The Gentleman Thief. Deborah Simmons
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Название: The Gentleman Thief
Автор: Deborah Simmons
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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“There are nigh on eighty physicians practicing in Bath. Surely one of them could have been induced to help you with your…ah…problem, without resorting to robbery,” Ashdowne said dryly to a sputtering Whalsey.
Having no interest in male baldness or how to cure it, Georgiana broke in upon the conversation. “But what of the jewels?” she asked. Both Whalsey and Cheever looked at her blankly. “Lady Culpepper’s necklace?” she prompted.
Cheever’s small eyes grew wide, and whatever gentlemanly ways he had put on fell away like a mask. “Now, you hold on a minute there, miss. I don’t know a thing about that! I’m strictly smalltime, I swear it! I ain’t no jewel robber!”
“Nor am I!” Whalsey cried from across the room. “I may be a bit short of funds at the moment, but everyone knows I get my money by marrying it, not stealing it. It’s my hair I’m worried about! How will I find a rich widow, if it goes? A man can’t wear a wig all the time! I simply must keep my hair!” he declared with passionate ferocity.
Jeffries held up the bottle, and Georgiana could see that it was filled with some sort of dark liquid. “And you think this here’s going to do the job?” the Bow Street Runner asked.
“Oh, most certainly! It will grow hair on a billiard ball!” Whalsey claimed.
“The professor swears by it!” Cheever put in. “And you should see the head of hair he has on him!”
“A mane that he was no doubt born with,” Georgiana muttered as disappointment swamped her. After all her careful investigation, she had not recovered the missing gems! And the nefarious scheme she had overheard had come to this: two men fighting over a stolen batch of hair restorative.
It was decidedly lowering.
Jeffries cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that whether or not this concoction works is irrelevant, for either way, it’s been stolen, and I’ll be returning it to the rightful owner,” he said firmly. “I’ll have the formula, too, if you please.”
With another loud huff, Whalsey pulled a paper from his coat pocket and thrust it angrily at the Bow Street Runner.
“Is this the only copy?” Jeffries asked.
“Yes!” Whalsey snapped.
“Very good, then. I’ll be in touch with you two regarding any charges that the professor might want to make against you.”
“It was all his doing!” Cheever accused, scowling at Whalsey.
“I did nothing. You’re the one who approached me, you housebreaker!” Whalsey retorted.
The two were still arguing when Georgiana, Ashdowne and Jeffries left the house, and it was not until they stepped outside that silence reigned once more. Georgiana, for one, was too distressed to speak, and the three walked quietly down the steps that fronted the building. So mired in her own dejection was she that at first Georgiana didn’t hear the sound of a low chuckle. But by the time they reached the street, it was clearly audible. Did Ashdowne mock her?
Whirling on him, Georgiana prepared to give him a good set-down, but the look on his face stopped her. The marquis, who always seemed so elegant and assured, was grinning helplessly. “Hair restorative!” he murmured. And then he threw back his head and burst out laughing.
Watching his handsome face relax so fully, Georgiana felt her own tension ease. After all, Ashdowne was not finding humor in her miscalculations, but in the situation in which they had found themselves, which she had to admit was the silliest she had ever encountered.
Before she knew it, Georgiana was laughing, too, and then, to her surprise, Jeffries joined in with a rough growl of amusement, until all three of them were nearly making a spectacle of themselves on the streets of Bath. Her eyes watering in a most unladylike fashion, Georgiana swayed on her feet, but Ashdowne was there to lean on, and she decided that it was a most pleasant experience to share her mirth with a man.
It was only later, after sobering once more and parting with her companions, that Georgiana realized the awful truth. If Whalsey and Cheever were innocent, she was left with only two suspects.
And Ashdowne was one of them.
Chapter Five
Ashdowne stretched out upon the uncomfortable Grecian squab couch in his bedroom and propped his feet on the top of a carved stool. He had let the house, including the ghastly furniture, for the season, though he had only intended to stay a short while. Now he found himself hating the fashionable address in Camden Place. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time he had disliked his surroundings, but the pretentious trappings bothered him more than usual. Everything
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