The Thief Taker by Janet Gleeson Read Free Book Online

lay silently, surveying the ceiling with its cupids and nymphs embracing one another, trying to breathe in shallow breaths to quell the nausea rising in her belly. Usually she felt grateful to Nicholas for singling her out as the recipient for his favors. She had saved most of the money he paid, and the sum now amounted to almost ten pounds. But her predicament had changed.
    Should she confess to him that she was carrying his child? What would it be like to be swooped up by one of those nymphs and spend all day suspended in the air, with no chores and no child or Nicholas to please? She closed her eyes and imagined a world of white clouds and flowers and music. But suppose he denied responsibility and dismissed her? An instant later, Nicholas shuddered and finished.
    He scrabbled under his pillow for his purse. He picked out a silver shilling and stuffed it in the top of her bodice. Then, unusually, he stuffed a further sixpence into her hand. “Leave me now. You are late—don’t think I hadn’t remarked it. Make up for the time lost or there’ll be trouble with Mrs. Tooley. And you needn’t expect me to take your part.” He said this in a matter-of-fact tone, not unkindly. Then he patted her arm in an almost fatherly manner.
    â€œThank you, sir,” she said, opening her palm and examining the extra coin. “’Course I won’t dally.” She straightened the bed-clothes, then walked to the looking glass to quickly refasten her clothes. She looked thin and narrow, with neat, small features and hair that was glossy and smooth, the color of polished oak. She tidied her bun, then pinned her cap back on top of it. Her pale gray eyes were unnaturally bright, and the stubble on Nicholas’s chin had given her cheeks a pink glow that improved her palid complexion. She turned her head sideways to examine a long red scratch on the side of her neck. She shivered, remembering the strident accusations of theft that Rose had made the previous afternoon. Rose had accused her of stealing her letter and now, miraculously, Rose was gone. Nancy pushed the fracas from her thoughts, then adjusted her collar, thankful that Nicholas had not noticed the scratch.
    The clock struck the quarter hour as Nancy opened the cupboard by Nicholas’s bed and removed the half-filled chamber pot. Despite the stench Nancy concealed any flicker of revulsion. She placed a duster over the rim and, with a careful curtsy, left the room.
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    A T NINE , Mr. Matthews swept in, bearing a tray of early-morning tea, doing his utmost to conceal the fact that he had been up most of the night with Theodore and the constable. He set Nicholas’s dressing gown of crimson brocade, matching hat, and embroidered slippers to warm before the fire, which thanks to Nancy’s ministrations was now giving out a steady heat. Then, reopening the door to the back stairs, he descended as far as the first landing, where he halted and bellowed down, “Oi there, Philip! What are you waiting for? Hot water for the master. At the double, if you’d be so kind.”
    He returned to Nicholas’s room with a pair of polished shoes in one hand and a well-brushed suit draped across his arm. While he waited for the water to arrive, his mind was a torrent of worry—how was he to break the news of last night’s robbery and murder to his master? Nicholas’s reaction was sure to be explosive. If the business was on the brink of ruin, what would happen to the stipend Mr. Matthews had been promised to keep him in his old age? Was he also to be ruined?
    To calm himself he took out a leather razor strop and sharpened the blade. He had shaved Nicholas almost every morning for twenty years, and took considerable pride in the steadiness of his hand and the fact that in all that time he had hardly caused a scratch on his master’s complexion.
    He should also inform him of Rose Francis’s disappearance, but he knew Nicholas