motioned for me to come, but to keep low. When I reached her, she put her finger to her lips and pointed to the window.
“There,” she mouthed.
I raised myself enough to peer into the window and spied into the hotel’s dining room. I understood why she’d chosen the window she did. Not only did I have a view of the constable and the visitor, it was the only window that didn’t have a table beside it. At any other, a guest would have seen someone peering in and probably reported it.
The men were too far away for me to hear their conversation, but I could observe the man no longer had his valise. He’d most likely left it at the front desk, suggesting he was staying as a guest. They leaned into each other, their heads almost touching.
A waiter appeared and placed a bowl of soup before them. My stomach rumbled at the thought of this prelude to their full meal, and I realized my appetite had returned. I would have to seek out something to eat when I returned home.
After a few sips, the constable pulled something from his inside coat pocket. The flash of red in his hand made me draw in my breath. I focused on the men’s lips. Could I read what they were saying?
I was able to determine the man’s name was Beecher—or was it Bleeker? I hoped the constable would repeat it. Constance pulled on my sleeve.
I waved my hand backwards at her. Leave me alone.
She hissed out my name. “Sherlock.”
Was the stranger saying “start tomorrow?”
She clapped her hand on my shoulder. I spun about to tell her to let me be and ran into a solid, dark-blue wall. My gaze moved up to a round, flushed face. “What are you doing here, boy?”
Unable to come up with a response, my mouth moved up and down in the imitation of a fish on a hook. I glanced about me, but Constance had disappeared.
His grip tightened on my shoulder. “Let’s just see what you have to tell the constable. He’s in there now.”
Still unable to respond, I allowed him to direct me toward the street. My mind raced as I considered what to tell Constable Gibbons. Would he recognize me in my disguise? Other than some dirt and rough clothes, I hadn’t done much to change my appearance.
We had almost reached the street when Constance rushed from behind us. Before I could so much as take a breath, she stomped on the man’s foot. He howled and let go of my shoulder. At the same moment, she grabbed my hand and pulled me back toward the alley. We raced around the corner, the man limping behind us. She then pulled me around another corner to the left and soon we were zigzagging through back streets until I stopped to nurse a stitch in my side. Stepping into the doorway of an abandoned store, I gasped for air.
Also breathing heavily, Constance slid into the alcove next to me. We stilled and listened for a moment to see if, thanks to her maneuvers, the police officer had lost us.
After we heard no heavy footfalls coming in our direction, a smile broke across her face. “You should’ve seen your face when you realized that copper had you by the shoulder. Your eyes were as big as them bowls of soup.”
Her jubilance proved infectious, and we both celebrated our escape with a good laugh. “Thank you for stopping him,” I said after our mirth subsided.
“It’s an old trick my papa taught me. I knew I couldn’t let him take you to see the constable.”
In that small space, I could feel her breath on me, and I studied her face. Up so close, I noticed the small wrinkles forming about her eyes when she smiled. A thrill ran down my spine, not unlike the one I experienced when viewing the anatomy text. My gaze dropped to her lips, still pulled upward into a smile, and I wondered what it would be like to touch them with my own. I had never considered kissing anyone other than my mother or other older female relatives as required by social convention. This impulse was new to me, and more than a little frightening. My father’s etiquette lessons had not included how to address such attraction, and I wasn’t certain how to respond. Other than that one embrace I observed when my mother was released from gaol, I’d never seen my parents display any strong affections in public.
With whom could I possibly discuss such sensations?
“You need to tell your brother,” she said.
My heart thudded in my chest. She’d read my thoughts?
I swallowed. “Tell him?”
“About the book. That it’s not in the constable’s office anymore.”
“And there’s little time. The man said he would start on the code tomorrow. At least that’s what I think he said.”
“Then we best be crackin’,” she said. She stepped back into the side street. “You tell your brother we’ll need that new book tonight. I’ll tell you about my plan on the way home.”
After dropping Constance at her cottage to work on the mending Mrs. Gibbons had given her and leaving the horse with Uncle Ernest to return to the stable, I sought out Mycroft. I didn’t find him in the library as I expected. Instead, he was in his room. Behind a locked door.
