The morning muster was longer than usual, full of special tasks in anticipation of the New Year’s celebration. After the Major finished his tirade, Emily tried to talk to him. Unfortunately, he was in no mood to listen to anyone, much less her, and brushed her off instead with a “Later.”
After performing most of her morning chores, she took her concerns to Miss Sparrow instead. She knocked on the frame of the small room that served as Miss Sparrow’s office. It was little more than a closet crammed with a desk and two chairs. “Ma’am, do you have a moment?”
The woman looked up and smiled. “Always for you, Emily. How may I help you?”
“I have a . . . situation that has occurred and I need advice. Actually, I was hoping to speak to the Major and ask him for some guidance in the matter.”
One eyebrow shot up. “Guidance? From the Major? My goodness, but this is an unusual request. So you would like me to intercede on your behalf?”
“Yes, ma’am. I would.”
“May I ask what it’s about?” Her look of amazement faded into something more wary in appearance. “You aren’t suddenly overwhelmed by the need to confess your sins to the man, are you?”
At the word sins, Emily immediately thought about Mr. East and all the delightfully forbidden things they had done together.
Luckily, Miss Sparrow continued. “Please say you’re not going to tell him about attending the ball in costume.”
Emily’s mouth gaped open. “You knew about that?”
The woman offered her a tight little smile. “Of course. I know almost everything that goes on around here. And if I had thought there was any harm in you attending it, I would have stopped you. But you weren’t technically an employee, so I felt it was high time you had a chance to kick up your heels.” She leaned forward in conspiracy. “You had a good time, didn’t you?”
Emily nodded shyly. “I certainly did.”
The woman’s smile was warm. “I’m so very glad you did.” Her posture and her expression went from friendly to professional in a blink of an eye. “So, what sort of help do you need from the Major?”
Emily spoke very slowly, hoping her explanation made sense. “Someone is supposed to come to The Chesterfield today and ask for me. My parents have arranged for this person to buy a family heirloom that I have in my possession. I only found out about it yesterday.”
“And you want the Major not to let them know you’re a maid here and have them believe you’re a guest, instead?”
Emily shook her head. “Oh, no, ma’am. That’s not it. I just wanted the Major to oversee the transaction and make sure that the buyer is honest and that his payment is, as well. I don’t know much about these things. Someone could very easily cheat me and I wouldn’t know it.”
“I doubt anyone could cheat you, Emily. You’re a very bright girl. It is a very wise idea to bring in someone on your behalf who is more worldly and more familiar with high finance. But I’m afraid the Major is going to be tied up for the rest of the day in anticipation of the New Year’s celebration tonight.” At the sight of Emily’s disappointment, Miss Sparrow smiled. “Not to worry, Emily. I will personally make sure to provide you an experienced champion to protect your interests.”
“You will?” Emily wanted to hug the woman, but knew it wasn’t exactly proper behavior. “Oh, thank you, Miss Sparrow. If there’s ever anything I can do for you . . .”
The woman’s smile grew larger. “I’ll make sure to mention it to you. Now, if someone asks for you at the front desk, I’ll let you know and I’ll arrange for you to meet in one of the private parlors.” She glanced at Emily’s uniform. “And you might think about changing clothes and putting on one of those lovely dresses Maria lent you. Your price negotiations might shift more to your favor if your buyer takes for granted that you are what you appear to be: a well-dressed, well-heeled hotel guest. We won’t lie to him about your profession, but we certainly won’t correct any assumptions he might make based on your guest-like appearance.”
Emily forgot about the differences in their stations in life and threw her arms around the woman and embraced her. “Thank you, Miss Sparrow. Thank you so much . . .”
“You’re welcome,” the woman whispered back. She broke their hug and nudged Emily toward the door. “Now run along. I have to arrange for your champion.”
“You want me to what?” Delgatto crossed his arms, trying to contain the rage that wanted to break free.
“You heard me well enough the first time.” The woman wore an insufferably calm smile but there was a look in her eyes that said she wasn’t quite as serene as she tried to appear. “Emily is going to be selling her jewelry today, and she’s afraid she’s too inexperienced at such high finance and that the buyer might take advantage of her.” She leaned forward. “You wouldn’t want that to happen, now would you?”
He began to pace the impossibly small room. “I’m here to steal the bloody thing. You know that and I know that. If you involve me in the sales negotiations, then you’re severely hampering my ability to steal it.”
“How so?”
“The buyer will have seen my face, that’s why.”
