Читать книгу Regency Society - Хелен Диксон, Ann Lethbridge, Хелен Диксон - Страница 64

Several days later, Tony was up early when Patrick brought him his breakfast tea, his pick working the lock mechanism in his practice safe. Barton’s lock would be keyed differently, but it would be good to have the confidence that picking the first lock might give him, and some idea of the total amount of time involved.

And the time it had taken so far was considerable. He had been working on his own lock for several days without success, even though he could work unhindered and get hints from the shape of the key. Stanton was becoming restless. There had been a terse note, reminding Tony of the urgency of the situation, as if he did not know it himself. Much more time and the government would be forced to take action, and the rest of the story would play out in The Times, much to the embarrassment of all concerned.

Patrick cleared his throat to announce breakfast.

‘Set the cup on the desk, Patrick.’

Patrick was looking over his shoulder.

‘You may go.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. This is too interesting to miss.’

‘That is my repayment for rescuing you from certain hanging so many years ago. Continued insolence. I had been better off to hire a servant in the ordinary way, than to take a charity case from Newgate.’

‘And what would you have learned from this imaginary servant—how to polish your own boots? Have you tried oiling the lock?’

‘And it has done me no good, other than to make the pick slip.’

‘You could drill the lock out, and gain entry that way.’

‘If I wished to announce the theft. I assume that Stanton wanted this done discreetly. And it would take even more time to drill through the steel.’

‘Last night, were you attempting this at Barton’s home? What methods did you employ? Did he leave you to work in peace, the whole night? For you were gone until almost dawn.’

Tony winced. He had gone to Barton’s home and observed the study window for a time, but, seeing light and movement in the room, he had given it up as a bad job. ‘He and I have come to an impasse, I fear. I have frightened him enough to keep him away from Constance. But now he will not leave his house, for fear of giving me a chance to enter. It is actually rather annoying, since it will make it difficult for me to finish the job, even if I can manage to open the safe.’

‘If you were not with Barton, then where have you been spending your time?’

Tony cleared his throat. ‘I spent the evening with the duchess.’

Behind him, Patrick chuckled. ‘You have had better luck unlocking her affections than you have had with Barton’s safe.’

Tony laid his check against the cool metal of the safe door and grinned. He had meant to visit her briefly the previous evening, and then return to his work. But several hours later, he was too exhausted to rise in any way, begging the woman to leave off tormenting him, assuring her that he had not an ounce of strength left in his body for the things she was suggesting.

And she had smiled at him, and rung for a bottle of champagne.

She had ignored him as he had argued that the wine would do more damage than good. Then she had taken the glass from his hand and drunk deeply. And she’d kissed her way down his body, taking little sips of the wine, and he’d had the strange sensation of bubbles on his skin, along with the kisses.

Then she had disappeared beneath the covers. And suddenly he was not nearly so exhausted as he had been moments before, and any plan he’d had of returning to Barton’s was long forgotten.

He could hear the clink of the china as Patrick picked up the teacup and began to drink it himself. He glanced over his shoulder. His valet was balancing his hip on the corner of his master’s desk, and helping himself to a scone to go with his tea. He glared.

Patrick shrugged. ‘The tea is getting cold, and you would only get butter on your hands if you had a scone. I will get you more, when you have opened the lock. So, tell me, does the dowager have a lady’s maid?’

‘Don’t be an idiot. Of course she does. And stop eating my breakfast.’

‘Tell me about her.’

‘I have been telling you about her for years.’ Although he couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

‘Not the duchess. The maid.’

‘She is just an ordinary maid. Not much in evidence, when I am there. Constance generally sends her to bed.’

‘The dowager is a most understanding and generous mistress, to be sure. I look forward to meeting her, again. And her maid, as well. Whose name is?’

‘Susan,’ Tony responded.

‘And I suppose she is old, pinch-faced, and sour tempered.’

‘She appears to me to be a most pleasant girl of twenty, blonde, somewhat plump and quite attractive.’

Patrick offered a toast with his teacup. ‘To the fair Susan. Now that things are settled, and the duchess knows who you are, I can hope but to spend a happy future, below stairs with a beautiful blonde.’

Tony swallowed and renewed his efforts with the lock. ‘Well. About that…’

‘You haven’t told her. Have you?’

‘We have been rather busy.’

Patrick poured another cup of tea. ‘In the past week, you have spent more time in her company than you have in all of the previous thirty years.’

‘But I would have to have been a fool to have spent it talking, Patrick. Apparently, the late duke was neglectful of his marital duties. And the duchess wishes to make up for lost time. I am happy to oblige, although I am near to exhaustion. Once the novelty of my visits wears off, we will have time to chat about old times. But until that time…Well, I’ll be damned.’

The locked turned under his hand, and the door to the safe swung open.

‘I have done it.’ He stared from the lock to Patrick and back to the lock. ‘I have picked a Bramah.’