He was wearing a dressing gown when he answered my knock. “Come in. Quickly.”
Before he shut the door, he glanced up and down the hallway. When he turned to me, he said, “Sorry. Don’t want anyone to see you here. I’ve been feigning illness all day to work on this ledger in peace. Can’t have them thinking I’m well enough for visitors. Even you.”
“Do you have much to go to finish?”
“Finish? I’ve barely started. One must be clever about these things in order to perpetrate a deception. It’s not enough to merely write something in the code. What’s coded must appear logical as well. I’ve been adapting some scientific data on plant growth I found in a treatise by a London botanist. Of course, I can’t use the exact data, or else it might be recognized as plagiarized from the other piece. Then there’s the issue of the writing. Changing ink, etc. to make it appear to have been written on different days and—”
Perhaps the basis for what happened next was my lack of sustenance for almost twenty-four hours. Or the sheer concern over our mother’s fate. Whatever the cause, I lost all patience with my brother. While he had been at home, enjoying his meals (albeit a lighter fare due to his feigned illness), I’d almost been arrested—or at least accused of spying on the constable—and chased for blocks by a police officer. I interrupted him with a question tinged with more than a little annoyance. “Just how many pages have you completed?”
My outburst took him by surprise. He drew his chin back. “How dare you take that tone with me, you little twit.”
Heat flushed my face, and for the first time, I didn’t restrain my anger. “I have spent the day working to unravel the problems in which this family has become embroiled. Thanks to me, I can tell you we have only a few hours to replace that book before some expert from London begins his translation. Then if you think you’ll be able to return to Oxford after Mother is tried for whatever crime Constable Gibbons has determined to attribute to her, you are delusional.”
The moment I finished, my mood shifted from angry to anxious. I held my breath, waiting for his response. Never had I spoken to my brother in such an impassioned manner. And never from a position of authority. He’d always been the one with more knowledge. For once I had the upper hand, and I wasn’t certain how he would react.
When he said nothing at first, I feared he would return my heated outburst in kind and decline any further involvement in the effort. He glared at me without making a sound. When he finally spoke, his response was more reflective than explosive.
“An expert? From London?” He glanced at the papers on his desk, and I released my breath while his back was to me. “That does put a different spin on things. How soon do you need the book?”
“Constance and I have worked out a plan to replace the book tonight. I need it by eight o’clock so that we have time to get to the hotel by nine. Whatever you have by eight will have to be enough.”
“You give me only two hours to reproduce the book? And how do you plan to be at the town hotel by nine?” The arrogance I knew so well from him had returned.
“I already checked with Mrs. Simpson. Mother is…indisposed and has requested her evening meal in her room. Father had a tray to be sent up for him as well. Now with you ill as well, I’ll offer to take a basket for me and Uncle Ernest to the workshop. He’s already agreed to say I’ll be helping him in a special experiment to be done after dark, and we would need a cart to carry the apparatus.”
He remained silent for a moment before saying, “I’ll get you something by eight. I could wait in the workshop, if you wish. In case someone comes searching for either of you.”
“Would you? That would be quite helpful.”
“She’s my mother too, you know.” He met my gaze with a pointed one of his own.
The implication I hadn’t respected his own feelings for our parents was apparent, but with so much still to do, I decided to apologize later. “See you at the workshop.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get what we need for our plan.”
By eight o’clock, I had bathed and dressed in proper clothes and eaten a full meal for the first time in a day. As my uncle and I waited for Mycroft to appear, I found myself becoming drowsy after the heavy meal of boiled beef and potatoes. My hunger during the day had appeared to keep my mental faculties sharp, and I decided to experiment with such deprivations in the future.
When Mycroft arrived with the book, his first observation was on the remains of our meal. “Are you going to eat that? I declare, the beef broth Cook sent up barely kept my hand steady enough to write.”
“How many pages did you complete?”
“The ledger had thirty-three pages with writing.” His mouth turned down. “Without enough time to finish all of them, I considered that the expert might work on the first few pages and then the later entries to determine first the type of code and then whether the pattern was similar in the latest observations. In between is mere gibberish, random symbols that emulate the others.”