She wore a look of complete innocence. “But why would he believe Miss Drewett’s representative would be a thief?”
Okay, she had him there. But he’d be damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of knowing she was right.
She continued. “The plan can be relatively simple. What if you act as her negotiator, getting a fair, if not generous, amount for her? Once we are sure the money has been properly deposited in her account, the buyer gets the necklace. You insist on buying him a drink, preferably in town and not at the hotel. Once he’s sufficiently in his cups, you take the necklace.”
Delgatto’s mind spun with the potential scenarios. “That won’t work. It’d be better if we both appear to drink heavily, then I offer to walk him to the bank or the train or wherever he is going. Then we’re attacked by masked hoodlums who rob both of us, stealing the necklace. Perhaps I’m even injured in the melee, bringing more credence to my role as just another hapless victim.”
She seemed taken aback momentarily by his ability to lie, cheat and steal . Had she forgotten who he was? But she soon began to nod.
“That could be plausible,” she said. “You’d be the last one they’d accuse of perpetrating the theft. You can easily explain that you have a passing interest in precious gems and were willing to apply what knowledge you possess to help an unfortunate young lady. For all anyone knows, you are a French count visiting here for recuperation’s sake.”
He swallowed hard. And therein lay the problem. “Well . . . not everybody believes I’m a count. Or crippled. Or French.”
“What do you mean?” Her gaze narrowed, and alarm began to creep into her face. “You didn’t tell someone who you really are, did you?”
Delgatto stopped pacing and turned his attention to a picture hanging at a slightly off angle. “Of course not. Who’d believe I was from the future? I barely believe it myself.” He straightened the picture twice, stalling for everything he was worth.
“Mr. Delgatto . . .”
He didn’t even correct her. “And speaking of people not believing things, it was the Major who caught on to my little impersonation.”
“He what?”
Boy, now he really had Miss Sparrow’s attention, minus her calm, cool, and collected smile. She looked almost distraught.
He turned his attention back to the picture. “The Maj is pretty sharp, sharper than I gave him credit for. But as a wise man once said, ‘Never underestimate great talent, especially mine.’ I managed to salvage the moment. He now believes I am a Secret Service agent, here as an advance scout for a possible presidential visit.”
He knew she was staring at him; he could feel two holes being drilled into the back of his head. He turned around and shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? He saw through the crippled count gimmick. I turned things around so that penetrating my disguise proved how really good he is at his job. The man loves to be praised. And he loves intrigue, too. I threw in some mumbo jumbo about quiet negotiations with foreign powers and had him eating out of my hand.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you understand that for all his blustery ways, Major Payne still has some very strong contacts with his former superiors in Washington? He could easily penetrate this new disguise as well.”
What was she? A mind reader?
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “He almost did already. The Major sent one of his buddies a wire, asking for confirmation of my identity. How was I to know he was that well connected? Luckily, I was able to intercept the telegram which suggested they lock me up and throw away the key, and substitute my own answer, which gave me a rather glowing recommendation.”
She started to speak, but he held out his hand to stop her.
“I know, I know. It could still blow up in my face. But all I have to do is wait until Emily’s transaction is finalized, witnessed, whatever. Just as long as she is paid for the thing. Then I can steal it from the new owner, and literally make off like a bandit. I’ll disappear and then come back here—with a new identity—in June for my return engagement.”
“You seemed to have found a suitable solution to spare Miss Drewett any financial distress.”
Delgatto felt telltale color flood his cheeks. Since when had he started wearing his feelings on his sleeve? His Tuesday night poker buddies were going to have a field day with his new sensitivities once he got back.
“I can’t hurt Emily. I won’t hurt her. I think she’s had a hard enough life without my stealing the only really valuable thing she has.”
Miss Sparrow caught him in an uncomfortable glaze. “Haven’t you done that already?”
An eerie silence fell across the room. His voice sounded broken and unsure even to his own ears. “What do you mean?”
“You’re making such pains not to steal her Heart of Saharanpur. But what about her own heart?”
He made three false starts, trying to dismiss their moments together as nothing more than a mutually satisfying roll in the hay, but even he couldn’t bring himself to say it, much less believe it. He dropped into the chair by her desk.
The King of Thieves was a royal has-been.
“What do I do?” he whispered. “I think I love her. Hell, I know I love her. I’ve already told her so. And it’s scaring me to death. I mean, I know what I’m supposed to do. It’s been drilled into me from the womb, and I’m the family’s last hope. There is no next generation to take up the shield and go on with the crusade. I’ve been too busy chasing the damned thing to have a life, a family. If I fail, then the family fails. I’m the last one left. He paused. “What do I do, Miss Sparrow?”
