The Gentleman and the Thief (The Dread Penny Society #2) - Sarah M. Eden Page 0,22

tiniest bit.

Even after the men had slipped through the garden gate, she remained still. Autumn was newly arrived and the evenings were not terribly chilly. She could stay as long as she needed with no fear of freezing.

When she at last rose from her hiding spot, she moved with even more caution than before. Only when she reached the safety of her own room at Thurloe did she fully breathe again.

That had been a nearer run-in than most of her reacquisition missions. She had her figurine back, but the risk had been enormous.

No matter that the items she “stole” had been stolen from her in the first place, she knew enough of the inhumanity and injustice of the law to have any hope she would be heard or believed.

Her family deserved to have back what the leeches had robbed them of, but if she were caught righting that wrong, it would cost her absolutely everything she had left.

I’ll pummel you,” Fletcher offered Hollis as a friendly warning. It’d been a long time since they’d gone a round or two in the boxing salon at DPS headquarters. Fletcher never would admit that Hollis could hold his own.

“I’m not looking for a match,” Hollis said. “I’m trying to think through some things.”

Fletcher nodded. “Exertion clears the mind.”

“Especially when that mind was empty to begin with,” Brogan tossed out. The man never could resist a jest.

Stone, sitting in a well-worn chair in the far corner, watched without comment. But he was listening. Stone was always listening.

“What is it you’re thinking through?” Fletcher asked, popping his fists into fighting position.

Hollis did the same. “According to the servants’ grapevine, Alistair Headley’s spending time in Lambeth.”

The entire room seemed to pause. Even Stone, who was already perfectly still, somehow became even more still.

“Why Lambeth?” Brogan asked. “Does he consider purgatory too safe and uplifting a place?”

Brogan and his sister frequented London’s poor and crime-riddled areas like Lambeth, helping those who needed it, offering hope to those without.

“What madness would send Headley to that corner of Town?” Fletcher wondered.

“Gambling,” Stone said.

Hollis circled Fletcher, wanting to blow off a bit of steam. “That’s the prevailing theory. And I’m hearing he’s still seen about with Four-Finger Mike.”

An uppercut from Fletcher preceded his answer. “Seems the police oughtta be following Headley around in their search for that fugitive.”

Hollis raised his fists to better protect his face. “Following him, though, means they’d be following Randolph.”

Fletcher jabbed. “Your brother ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“But is he stupid enough to be wandering down to Lambeth?” Brogan pressed.

Hollis swung and dodged. “Blimey, I hope not.”

Fletcher landed a fist on Hollis’s left shoulder, sending him reeling back but not sprawling on the ground. “I’ll see if any of my urchins know Headley’s activities and if Randolph’s been seen about with him.”

Fletcher jabbed again but missed. Hollis swung before he could resume his protective stance and managed to land a solid jab.

Stone nodded his slow and rare approval.

In the next instant, Kumar stepped through the door. “Our little sneak thief’s been spotted.”

“The wee girl?” Brogan asked.

Kumar nodded. “She’s in Pimlico.”

“Which part?” Fletcher asked.

“St. George’s Road.”

“We’ll let you know what we find, Hollis.” Fletcher grinned before snatching up a towel and mopping the sweat from his face, neck, and chest.

“I can do more than saunter around being decorative,” Hollis said, cleaning up as well.

Fletcher gave him a look of amused doubt. “You do dance a fine quadrille.”

“Shove off.”

“This baby girl’s quick.” Stone moved with determined step to the door. “We don’t have time for your chest thumpin’.”

The man had a point. They’d been trying to sweep up the Phantom Fox for weeks. The authorities weren’t likely to show the kindercriminal any mercy, but the Dreadfuls knew too much of the desperation of street children to think she needed anything but compassion, especially since, half the time, she didn’t steal anything of any actual value.

Stone led the way to the Costume Chamber, a room with wall-to-wall wardrobes each filled with clothing in near-countless varieties, designed to be used in whatever scenario the Dreadfuls might find themselves. Brogan—the Dreadful with the most experience in disguises—crossed directly to the tall, pale oak wardrobe that held clothing fit for tradesmen.

“Not the all-black collection?” Fletcher asked.

“’Tisn’t night, lad. We’d stick out like fish on an apple cart.”

They changed quickly before exiting out the back of the building. The tradespeople they were meant to be wouldn’t come in and out the front. Obtaining a hack was out of character for their