Page 39 of The Gentleman’s Thief

“But is this what you want, you filthy little slut?” I barked as I thrust my hands under Sebastian’s dress and petticoats.

“Yes, do it, do it!” Leopold called enthusiastically as if he were wagering on a cockfight.

“Do you want it like this, rough and hard against a wall? Tell me?”

“Oui Monsieur, do it!” Evie said in a breathy accent, and my God, Cavell knew how to rile the beast in me! I tore blue silk French knickers from her, the flimsy fabric falling to the floor, and then I ran my hands over hips and soft clenched buttocks. I pressed my clothed erection between the cleft of his arse. The groan was not only from the man dressed as a woman I was toying with but from the wanton young German Baron with his trouser’s open watching us while he lazily fisted his slender prick.

I leaned to Sebastian’s ear and as I pretended to ravage Evie’s throat I asked. “Do you really want me to do this now?”

“Wait; watch his hand, it looks like it won’t take the drug much longer to take effect.”

I turned my head to see Leopold’s once frantic fisting became sloppy and then his head lolled back and a second later, a light snore came from his mouth.

I stepped back from Sebastian, ashamed by the evident arousal tenting in my trousers. I lowered and flattened the frock. “Forgive me.” I insisted, embarrassed by my indecent behavior.

“What’s to forgive? The plan worked like a charm.” Cavell delighted as if I had known his damnable plan all along.

“You, dear heart were rather impressive.” He said, leaning to give me a peck on the cheek. I couldn’t repress the rush of pleasure at his praise.

“Now, we have to get the boy out of here!”

I was winded by arousal, praise, and now confusion. “How the devil do you suggest we do that?” I should have known better than to ask that question.

Cavell grinned at me and said, “Help me undress!”

After unfastening the clips for the blonde wig, then untying ribbons and clasps on the frock, we removed Evie’s dress and then the exhausting layers of undergarments that gave Cavell a more feminine silhouette. During that disrobing, I found a new respect for women as they wore such cumbersome garments every day.

We divested Leopold of his emerald silk suit, and then clothed the boy in Evie’s frock, while Sebastian dressed in the German boy’s garb. I must say, it was lucky that the fashion was for a generous cut this season for the green suit looked good on Sebastian even though he was a hand-span taller.

Cavell and I sat the frocked Leopold on a hearth chair, and with Cavell’s tutelage, we arranged the blond wig upon his head, securing it with clips. Leopold looked rather lovely and innocent in sleep, but the boy was in such a deep slumber that he couldn’t keep his head up, which proved troublesome. Cavell then went to the basin and ewer and washed the makeup from his face and tidied his ginger blond hair. When he was suitably male once more he unlocked the bedroom door and checked for comings and goings in the hallway.

“It’s all clear, let’s go!”

We each took an arm over our shoulder and gripped Leopold by the hips to stand him upright. Then we helped the worse for wear young lady down the hall towards the grand staircase. We passed bedroom after bedroom where the fevered sounds of congress near rattled the roof tiles.

Sebastian and I continued unmolested through Devonshire House, where only servants remained putting the house to rights before they could go to bed. We paused at the hat room where a yawning manservant sat with the remaining coats, hats, and accessories. He smirked at the lolling form of the drunken French lady as; wearing a lopsided grin Cavell tried single-handedly to keep her upright while I collected our hats, greatcoats, my cane, and the lady’s cloak. Donning our garments we stepped out into the pea-souper of a night and towards the waiting line of Clarence carriages, their torches flickering in the icy breeze. Once aboard the front carriage, Sebastian sat beside Leopold and pulled him to rest his lolling head on his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” I asked Cavell as I closed the door. He looked up and in the low light there was a triumphant smile on his face, and a wicked glint in his eyes. He was pleased with having stolen this treasure from right under the nose of his nemesis, Lawrence Blake, a man he rightly despised. I did not fault him for feeling triumphant about what we had just done and in fact, I found I was quite invigorated by the excitement of such a daring escapade, the likes of which I had never done before. A strange rush of elation warmed my blood and I could understand then, the thrill of being a thief. No matter the morals at play in this circumstance, I rather liked this feeling.

Sebastian opened the small window and called our destination to the driver, “St Katherine’s Dock!”

I was confused at why we were heading to the docks, but I sat back and enjoyed the feeling of exhilaration, and considered all that had occurred this night.

The Vanishing

We left Devonshire House behind and vanished into foggy streets and a near-deserted Piccadilly, our coach heading for the river. There was little traffic upon the main thoroughfares as all except those up to no good were abed. The night was frigidly cold, even in the coach with my greatcoat and gloves on I felt the wicked fingernails of winter scrape at my skin. I was concerned that in our rush to abscond, Leopold wore only a ladies frock and a cloak and might catch his death.

“Why are we going to the docks? Do you have an apartment there?” I had no idea where Cavell resided. He could live on a boat for all I knew. Sebastian stared out of the window, seeming a thousand miles away as the haloed streetlamps passed by, but he said nothing. I was unsure how imbibed Cavell truly was but he had taken on the sleepy languor of a drunk.

“What did you slip into his drink?”

He shuddered then as if I’d woken him out of a daydream.

“Just a little sleeping pill, nothing to worry about. He’ll wake up in a few hours with a sore head and some confusion. That is all.” Cavell insisted casually.

We speedily passed down dark streets and then turned onto the Embankment—a long, straight road that took us down the lamp-lit bank of the River Thames. The mist rolled in like waves, and on the river, all I could see in the inky blackness was the occasional lantern of a fisherman or a smuggler up to no good! Apart from the sounds of our vaporous breathing and young Leopold’s snores, the silence hung heavily inside the coach. Awkwardly, I fumbled with my pocket watch. It was near one a.m and my mind was numbing with the cold and my building terror, thinking of the ramifications of what Cavell and I had just done.

We traveled down cobbled streets with ten-foot-high walls on either side making the clip-clop sound of the horse's hooves reverberate eerily. I began to feel quite claustrophobic and silently said a prayer. The coach slowed as we passed through the iron archway to St Katherine’s Dock. I peered out of the window to see the outlines of huge brick warehouses to my left, and boats moored along the quayside to the right. The lilting jingle of chains and ropes as the moored boats bobbed on the high tide made my skin goosebump. On the dockside another carriage waited ahead, its torches dancing in the stiff breeze. The growler, laden with trunks and baggage on top was waiting was beside a ship, where across the steel hull the name CHRISTIANIA was writ large, and beneath, it was noted that the ship was registered at the port of Hamburg.