“It’s a question only you can answer.”
She heaved a sigh that made him think of his great aunt Beatrice, the only member of the family not caught up in a single-minded quest for the necklace. She used to sigh like Miss Sparrow, and he knew it meant, I don’t want to be disappointed in you, boy. Do the right thing.
But he’d be damned if he knew what the right thing was at that moment.
She stood. “I’m afraid I must go. Duties call. But before I do, let me ask you one question.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “Is the honor of a family more important than the honor of an individual?” She squeezed his arm, nodded her farewell, then left him sitting at the end of her desk.
The honor of an individual. Meaning him, of course. But hadn’t he already found the honorable solution—to steal from the next owner and not from Emily? Hadn’t he found the ideal answer that served both Emily’s family and his own?
Then the significance of Miss Sparrow’s words hit him between the eyes. Both he and Emily were acting on behalf of their families, but not taking into account what they wanted themselves. Sure, the idea of selfless devotion to the family was noble, but should it take over—commandeer both of their lives?
Forever?
He saw how she’d looked at the Heart of Saharanpur. What he saw in her eyes wasn’t greed or false pride of ownership, but a sense of sentimentality. She didn’t want to sell it. It meant something very special to her.
And he didn’t want to steal it from her.
The honor of the family . . .
He’d never been given a choice of occupations. It was expected of him to carry on as the family’s thief. Sure, he was good at it, but he might have been good at a dozen other vocations.
But he’d never know.
Just as he’d never know if he and Emily could have made a go of it. He couldn’t stay to find out because of his duty to bring the Heart of Saharanpur back to his family.
He buried his face in his hands. Why isn’t there a way out of this?
Emily had a hard time concentrating on her duties at hand, fretting about her meeting with the unknown buyer. Miss Sparrow had promised to find someone to negotiate in her stead, but who? Quite frankly, Emily didn’t trust the town’s only jeweler. She had waited patiently to speak to him soon after she’d arrived in town, but he had been too busy with several rich customers to serve a lowly hotel employee. Literally forgotten by the jeweler, Emily had watched one large woman “ooh” and “aah” over various pieces of jewelry. A second woman made a timely appearance, expressing equally enthusiastic interest over several of the same pieces of merchandise. Incensed at the idea of competition, the first woman doubled her offer, the second woman countered, and finally the first woman left, having paid almost triple the original price.
A short time later, Emily saw the jeweler handing money to the second woman, praising her for having helped him “gouge the old battle-ax.”
If he was to be her champion, Emily would insist on handling the transaction by herself. Who knew who he might decide to cheat: the buyer, her, perhaps even both of them.
Emily pushed away her thoughts as she faced the last room she had to clean: Mr. East’s. She’d put it off until last for some reason she couldn’t readily explain. She hadn’t forgotten his parting words last night, nor had she forgotten her own response.
I love you.
And she did love him. Why? She had no earthly idea why. She’d asked her grandfather once about finding true love and distinguishing it from ordinary love. His answer? It was easy to describe ordinary love: you loved how someone looked, you loved how they touched you, you loved how you felt when you were with them. True love was much harder to define and therefore just as hard to explain.
But you’ll know it when it happens, he’d said. It’ll be like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.
She held her breath as she knocked on his door. There was no answer. She entered his room, finding it less neat than usual. Was there any wonder? He’d been distracted. By her.
Dutifully, she picked up his clothes. She lifted his shirt to her nose and inhaled, recognizing the slightly spicy scent of cologne she had come to think of as uniquely his.
Folding his garments neatly and placing them on the chair, she turned to his bed. The sheets and covers were haphazardly thrown to the side, but she could still see the imprint of his body in the mattress, as if he had just risen. She touched the spot gingerly, almost expecting to still feel the residual warmth from his body.
The sheets were cool.
But if only she were.
As Emily stripped the sheets, her mind wandered to forbidden places. She daydreamed about him, remembering how his touch made her shiver, how his kisses made her burn. She closed her eyes, clutched his pillow to her chest, and savored the commanding memories that filled her mind, swaying to a love song of the soul only she could hear.
“Emily?”
Her eyes sprang open, but the allure of her memories made it hard to focus on the figure standing in the doorway.
It was Miss Sparrow. “Are you all right? You were just . . . standing there.”
“Uh, s-sure . . . I’m fine,” Emily sputtered. “Just resting my eyes for a moment.”
