The Gentleman and the Thief (The Dread Penny Society #2) - Sarah M. Eden Page 0,21

an odd assortment of other figurines, miniatures, and small knickknacks. Ana stood and crossed to it.

She reached for it without disturbing anything else. When her fingers wrapped around it, she swallowed back a lump of emotion. She’d missed this sweet, little reminder of her mother’s love. Holding it carefully, Ana returned to the desk and the tiny light of her candle. The figurine was of a young woman in a colorful dress, reminiscent of the century before, holding a violin. She stood on a base of what was meant to look like a tree, but it wasn’t very convincing. Nothing about it could have appealed to Mr. Mortimer other than the pain he knew losing it would inflict on Father’s family.

“But I have it back now,” she whispered.

She slipped it in her hidden pocket. Mission accomplished, she studied the library. A ground-floor exit would be easier than slipping back through the servants’ wing. Sure enough, a set of French doors led out to what appeared to be a terrace.

Ana blew out the candle, then moved swiftly out the French doors. She closed them behind her, slowly enough the only sound was the tiny click of the latch.

The terrace was adequately shadowed. By keeping close to the house, she and her shapeless dress stayed hidden. She needed only to reach the side gate of the back garden and she could slip out and away without having been noted by anyone. Again, patience was the key.

She turned a corner. The gate was within sight. She was nearly out of danger.

Whispering voices broke the silence of the back garden. Men. At least two.

Ana hunched down, slipping behind a low shrub. It was entirely in shadow; she wasn’t likely to be seen. Provided the men didn’t remain in the garden all night, she could slip out once they left.

“Mortimers are gone for a few more hours at least,” one of them said. “If the Phantom Fox is coming back, it’ll be tonight, mark me.”

Phantom Fox. That was the nickname whispered about the streets in reference to none other than herself. Her efforts had begun to draw notice. If her reclamations weren’t so important, she might have given them up.

“The front door was locked,” said the second man. Though Ana was no expert in the various accents of the world, she was relatively certain this man hailed from India.

“The rear door is as well.” The first man spoke again. He was English, and she would guess he’d had some education. “A sneak thief with any degree of ability won’t be stopped by that.”

Certainly not.

“Test the windows and doors on that side,” the English-man said. “I’ll check ’em here.”

Ana’s hiding spot was far enough from any windows or doors to keep her safely hidden. Still, it wasn’t terribly comfortable. The candle had cooled enough to tuck it and the copper candleholder back in her carrying pouch and into her pocket. With her hands free, she tucked her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, pulling herself into a tight, more fully concealed ball.

The silhouette of one of the searchers was visible from her hiding place. He was tall and leanly built. He wore a long, dark coat, and a misshapen hat pulled low on his head. He moved with confidence and agility. Were he to catch her, she would be hard-pressed to run fast enough to evade capture. Keeping still and silent was her best course of action.

The man tested one window after another without making the slightest noise. That didn’t happen on accident. Who was this man? What was his connection to the Mortimer house?

He stepped onto the terrace and checked the French doors she had used to escape. She’d had no means of locking it behind her. As quietly as he had opened it, the man slid the door closed once more. He turned.

She held her breath.

After a moment, he moved to the next set of windows, checking each one. He moved past the shrub she hid behind.

His companion returned.

“The terrace door weren’t locked,” he reported. “All the windows were, though.”

“The herb room door wasn’t, either,” his partner said. “A word of warning in the ears of the butler wouldn’t go astray.”

“And the house is quiet. Perhaps they dodged this particular train.”

“For now,” the other man said.

They made a slow circuit of the gardens, both eyeing the house. Ana’s feet were growing tingly from being held in one place for so long, but she didn’t dare adjust her position even the