I took the book and ran my hand over the cover. “Let’s hope it will do.”
Dropping the book on the floor, I stepped on it and ground it under my boot over the rising protests of my brother, then opened it and ruffled each page.
“See here. After all my work—”
“You know Mother’s ledger wasn’t new. It has to at least appear similar to the one we are replacing.”
“Quite right.” He went to the table holding our plates and dipped his finger in the remaining gravy on one. After removing the book from my grasp, he carefully dabbed the cover in three separate places. “The cover held a few stains as well.”
When he handed the volume back to me, I picked up a basket I had packed and turned to my uncle. “Let’s get to the Straton cottage.”
The moon was bright and full, allowing us to see clearly despite the hour. Uncle Ernest and I rode in silence until after we had left our property and turned toward the Stratons’ and town. I found myself yawning, and fearing that I wouldn’t remain alert, I decided to engage him in conversation and bring up the subject of the attraction I’d experienced toward Constance in a roundabout way.
“Uncle Ernest, have you ever…?” I paused to consider how to raise the topic and decided on a different track. “How is it that you’ve never married?”
He glanced from the road to meet my gaze. “I suppose…I’ve never…found the right woman.” He stared at the moonlit road ahead. I knew he was remembering something and waited as I had learned to do with him. Finally, he spoke in a soft tone, one that hung in the air along with the scents of damp autumn leaves. “That’s not correct. I did…meet one…once. She was…beautiful. Long, dark hair. Brown eyes that were almost black. Golden skin.”
“She was a Hindu?”
He shuddered slightly and cleared his throat. His speech quickened, as if he wanted to change the subject. “She was of a royal family in the region. We met at a banquet her father gave for the troops in the area. He was grateful for the protection we provided his province.”
“Was that allowed? You seeing a Hindu girl?”
“That was the problem. Neither her father nor my commanding officer would have approved. We met on the sly. Only three times. But we knew love from our first moment together.”
“Did you…? Did you kiss her?”
“Only once. Mostly we talked. On what was to be our fourth meeting, she didn’t come. I waited almost all night in case she had been detained. I learned the next day her father had sent her away. An arranged marriage in another province. Someone had told him of our meetings.” He blinked several times, and the moonlight glistened in his eyes. “I never saw her again.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle. If I brought up sad memories.”
“It’s all in the past, my boy,” he said and flicked the reins to encourage the horse along. “But when you have loved so deeply, anything else pales.”
Once again, lethargy settled over me, and I jerked awake when we pulled into Straton’s yard. I had been kissing a golden girl with long black hair and was glad for the darkness to cover the flush I felt in my face from the dream—as much from guilt for stealing my uncle’s story as from kissing a woman, even if it was in a dream. I shook my head to clear the vestiges of the vision from my mind. I was definitely going to experiment with restricting my diet for major events. Perhaps eliminating beef and potatoes as a starter.
Constance opened the door and whispered to me, “You gots the clothes? I’ll change and be right out.”
“There’s a cloak with them for you to cover yourself on the ride in.”
She nodded, took the bundle, and stepped back inside. I listened at the door for any indication of the presence of Mr. Straton. The only sound I could detect was the shallow breathing of sleeping children.
When Constance returned, and we were out of earshot of the cottage, she was the first to speak. “The clothes were a bit big, but I was able to tie them up. It made me rather thick about the middle but helps the disguise.”
“It’s one of my mother’s costumes for playacting and the only one I could take without someone noticing. If you put your hair up in the cap, I doubt anyone will recognize you.”
Without more to say, we rode in silence until Constance started a tune, humming softly to herself. I found myself intrigued by the melody.
“What’s that song?” I asked.
“Somethin’ my mother taught us,” she said.
Raising her voice, she added the words to the tune.