Miss Sparrow nodded. “It’s been an unusual week.” She paused to give Emily a knowing look. “And it’s about to get even more unusual. He’s here. The buyer, I mean. I was at the front desk when he came, so I have him safely tucked away in the Red Parlor and told him you’d be there in fifteen minutes. I’ve alerted your champion, and he’ll be there as well.”
Emily drew in a sharp breath. Fifteen minutes. Possibly enough time to finish here, run to her room, change clothes, and then dash to the parlor. She took two big handfuls of sheets and tugged.
“Merciful heavens, girl. You don’t have to do that. I’ll get someone else to finish the room. You run along.”
Emily could have kissed the woman. She stepped over the pile of sheets and made a beeline for the door. “I’ll never forget this, Miss Sparrow. I appreciate this so much.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” the woman declared. “I’m certain of it.”
As Emily shot out the door, Miss Sparrow held out her hand. “One question before you go. Have you seen Fannie this morning?”
“No, ma’am. But she was mighty upset yesterday.”
“I think the fool girl has run off. She’s not cleaned any of her rooms this morning, and no one has seen hide nor hair of her since muster.”
Too excited to stand still, Emily started down the hallway, walking backward so she could still address Miss Sparrow. “She said nothing to me about leaving, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sitting on the platform waiting for the next train. I don’t think she was suited for this job.”
By now she was halfway down the hall and almost shouting.
Miss Sparrow waved goodbye, then held up crossed fingers, a gesture which Emily imitated with a smile. Emily knew she couldn’t run to her room. The Major frowned upon such actions because they drew “unnecessary attention” to the staff. So she employed a hurried gait that fell just below his definition of running. Anyone looking at her would simply believe she was moving with efficient speed to her next task.
She ran into Cornelia in the intersection of their hallways.
“Have you seen that . . . Fannie around anywhere? At all?”
Emily shook her head. “Nope. Miss Sparrow is looking for her.”
“I am, too. The silly chit was supposed to trade rooms with me. Instead of doing mine, she’s disappeared. I’m furious. The Major thought she had completed her duties and I was the slackard, when it was actually the other way around.” Cornelia balanced her fists on her hips. “She used me. That’s what she did. No one thought to look for her until now because all her rooms were cleaned.” She stabbed a finger at her own chest. “Why? Because I cleaned the things. Myself. Now I have to clean another set as well.” Her face folded into a very unpleasant scowl. “I ought to hex her.”
Emily inched away. “Perhaps so. I’d love to help, but I have . . . a meeting to attend.”
Cornelia ignored her. “A hex. That’s a good idea. Warts and such wouldn’t work; she’s already a horsefaced, big-boned clod of a girl. I know.” Cornelia spun in a circle two times, crossed her arms, and twined her fingers together. It looked terribly uncomfortable.
“Fannie,” she intoned in an artificially deep voice, “or Fancy, or whatever your name is, may your return home be fraught with disappointments. And along the way, I hope someone tricks you as successfully as you tricked me.” Cornelia opened one eye and added a quick, “And may you break out in boils and hives.”
She unclenched her arms and shrugged at Emily’s look of disapproval. “I had to throw that in,” she whined. “The other parts were so vague. I need to know she’s going to suffer some sort of physical torment.”
Emily sighed, waved goodbye to her friend, and entered her room where her best dress waited, laid out on the bed. She changed clothes quickly, then turned to Cornelia’s bag of cosmetics to attempt to repeat some of the magic her friend had created for the ball.
Having little experience with the pots of paints and fearing that her attempts would make her look more like a dancing girl, Emily limited herself to a small amount of rouge and a touch of lipstick. Luckily for her, her hair cooperated by falling in suitable curls when she removed her combs.
She admired herself the best she could in the tiny, warped mirror above the dresser. Retrieving her sewing basket, she removed the case that held the Heart of Saharanpur, allowing herself one last moment to admire it.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard her grandfather’s voice offering his usual defense when her father would get angry at the idea of a child playing dress-up with such a valuable possession.
“Come now, Marcus,” her grandfather would chide. “A beautiful object like this wasn’t meant to be hidden away in a safe. It looks its finest when placed around the neck of a beautiful woman. And look at our Emily . . .” Coaxed from her usual hiding spot behind his leg, Emily would shyly approach her father, finding support and solace in her grandfather’s smile.
“Have you ever seen the Heart look so beautiful? Or, as a matter of fact, your own child? They complement each other.” Then her grandfather would reach down and kiss her. “Run along, child. Say hello to the queen for me and tell her I’ll return to the royal tea in just one moment.”
