Benjamin probably had a bedchamber like this one. The man probably slept in a four-poster bed with a mattress that looked as soft and inviting as the one behind him. Just the sort of bed he could have been sharing with Benjamin at that moment, if his life was anything other than what it was.
His arms dropped like leaden weights to his sides.
“If you ever have need of anything. Anything at all. You know where to find me.”
Benjamin’s voice echoed in his head, full of concern and worry and steeped in implicit trust.
Even though he would never see Benjamin again, just the thought of looking into his kind, hazel eyes, knowing he had left the man’s house, turned down his offer—twice—to spend the night with him, only to steal from another mere hours later…
He couldn’t.
Damnation, he couldn’t do it. If he could so easily take that painting, walk out of this house with a clear conscience and hand the painting over to Hale, then he might as well go straight over to Brook Street and pinch Benjamin’s house clean. Take the books in his study, the little clock on the mantel, the clothes from the man’s closet. It would be the same, wouldn’t it? What did it matter that Benjamin and likely the owners of this house had more money than they could spend. He’d still be taking something that did not belong to him, and it wasn’t as if he needed the damn painting to put food in his belly.
He turned on his heel and left the room. The house was quiet as a grave as he went down a flight of stairs to the study.
Pushing open the half-closed door, he found the dark shapes of Sam and Jim where he’d left them, their well-trained hands swiping anything that could hold value and was small enough to fit in their bags.
“We need to leave. Now.” Even though he spoke in a whisper, his voice sounded unnaturally loud, echoing in his ears.
The boys didn’t question. Hands fell away from a bookshelf and a desk.
“Drop ’em.” Cavin pointed to the bags each boy carried.
Metal and porcelain clinked as the boys did as bid.
Even in the darkness, Cavin could see the question on Sam’s face. Yet the boy waited until they had slipped from the kitchen window and closed it behind them before opening his mouth.
“Why—”
“Not now, Sam.” Cavin motioned to the garden wall. “Back the way we came.”
Once they’d traveled a couple of streets, he pulled the boys to a stop along the back of a building, crouching down into the space between two bushes.
“What’s wrong, Cavin?” Sam asked, stooping down beside him. “Why’d we need to leave?”
Cavin took the bag off his shoulder and pulled out his shoes. His heart slammed frantically against his ribs. Shock over his own actions coursed through him. He couldn’t believe he had done it. He’d actually walked away from the painting. The ramifications gathered over his head like an approaching storm, yet a portion of his mind spun quickly. Hale wasn’t with them. The man had no way to prove or disprove anything Cavin would tell him. “I heard footsteps in the garret. The house wasn’t empty.”
“But why did we need to leave the bags?”
“Don’t know if a servant saw us leave the house, but it’s possible. Could have been watching from a window.” Cavin shoved his feet into his shoes. Years ago, he’d learned to take them off before entering a house. He could move about quieter without them, though he made the boys keep theirs on as he never allowed them to stray beyond the first floor of a house during a sneak. “I doubt anyone could have gotten a good look at us, but if you were caught carrying them, you’d be done for.”
“Not for long,” Jim said, full of confidence. “Hale’d take care of it.”
“He might not be able to on this side of the Thames.” Their protection was assured in and around St. Giles, but near Vauxhall? Cavin highly doubted Hale’s influence reached that far.
“Hale’ll be mad when we return with nothing.” Fear had
His arms dropped like leaden weights to his sides.
“If you ever have need of anything. Anything at all. You know where to find me.”
Benjamin’s voice echoed in his head, full of concern and worry and steeped in implicit trust.
Even though he would never see Benjamin again, just the thought of looking into his kind, hazel eyes, knowing he had left the man’s house, turned down his offer—twice—to spend the night with him, only to steal from another mere hours later…
He couldn’t.
Damnation, he couldn’t do it. If he could so easily take that painting, walk out of this house with a clear conscience and hand the painting over to Hale, then he might as well go straight over to Brook Street and pinch Benjamin’s house clean. Take the books in his study, the little clock on the mantel, the clothes from the man’s closet. It would be the same, wouldn’t it? What did it matter that Benjamin and likely the owners of this house had more money than they could spend. He’d still be taking something that did not belong to him, and it wasn’t as if he needed the damn painting to put food in his belly.
He turned on his heel and left the room. The house was quiet as a grave as he went down a flight of stairs to the study.
Pushing open the half-closed door, he found the dark shapes of Sam and Jim where he’d left them, their well-trained hands swiping anything that could hold value and was small enough to fit in their bags.
“We need to leave. Now.” Even though he spoke in a whisper, his voice sounded unnaturally loud, echoing in his ears.
The boys didn’t question. Hands fell away from a bookshelf and a desk.
“Drop ’em.” Cavin pointed to the bags each boy carried.
Metal and porcelain clinked as the boys did as bid.
Even in the darkness, Cavin could see the question on Sam’s face. Yet the boy waited until they had slipped from the kitchen window and closed it behind them before opening his mouth.
“Why—”
“Not now, Sam.” Cavin motioned to the garden wall. “Back the way we came.”
Once they’d traveled a couple of streets, he pulled the boys to a stop along the back of a building, crouching down into the space between two bushes.
“What’s wrong, Cavin?” Sam asked, stooping down beside him. “Why’d we need to leave?”
Cavin took the bag off his shoulder and pulled out his shoes. His heart slammed frantically against his ribs. Shock over his own actions coursed through him. He couldn’t believe he had done it. He’d actually walked away from the painting. The ramifications gathered over his head like an approaching storm, yet a portion of his mind spun quickly. Hale wasn’t with them. The man had no way to prove or disprove anything Cavin would tell him. “I heard footsteps in the garret. The house wasn’t empty.”
“But why did we need to leave the bags?”
“Don’t know if a servant saw us leave the house, but it’s possible. Could have been watching from a window.” Cavin shoved his feet into his shoes. Years ago, he’d learned to take them off before entering a house. He could move about quieter without them, though he made the boys keep theirs on as he never allowed them to stray beyond the first floor of a house during a sneak. “I doubt anyone could have gotten a good look at us, but if you were caught carrying them, you’d be done for.”
“Not for long,” Jim said, full of confidence. “Hale’d take care of it.”
“He might not be able to on this side of the Thames.” Their protection was assured in and around St. Giles, but near Vauxhall? Cavin highly doubted Hale’s influence reached that far.
“Hale’ll be mad when we return with nothing.” Fear had
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