Patrick stared over his shoulder at the open safe, and patted him on the back. ‘Well done, sir. Do you mean to try the challenge lock in the Bramah Company window, next? You could claim the two hundred guineas.’

Tony sat on the edge of the desk. ‘I cannot very well tell them it has been done. They’ll want to know how I managed it. And then they will change the lock to make it impossible again.’ He reached forward to touch the open door, as though he expected it to be an illusion. ‘And worse yet, they’ll wonder why a gentleman, who is not a locksmith by trade or by hobby, had reason to try.’ He laughed to himself. ‘I am the man that beat Bramah. But I cannot tell anyone, or I will not be able to use what I have learned.’

Patrick nodded in sympathy. ‘But you can use the information now, can’t you? Against Barton?’

Tony stared at the open safe. ‘I certainly hope so. If the man ever leaves his house, I mean to try.’

Tony leaned against the trunk of the tree that had become his evening home. He had spent three nights, perched like a bird in front of Barton’s house, watching the man sit in his study until almost midnight, only to be replaced by a servant, who was left to sleep in the chair by the desk. Tony had returned to Constance’s rooms each night, and let her soothe the frustration away, only to see the process repeated again the next night.

Barton must know he was watching. The guard upon the things was obvious enough, and all carried out in plain view of the window. So it was left to him to find a way to force Barton from cover, or the pattern could play out indefinitely.

Tony glanced back at the house, in frustration. To be so close to the plates, and finally in a position to have another go at the lock, only to be thwarted…

The room was empty.

He stared again. The lights were on, and the room was empty. He shifted his position in the tree to view it from another angle. There was no sign of life in the study.

His pulse quickened.

The front door of the house opened, and Barton appeared on the front step and paused, almost dramatically. He looked in the direction of Tony’s tree and made a grand, welcoming gesture towards the house, before signalling to a servant to bring the carriage around.

Tony sat perfectly still, straddling his branch as the carriage accepted its owner and drove away. The bastard had known he was there, and known his location as well. And he was leaving the house in plain sight and daring Tony to enter.

It was a trap, of course. But an irresistible one. Barton knew, and was taunting him.

Tony considered. If he was wise rather than clever, he would head away from the danger, and not towards. But he was tired of sitting in trees and trying to wait the man out. Now or never, then.

He dropped to the ground and made his way stealthily across the grounds to the ornamental drainpipe at the corner of the house that had served as ladder on his last entry. He rattled it, examining the areas nearest the ground for loosened bolts. It seemed secure, and so he began his ascent, working up the first flight, and the next, to the level of the window he sought.

Only to slip rapidly down. He’d dropped almost ten feet, and very nearly lost his grip before regaining his hold.

The bastard had greased the metal. Tony grinned through gritted teeth. If he had been careless, other than merely rash, he might have fallen, as Barton had intended.

He examined the stone front of the house. A more difficult climb, but not impossible. Clinging to the pipe with his legs, he pulled gloves from his pockets to cover the grease on his hands. Then he renewed his grip and reached out with a leg, finding a toe-hold in the stone of the house. And then a hand hold. And so began his ascent again.

It was unlikely that Barton would guess his route and lay another trap, but Tony felt carefully as he went for loosened stones or chiselled mortar. He was progressing nicely, within an arm’s length of the ledge beneath the window. He reached, grasped, and felt the pain before his fingers had fully closed on the bricks. When he pulled his hand away it was followed by a shower of broken glass.

He shook his hand to dislodge the shard that had poked through the palm of his glove, thanking God that the leather had taken the majority of the damage, and then reached out to brush the area clear, so that he might proceed.

An excellent effort, Barton. But not quite good enough. He examined the window for traps before opening it. It was mercifully clear and unlatched. Perhaps the next snare waited inside, since Barton did not think the window worthy of his effort. Tony made a quick circuit of the lit room before setting to work on the safe. No servants concealed behind furniture or curtains. And the key had been left on the inside of the door, as though he were invited to lock it, if he wished to work in privacy.

He turned the key in the door, and, as an afterthought, pushed a chair under the door handle as an additional safeguard. Then he set to work on the safe.

Tony tried to ignore the creeping flesh at the back of his neck. There was something wrong. He had expected the traps. But there should have been more of them. Aside from the unpickable nature of the lock, which was proceeding rather nicely, he thought. There had to be something that Barton knew, that he did not. The man would not relinquish the prize so easily, if he thought Tony could make it into the room. There must be something he was not considering, then. The thought nagged at him, as he shifted the pick in his hand to catch the next slider. Barton could not have concealed the plates on his person before leaving. They were not huge, but too large to slip into a coat pocket. He would not leave something so precious unguarded, would he?

And then the thought hit him. Barton might leave the plates unguarded to go to something he wanted more.

Tony had left Constance. Unprotected.

Even as he thought it, he felt the pick slip home to move the last slider. With a slight turn of his wrist, he opened the lock and the door to the safe swung wide.

He reached into the opening.

There were no plates within.