will be visible, even if our faces are not. Are you ready?”
She gave him an odd, searching look. He thought she was going to continue to argue about the lantern. But something she must have seen in his face apparently convinced her to let the subject drop. She tightened her grip on the sketchbook and nodded once, very quickly.
Baxter put out the light. The darkness of the kitchen enclosed them in an instant.
Relying on his memory of the room, Baxter led the way back to the door. It opened easily, with only a small, betraying squeak. The dim glare of fog-reflected lamplight beckoned from the street above the front area.
Charlotte put a foot on the first of the stone steps. Baxter seized her arm again and held her still. She obediently came to a halt, waiting for him to signal her that it was safe to continue on up to the street.
Mercifully, she did not ask any more questions. He was grateful for her continued silence. He stood listening intently for a moment. The rattle of carriage wheels on the paving stones sounded from somewhere in the distancebut there was no indication that anyone waited nearby.
Baxter nudged Charlotte gently. She hastened up the steps. He followed swiftly. When they reached the street he turned and drew her toward the park, where the carriage waited.
The shadows in front of them shifted without warning.
A massive figure loomed out of the mist. The heavily built man was garbed in a bulky coachman’s coat and a low-crowned hat. The glare of the nearby gas lamp glinted dully on the large, long-barreled pistol in his beefy fist.
“Well, now, what ’ave we ’ere?” the man asked in a rasping voice. “Looks like a couple of gentry coves nosin’ around in my business.”
Baxter heard Charlotte draw a sharp, alarmed breath, but she did not cry out.
“Stand aside,” Baxter ordered.
“Not so fast.” There was enough light to see several large, dark holes in places where the villain’s teeth should have been. “You just came out of my house and I ain’t lettin’ you leave with anything that belongs to me.”
“Your house?” Charlotte stared at him in amazement. “How dare you? I happen to know that particular house was recently owned by someone else.”
“Uh, Miss Arkendale,” Baxter said softly. “This may not be a good time—”
“It’s my house, I tell ye,” the big man snarled at Charlotte. “I spotted it three nights back and I been watchin’ it real close ever since.”
“Watching it for what reason?” Charlotte demanded.
“Making sure the owner was gone for a good longwhile and weren’t planning to come back unexpected-like in the middle of the night, of course.”
“Good heavens, you’re a professional housebreaker.”
“I am that, right enough. Real professional.” The man grinned with pride. “Never been caught on account of I’m real careful. Always make sure the owners are out of town before I go in and help meself. I was getting ready to make my move tonight and what do I see? A couple of the fancy trying to beat me out of my profits.”
Baxter softened his voice. “I said, stand aside. I will not tell you again.”
“Glad to hear that. Ain’t got time for any dull lectures tonight.” The man dismissed Baxter with one last, mocking glance and turned his toothless grin back on Charlotte. “Now, then, Madam Busybody, just what did ye make off with? A bit of the silver, perhaps? A few trinkets from the jewelry drawer? Whatever it is, it belongs to me. Hand it over.”
“We took no valuables from that house,” Charlotte declared.
“Must have taken something.” The man scowled at the sketchbook. “What’s that?”
“Just a book. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“I ain’t interested in no book, but I’ll have a look at whatever ye got inside that cloak. I’ll wager ye tucked a few nice candlesticks and maybe a necklace or two in there. Open that cloak.”
“I will do no such thing,” Charlotte said with icy
She gave him an odd, searching look. He thought she was going to continue to argue about the lantern. But something she must have seen in his face apparently convinced her to let the subject drop. She tightened her grip on the sketchbook and nodded once, very quickly.
Baxter put out the light. The darkness of the kitchen enclosed them in an instant.
Relying on his memory of the room, Baxter led the way back to the door. It opened easily, with only a small, betraying squeak. The dim glare of fog-reflected lamplight beckoned from the street above the front area.
Charlotte put a foot on the first of the stone steps. Baxter seized her arm again and held her still. She obediently came to a halt, waiting for him to signal her that it was safe to continue on up to the street.
Mercifully, she did not ask any more questions. He was grateful for her continued silence. He stood listening intently for a moment. The rattle of carriage wheels on the paving stones sounded from somewhere in the distancebut there was no indication that anyone waited nearby.
Baxter nudged Charlotte gently. She hastened up the steps. He followed swiftly. When they reached the street he turned and drew her toward the park, where the carriage waited.
The shadows in front of them shifted without warning.
A massive figure loomed out of the mist. The heavily built man was garbed in a bulky coachman’s coat and a low-crowned hat. The glare of the nearby gas lamp glinted dully on the large, long-barreled pistol in his beefy fist.
“Well, now, what ’ave we ’ere?” the man asked in a rasping voice. “Looks like a couple of gentry coves nosin’ around in my business.”
Baxter heard Charlotte draw a sharp, alarmed breath, but she did not cry out.
“Stand aside,” Baxter ordered.
“Not so fast.” There was enough light to see several large, dark holes in places where the villain’s teeth should have been. “You just came out of my house and I ain’t lettin’ you leave with anything that belongs to me.”
“Your house?” Charlotte stared at him in amazement. “How dare you? I happen to know that particular house was recently owned by someone else.”
“Uh, Miss Arkendale,” Baxter said softly. “This may not be a good time—”
“It’s my house, I tell ye,” the big man snarled at Charlotte. “I spotted it three nights back and I been watchin’ it real close ever since.”
“Watching it for what reason?” Charlotte demanded.
“Making sure the owner was gone for a good longwhile and weren’t planning to come back unexpected-like in the middle of the night, of course.”
“Good heavens, you’re a professional housebreaker.”
“I am that, right enough. Real professional.” The man grinned with pride. “Never been caught on account of I’m real careful. Always make sure the owners are out of town before I go in and help meself. I was getting ready to make my move tonight and what do I see? A couple of the fancy trying to beat me out of my profits.”
Baxter softened his voice. “I said, stand aside. I will not tell you again.”
“Glad to hear that. Ain’t got time for any dull lectures tonight.” The man dismissed Baxter with one last, mocking glance and turned his toothless grin back on Charlotte. “Now, then, Madam Busybody, just what did ye make off with? A bit of the silver, perhaps? A few trinkets from the jewelry drawer? Whatever it is, it belongs to me. Hand it over.”
“We took no valuables from that house,” Charlotte declared.
“Must have taken something.” The man scowled at the sketchbook. “What’s that?”
“Just a book. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“I ain’t interested in no book, but I’ll have a look at whatever ye got inside that cloak. I’ll wager ye tucked a few nice candlesticks and maybe a necklace or two in there. Open that cloak.”
“I will do no such thing,” Charlotte said with icy
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