When she finished, my uncle shared what I had been thinking. “You have a lovely voice.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I try and practice my singing every chance I get. I saw a lady once, singing on a stage at a village fair. I sneaked under the canvas. She finished just as they caught me and threw me out. They threw flowers at her.” She paused and let out a deep sigh. “That’s what I wants. People to throw flowers at me instead of chasing me away with a broom or rocks. Someday, I’m going to find a way to be like that woman. So’s I can earn my own push and not worry that my papa’s drunk it all again.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. The gap between us had never seemed as wide as at that moment. Our economic differences had been obvious from the start, but the implications lay bare in front of me now. We both had futures set out for us—in very different directions. Constance was the first person with whom I had made a true connection outside of my family. She had demonstrated she was clever, skilled, and independent. Her fate, however, appeared dictated to be similar to her mother’s. Marriage, children, and a life of living near the abyss of poverty. I could understand my mother’s concerns for the women in the village and the limitations society placed on them.
Perhaps my uncle was thinking something similar, or of the fate of his Indian love, because he responded, “You deserve it, my dear, and I will see how we might help. You are doing a great service for us, and I promise to pay it back in full.”
Even in the semi-darkness, I could see the smile break upon her face.
The plan seemed simple enough. Constance would slip into the hotel through the alley, posing as a chambermaid, and wait on the second-floor landing for me. After inquiring at the front desk about the expert, I would report his room number to Constance. She would tell the expert he had a note and when he went to fetch it, she would replace the ledger. My duty was to keep an eye out for his return.
As soon as Uncle Ernest pulled the cart to a stop in an alley near the hotel, we each went in separate directions, leaving Ernest to wait for us.
Almost immediately I discovered two wrinkles in our plan. The first involved reaching the front desk. Given the hour, guests were arriving from the train station as well as for supper. The reception clerk didn’t attend to me for several minutes and by the time he did, I was quite agitated—the second issue.
The round man with the high collar and wide whiskers peered at me over a pair of spectacles. “What is it, boy?”
I held up an envelope. “I have a message for Mr. Beecher.”
“Beecher? There’s no Beecher registered here.”
My stomach squeezed, and I was certain the beef and potatoes were a mistake. I forced myself, however, to appear nonchalant. “Oh? Did I say Beecher? Maybe Constable Gibbons said Bleeker.”
“The constable?” The man studied me for a moment, and I blinked at him, hoping I gave off an innocent appearance. He held out his hand. “I’ll see that it’s delivered.”
I pulled back the envelope when he reached in my direction.
“Sorry, I was to deliver it personally.” The man’s lips thinned to a straight line, but I played my final card. “Constable’s orders.”
The man gave a hurrumph but glanced at a large book on the desk behind him and pointed up the stairs. “Room Twenty-two.”
With a tip of my hat, I stepped as sedately as possible to the stairs to find Constance. The hallway stretched to the left and right at the top of the stairs, with several doors opening on to it. A ruby oriental rug ran its length, leading to a set of servant stairs on the left. The gaslights on the sconces located at intervals along the walls flickered slightly, but they illuminated the area with more than enough light to indicate Constance was not waiting as expected. I traversed the entire hallway but found no sign of her. Had she been found out? I considered completing the plan by myself until I remembered that Constance carried the false ledger. No way could I simply take the one in Bleeker’s room without casting suspicion on my mother.
Why hadn’t we worked on a better system to signal each other?
I had turned toward the stairs, planning to abandon the whole scheme and meet up with my uncle, when she descended from the third floor.
“Where have you been?” I whispered in a tone much harsher than etiquette demanded when speaking to the fairer sex.
“When I got inside, someone handed me a pitcher of water and told me to take it to the man in Room Thirty.” She dug in her pocket and held up a coin. “He gave me a penny ‘for my troubles.’ Do you think I cans get a position here? A penny for just bringing some water. Imagine?”
“We’re behind schedule,” I said, more than a little frustrated with her skipping subjects at the moment. “The man’s in Room Twenty-two. His name’s Bleeker.”
“You better hide until after he goes downstairs.” She took a deep breath and moved up the hallway. Just before the landing where the stairs led to the ground floor, she turned. “I don’t wants to go back to gaol. Please, don’t lets ‘em catch me.”
Her plea hit me in the stomach as hard as a fist, and I forced down the rising bile. My concern had focused on keeping my mother out of gaol, but the reality of what we were doing impacted me at that moment. The consequences of getting caught were not evenly distributed. My father might be able to keep me out of gaol, but Constance’s fate would most likely be more severe. I owed her more than the bread I’d promised her.
