The Gentleman Thief. Deborah Simmons

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      Sooner or later the Bow Street Runner who had arrived last night would have to visit the scene of the crime, Georgiana reasoned, and she intended to have a word with him when he did. But Lady Culpepper’s late sleeping habits seemed to be making the inevitable interview later rather than sooner. So far the only traffic into the house had been servants and a rather rumpled middle-aged man who had gone by the tradesmen’s entrance.

      When the same fellow left the building a good half hour later, Georgiana thought nothing of it—until he crossed the street and came directly toward her. She frowned, unwilling to waste her time chatting with a man who probably wanted to sell her something. She had to keep her eyes and her wits upon Lady Culpepper’s, or miss her chance entirely.

      “Excuse me, miss,” the man said politely, and Georgiana nodded. He had stopped in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck in order to see the doors to the Culpepper house. “You seem to be interested in that building over there. Would you mind telling me why?”

      Surprised by his blunt manner, Georgiana studied the stranger anew. Although his clothes were of a poor cut, they were decent, and most everyone rubbed elbows in Bath. Stifling a groan of impatience, she tried to be gracious. “Haven’t you heard? A Bow Street Runner has been summoned to look into the infamous theft of Lady Culpepper’s emeralds,” Georgiana explained.

      The fellow appeared taken aback, his thick brown brows furrowing. He had a world-weary countenance, with more lines perhaps than could be accounted for by his age. Normally Georgiana would have been interested in meeting someone outside her usual realm of acquaintances, but not today; she was too busy. Nor did she have the time to relate the details of the robbery to him, should he be new to Bath and unfamiliar with the tale.

      “Pardon me for asking, miss, but what does that have to do with you?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

      “I am waiting for him!” Georgiana said loftily, hoping that the man would take her tone as a dismissal.

      He did not. To Georgiana’s annoyance, the stranger continued to obstruct her view with his rather stocky, compact form. He showed no signs of discouragement, but bent his head in the sketch of a bow. “Wilson Jeffries, at your service, miss.” Oh, would he not go away? There was some activity across the way, and Georgiana fidgeted to see over his shoulder.

      “Miss? Just what did you want to see me about?”

      “You?” Georgiana blinked in surprise.

      The man nodded, his mouth curving into the ghost of a smile. “Yes, miss. I’m from Bow Street.”

      Georgiana took in a deep breath as her attention was drawn from Lady Culpepper’s house to the fellow in front of her. Truth to tell, she had to admit to a slight disappointment, for Wilson Jeffries was hardly what she had conjured in her mind as one of London’s expert thief takers. Quite naturally, Georgiana had pictured a young virile specimen, bulging with the muscles necessary to subdue his prey and with a sort of seedy cast to him—from his association with all those criminals.

      She found herself eyeing a man of medium height and build, with rounded shoulders that made him appear slumped and rather tired, a weariness that was echoed in his brown eyes. With his wrinkled clothes and unthreatening demeanor, he looked more like a simple shopkeeper than a trained investigator.

      Wilson Jeffries seemed neither tough nor particularly clever, and Georgiana decided right then and there that it was a good thing she had stumbled upon him. Undoubtedly, this particular Bow Street Runner was in sad need of her aid. Pleased with the thought, Georgiana smiled at him and leaned close.

      “Why, Mr. Jeffries, it is not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,” she said.

      When he eyed her quizzically, Georgiana explained herself with some measure of confidence. “You see, I am accounted a bit of an investigator myself, and I have studied this case most thoroughly. I was there when it happened, you know.”

      “And you have some information about the theft?” He had a rather skeptical air about him, but Georgiana was not deterred. It was the nature of men to be dubious of her abilities, yet this one could not afford to maintain that attitude for long, and that knowledge lent fresh enthusiasm to Georgiana’s efforts.

      She leaned close, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Indeed, I at once narrowed the field of suspects down to three,” she said in a confidential tone.

      The fellow eyed her assessingly. “Did you now?” he asked.

      “Yes! And I will be happy to impart to you my deductions, including the identity of the robber himself!”

      “Would you?” Jeffries said. He was certainly a man of few words, and Georgiana wondered if he used that to his advantage during the course of his questioning or if it might not be a hindrance to him. Perhaps she could not only assist him with this case, but give him a few suggestions on how to improve his technique in the future.

      “I own I would dearly love to pursue a career such as yours, but, sadly, I am a victim of my gender,” Georgiana admitted. “However, that does not prevent me from solving whatever mysteries I can, small ones for the most part, but this business at Lady Culpepper’s is a true crime! And I am only too happy to lend my expertise to you for its speedy resolution.”

      “I see,” Jeffries said, although he did not look at all as if he did. Perhaps he was slow but thorough, Georgiana thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

      “Shall we walk?” Georgiana asked, for even though the Bow Street Runner seemed oblivious to his surroundings, she was keeping a wary eye out for curious passersby.

      Jeffries appeared nonplussed, but when she tugged on his sleeve, he fell into step beside her. “Did you question the servants?” she asked.

      “Miss, I…”

      “No matter,” Georgiana said with an airy wave. “I am certain of the identity of the thief.”

      “And just how did you decide, miss?” Jeffries asked.

      “Well, as I said, I narrowed it down to three likely candidates,” Georgiana explained, pleased to have the opportunity to expound upon her theories. “At first, I considered Ashdowne—”

      “Lord Ashdowne? The Marquis of Ashdowne?” Jeffries stopped to gape at her until Georgiana was forced to nudge him forward once more.

      When they were walking again, she continued. “I admit that he seems less likely now, but I cannot shake the feeling that he is up to something, for he is hardly the sort to frequent Bath. I ask you, why would a healthy man such as he claim to be in need of the waters?” Georgiana said. Immediately, she regretted her words as a blush climbed her cheeks. All too well, she recalled just how healthy—and hard and muscular-was Ashdowne.

      Jeffries, apparently mollified, smiled slightly. “It’s been my experience, miss, that it’s nigh impossible to figure out the ton and their doings.”

      Georgiana nodded, although she thought his admission a sad commentary on his skills, for it was his job to discover motivations and such. Still, a man so aware of his own shortcomings might be more amenable to assistance than someone more arrogant, Georgiana mused, and she stepped alongside him with increasing assurance.

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