I miss you so much, Grandfather. . . .
Dragged back to the present, Emily stared at the necklace safely nestled in its velvet-lined case. She let her gaze sink into the seemingly infinite center of the stone.
Her grandfather was right.
A necklace such as this was meant to be worn and appreciated. Perhaps the buyer would find it even more desirable and therefore more valuable if she wore it herself. Plucking the necklace from its case, she put it on, carefully fastening the difficult clasp with experienced fingers. She hadn’t noticed until that moment that she’d instinctively chosen the one dress she owned—the dark green velveteen—that showed the necklace off to its best advantage.
If nothing else, it would allow her one last time to wear the necklace, to pretend she was someone worthy enough to gossip with the queen over tea. . . .
She held her head up high as she walked down the hall. When she emerged from the employees’ area and into the Grand Foyer, none of the guests noticed an impostor was in their midst. However, several of the hotel’s lobby employees noticed.
Carl, behind the front desk, gave her look of open shock. But O’Riley, a bit unsteady on his feet, blew her a kiss. Rupert saw her, then clicked his heels in attention, dipping his head as a gesture of respect. Then he broke his heretofore solemnity by giving her a thumbs-up. Emily walked . . . no, glided across the room toward the Red Parlor, overwhelmed by a very odd and very calm sense of belonging, as if the necklace gave her the confidence to be there.
She paused at the door, took a deep breath, then stepped in.
A medium-sized man stood by the fireplace, sipping from a steaming cup of something. He was casually leaning against the mantel, then straightened when he saw her.
“Miss Drewett, I presume?”
She nodded. “You have me at a disadvantage. My father’s wire didn’t mention your name.”
He placed his cup on the mantel, brushed his palm against his leg, and strode toward her, hand outstretched. “William Kidder. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He shook her hand, but failed to let go. As he continued to hold her hand, he cocked his head slightly. “I have the strangest feeling we’ve met before.”
She extracted her hand, but allowed her gaze to linger on his face. He was young, perhaps not much older than herself, and had a smooth peaches and cream complexion. He stared at her with big blue eyes that gave him an air of youthful innocence. He did seem somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t readily remember meeting him.
“I don’t believe so. Are you from Chicago, too?”
“No, no, I was just passing through when I just happened to run into your father and learned your necklace was for sale. From his descriptions, he made it seem as if it were quite unique.” His attention slid instantly from her face to her neck. “And he wasn’t kidding a Kidder . . .” His laughter was just a bit too loud and a bit too braying.
She took an instant dislike to him.
But, she reminded herself, you don’t have to like him. All you have to do is take his money. Hopefully, lots of it.
“So this is the infamous Heart of Saharanpur.” He stepped close enough to lift the stone and examine it. “I must say I thought I’d never see it.” He lifted hauntingly familiar eyes to meet hers. “I suppose you know the story behind it?”
A chill crept up her spine. “I know what my grandfather told me.”
“Ah, yes, your grandfather—a stableboy in his youth, if I’m not mistaken. A very bad stableboy, from what I’ve heard. Not bad as in uncomfortable around horses, but bad as in”—he wagged a finger in her face—“naughty, naughty.”
She stepped back from him, reaching for the chain to make sure the necklace pulled away from his grasping fingers. “That’s not what I was told.”
He nodded. “Of course not. You probably heard some sanitized version of it, some fairy tale about star-crossed royal lovers. A Romeo and Juliet epic with a much happier ending.”
“S-something like that.”
The amusement went out of his eyes, leaving them flat and lifeless. “Well, you were lied to. The princess didn’t run away with the prince. She was kidnapped by him, and the stableboy was his accomplice. The prince stole the Heart of Saharanpur at the same time. Maybe he wasn’t sure which the king valued more. In any case, he kept the princess and ended up giving the Heart to the boy as payment for services rendered, not to mention as a bribe to keep his mouth shut.” He smiled, but the expression never entered his eyes. “It really was the perfect scam. The kid couldn’t pawn it, he couldn’t sell it, and it was far too valuable for him to simply throw away. So he kept it, which meant if he didn’t keep silent, the prince could rat him out.”
Emily took another step away from the man. He was simply mad. “I think you’d better go.”
A new voice filled the room. “You heard the lady. Leave.” Mr. East stepped into view, his hands in fists and a fierce scowl etched across his face.
Then a look of shock replaced his anger.
He stared at the young man.
“Oh, shit. You?”