The Gentleman and the Thief (The Dread Penny Society #2) - Sarah M. Eden Page 0,2
been hard-pressed to emulate, the membership made their way to their various seats. Fletcher, as always, occupied the throne that sat in the midst of them.
The society’s newest member sat directly across from Hollis. Elizabeth Black, who wrote under the nom de plume “Mr. King,” had made the most memorable application for membership in the history of the Dread Penny Society—cloaked in confidence and clad in trousers—and she had proven herself an invaluable addition during the two months she’d been one of them.
“With me,” Fletcher instructed.
Every meeting began with a recitation of the society’s oath: “For the poor and infirm, the hopeless and voiceless, we do not relent. We do not forget. We are the Dread Penny Society.”
Fletcher sat with either elbow on a chair arm, his fingers entwined. “Penny for your thoughts, gen’lmen”—he tossed a flirtatious look to Elizabeth, the two of them being sweethearts—“and lady.”
Elizabeth took the floor first. “The Barton School for Girls is open and running smoothly, but it will still need an influx of funds if it is to remain in operation. I’d like to see us secure another donor or two.”
The Dreadfuls supported a lot of causes, but education was Hollis’s personal passion. The Barton school focused on vocational training for young girls, many of whom the Dreadfuls had rescued from being forced into less savory occupations.
Fletcher turned his attention on Hollis. “Squeezing money out of the fine and fancy—that’s why we keep you around.”
Blast it if that wasn’t truer than he wished it were. Until Elizabeth had joined, he’d been the only Dreadful with connections among the well-to-do. He regularly got the symbolic pat on the head as he was sent off to do the namby-pamby work the others were too rough-and-tough to bother with.
“My sister-in-law mentioned a musicale hosted by the Kennards,” he said.
“What’re the chances you’ll know anyone there?” Fletcher asked.
Brogan jumped in. “Better’n the chances you would.”
The group laughed. Fletcher took it in stride, as always.
“Thompson will likely be there,” Hollis said. “He might consider patronizing the Barton school. Lewiston might as well.”
“I, too, received an invitation,” Elizabeth said. “I might know some of those Hollis doesn’t, though musical evenings aren’t precisely my specialty.”
“They're not mine, either,” Hollis said.
A rare bit of quiet settled on the group as they all pondered the best means of chewing the fat with potential donors without drawing too much attention to their activities. Secrecy kept them in business. Kept them alive at times, too.
Stone spoke, which was a rare enough thing to draw the group’s attention. He was only known by that single name, and other than having been a slave in America’s South, no one knew anything about his past. Little was known of his present. But when Stone spoke, everyone listened.
“Convince Miss Newport to perform,” he said.
Everyone looked to Elizabeth. Miss Newport was the music teacher at her school.
“An excellent suggestion,” Elizabeth said.
“Brilliant,” Fletcher said. “The four of us will see if we can’t squeeze a few society types for a healthy stack of loot.” To the room, he said again, “Penny for your thoughts.”
Kumar spoke up. He had been born in India but had lived the entirety of his adult life in London. The penny serials he wrote were set in the land of his birth. That he never portrayed his fellow countrymen as caricatures or simpletons, shallow villains or helpless victims like far too many English writers did when setting stories in India made his stories all the more important and needed.
“Martin spotted our tiny thief,” he said. “She was slipping out of a house in Mayfair. Police haven’t caught her yet, but neither have we.”
The Dreadfuls had gotten wind of a small girl undertaking thefts at the homes of the upper class. Their estimations put her at eight or nine years old. They knew the Metropolitan Police were keen on apprehending her, but the DPS was determined to catch her first and give her a chance at a better life.
The business of searching out a slippery London urchin was discussed, though no strategy was formed other than keeping their eyes peeled and ears open. Other matters were discussed, everything from previous missions to whispers of criminal activity, from employment opportunities for some of the children they’d rescued to what supplies were needed at the schools for which they were silent patrons. Through it all, Hollis’s thoughts never strayed from the upcoming musicale, but not because of his assignment.