Page 1 of When You Rescued Me

Chapter 1

London, 1764

That’s th’ one, Sammy.” Charlie jerked his head toward the finely dressed gent who’d just descended from a nearby carriage. “Easy pickin’s.”

From the protection of the narrow alley, young Samuel Ross studied the gentleman, who was now walking toward the cobbler’s shop with purposeful strides. If the cut of the fellow’s clothes and the crisp clip of his highly polished boots against the cobblestones were any indication, the gent had money. Plenty of it. Enough that he would scarcely notice if a few coins—or a pocket watch—went missing.

“I dunno, Charlie.” Along with being well-to-do, the fellow appeared fit enough to readily chase down a couple of street urchins. “With ’ow few people are around t’ cover us, I reckon we’d do better with an older gent. One that’s dodderer than this one.”

Charlie scowled. “An’ exactly ’ow many doddery gents ’ave ya seen while we’ve been standin’ ’ere in th’ cold?” He did not wait for a response. “That’s right—none.” He shoved his arm into Samuel’s bony shoulder. “This is th’ one! The only way we’re goin’ t’ eat tonight is if we give Thrasher th’ money ’e wants. We both know ya can nab that toff’s pocket watch afore ’e blinks, but t’ do it, yer goin’ t’ ’ave to reach ’im afore ’e gets t’ th’ shop.”

Samuel gave a reluctant nod. Charlie had noticed the gent’s glittering timepiece, which meant there’d be no dissuading him. Besides, if the wealthy fellow was fool enough to glance at his shiny pocket watch on a street frequented by pickpockets, he was simply asking to have it taken.

Flexing his fingers, Samuel scanned the nearby shop fronts. He had no shortage of courage—fending for oneself on the streets of London tended to necessitate that particular attribute—but this setup sent uncomfortable warning prickles down his spine. And though he had yet to vocalize the observation, he was beginning to suspect that when Charlie opted to take a supportive role while Samuel risked all, the plan called for more foolhardiness than bravery.

“I’ll give ya the distraction ya need,” Charlie said, slipping past him on silent feet. “Once ya’ve nabbed the watch, ’ead straight t’ Bail­ey’s. Th’ old codger’ll give ya a decent price fer it.” He scowled again. “With ’ow fast ’em Bow Street fellas ’ave been movin’ recently, it’s best that ya unload it straightway.”

That, at least, was good advice. Ever since the Blind Beak had taken over as magistrate at Bow Street, the men he’d hired had clamped down like never before on the crimes occurring in and around London. It seemed as though they had eyes and ears everywhere.

Samuel rolled his shoulders. One unsuspecting gent. One pocket watch. And no one else in sight. Charlie was right: This was easy pickin’s. Pushing back the twinge of guilt that always surfaced right before he lifted something from an unsuspecting target, Samuel stepped out from the protection of the alley. He gauged the distance to the shop door. Two dozen steps. Then another fifteen or so to reach the street corner. That was the important number. He needed to disappear before the gent realized what Samuel had done.

Charlie was passing the fellow. Samuel picked up his pace. He had to be in position when Charlie made his move, or the opportunity would be lost. The toff’s watch was tucked into a small pocket on his right. Samuel veered left. Up ahead, Charlie feigned a stumble. He gave a cry, his arms flailing as he fell. The gent took an instinctive step to the left to avoid a collision and bumped into Samuel.

“Good heavens!” His surprise was mingled with irritation. “Watch yourself, boy.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.” With remarkable ease, Samuel slid his thin fingers beneath the front of the gentleman’s jacket. A chain. A small opening in the fabric housing a solid, round object. “I didn’t know ya was comin’ my way.”

The gent wrinkled his nose with distaste, hastily stepping aside. “It was the other boy. He all but fell at my feet.”

The man glanced down, but Charlie had disappeared. His attention shot back to Samuel, awareness flickering in his eyes. It was a look that boded ill for Samuel. In one swift, well-practiced movement, Samuel slipped the pocket watch from between his fingers into the sleeve of his shabby jacket. Then he took off running.

“Oy!” the gent shouted.

Samuel did not look back, but the thud of rapid footsteps warned that the gent was coming after him.

Charlie would be long gone by now—headed back to the dilapidated old house that Thrasher’s small army of pickpockets called home. He’d report to Thrasher that they’d be paying for their keep as soon as Samuel returned from visiting Mr. Bailey. Samuel’s heart thudded. The pawnbroker’s shop was at least half a mile away. And that gave the man pursuing him ample opportunity to catch up.

Samuel hurtled around the corner, ignoring all but the need to disappear into the narrow alley across the road before his pursuer spotted him. A carriage approached. The horses were large enough to trample him to the hard-packed ground if he got too close, but if he threw caution to the wind, they could also form the barrier he needed.

Knowing the smallest hesitation would seal his fate, he dashed into the road, directly in front of the carriage. One of the horses gave a startled whinny, but the animals were moving too fast to stop. The driver shouted a warning. Ignoring his burning lungs, Samuel pushed his legs to pump faster. Two more steps. The right lead horse’s nose grazed his back as he leaped across a small puddle of water to reach the narrow walkway beyond.

The carriage driver gave another shout—this one more angry than cautionary—but Samuel barely heard it. The entrance to the alley leading to Bailey’s Pawnshop was a few short paces away. By the time the carriage cleared the road, Samuel would be gone from view.

“Father! Look!” Hannah Dennington pointed to the shop up ahead. “The window is sparkling!”

Her father slowed his steps slightly. “Well now, it would seem that not only has the old pawnshop procured something that reflects the light, but its proprietor has also taken the time to clean the glass.”

“Or perhaps there’s something magical inside.” She drew her father to a halt in front of the window. “Just like in the Cave of Wonders Miss Clarke read about in the Arabian Nights book.”

Her father chuckled. “I doubt this rather rundown establishment has ever been likened to anything so magnificent, my dear. But I will grant that the proprietor has filled his shop with a great many interesting things.”

“Yes,” Hannah breathed, stepping close enough to see her reflection in the silver tea set positioned beside a large ebony elephant and two tall brass candlesticks. “This is surely where we shall find Mother’s birthday gift.”

She looked up at her father in time to see his slight frown. “I hardly think this is the best place, Hannah. A pendant made by one of the goldsmiths on Lombard Street would be far more appropriate.” He gestured toward their carriage parked nearby. “Now that I have completed my business, we can go there directly.”

Hannah caught her lower lip between her teeth. At eleven years of age, she knew full well that Society would frown upon her going out without her governess, so she had begged to be allowed to accompany her father into town to choose a birthday gift for her mother. It had taken her a fortnight to wear down her mother; it had taken less than an hour for her father to agree. The latter accomplishment was not terribly surprising; he rarely denied Hannah or her two younger sisters anything. It was a practice that frustrated their mother to no end, despite the fact that as far as Hannah could tell, their mother benefited from his benevolence just as much as Hannah and her sisters did.

True to form, even when unexpected business had required her father’s presence at the solicitor’s office this morning, he had not canceled their plans, choosing instead to view the extra errand as a detour rather than a derailment. Hannah had been thrilled. For as long as she could remember, she’d been fascinated by her father’s business dealings. The one time she’d visited the wharf when her father’s ships had been being unloading was a never-to-be forgotten memory. Visiting the solicitor’s office was not quite so exciting, but it was intriguing and a welcome reprieve from memorizing Shakespeare’s poetry under Miss Clarke’s watchful eye.