Having stepped into one of the doors’ recesses further down the hall, out of sight but not hearing of Room 22, I waited my opportunity to prove a better crow than earlier that day. Constance’s knock broke the silence permeating the hallway.
I forced myself to take shallow breaths to follow the ensuing events.
A creak of hinges signaled the door’s opening.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, “but you have a message from Constable Gibbons at the front desk.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes, sir. I was told it was urgent-like.”
A sigh followed. “Can’t you just bring it up?”
I gulped. Our plan had assumed he would leave immediately so that Constance could relieve him of his key and use it to enter his room for the search.
“Oh no, sir,” she said without any pause. “He wanted it delivered straight to your hands.”
Another sigh. “Very well. I’ll be down after I dress.”
“If you’ll be beggin’ my pardon, you looks dressed to me.”
“Of course, I’m dressed. I mean…” This sigh came out as more of a bluster. “Just tell him I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Her voice held none of the panic rising within me.
When her footsteps grew louder, I stepped from the shadows to stop her. “What are we going to do now?” I whispered.
“Don’t worry,” she said, the skin about her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Wait for him to leave, and you’ll see.”
While her attitude offered some reassurance, my heart still drummed at twice its normal speed. She gave my hand a pat and returned to the other side of the hallway and outside of my range of vision.
After what appeared to be an eternity, I heard more footsteps. Only there were too many to be the expert’s alone. I peeked around the doorframe just as a couple headed in my direction. When they saw me, they stopped.
“Sorry,” I said. “I thought you were my parents. They went to get the key.”
They exchanged glances, but before they could ask questions, I added, “I don’t know what’s taking them so long. I guess I’d better check.”
Ducking my head, I stepped into the corridor and moved toward the stairs. The expert, of course, chose that moment to exit his room. He was dressed as he’d been when he arrived, down to the silk handkerchief in his pocket. Keeping my head down, I pushed past him and Constance, who must have been waiting for him on the other side. Once again, I turned to a door, pretending to open another of the rooms.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said to the man. “Another man asked for a fresh pitcher of water. I wondered if you’d like one too?”
He paused as if considering the offer. “Yes. Thank you.”
“I’ll be right up, sir,” she said and offered a wide smile. She moved past him and bumped him as she did so. “So sorry.”
“Quite all right,” he said and tugged on his lapels. He took a few steps toward the stairwell and stopped. “Oh, miss?”
My stomach squeezed again, but once again, Constance’s response was calm and matter-of-fact. “Yes, sir?”
“On second thought, I haven’t any idea how long I’ll be downstairs. I’ll request a pitcher at the front desk when I’m finished.”
“Very good, sir.”
When a set of muffled footfalls descended the stairs, I released my breath, only to draw it in again when I heard a door open and another voice call out, “Miss?” The couple in the hallway must have observed the exchange. “May we have fresh water too?”
“Certainly. I’ll bring it up directly.”
The door closed, and I heard a quick shuffle of feet in my direction.
“Keep a sharp eye, Sherlock,” she whispered as she let herself into the room with only the slightest of creaks.
Stepping to the stairs’ balustrades, I watched the expert enter the lobby. In what appeared to be only two breaths, he reached the front desk. The clerk there shook his head at the expert and then pointed up the stairs. He obviously indicated I had taken the note upstairs. I stepped back to be out of Bleeker’s vision. That move also put him out of my sight, and only when I heard someone ascending did I realize he had given up and was returning to his room.
My breath quickened. Constance hadn’t left the room. What was she doing in there? The man was almost a third of the way from the top. Blood rushed in my ears, making it difficult to hear. My only thought involved keeping my promise not to let her be caught in his room. After a brief consideration of the options, I took a deep breath, rushed around the balustrade, hoped I gave a convincing trip, and dove headfirst down the stairs.
I caught a brief glimpse of the expert’s widened eyes and snatches of the stairs’ red carpeting and the gaslights flickering near the ceiling as I tumbled down. When I came to a halt on the lobby floor, I heard snatches of several shouts and gasps before everything faded to black.