Page 79 of When You Rescued Me

“We spotted Mr. Aitken dressed as a footman,” she said. “He entered the ballroom through the french doors. Samuel has gone after him.”

Mr. Jealous muttered a curse. “We came upon another gang member in the shrubbery. Aitken must have slipped past us while we were distracted. Which way did he and Ross go?”

“Into the entrance hall,” she said. “But I do not know where they went after that.”

“Clarke has his hands full at present, but I’m going after them. Count to twenty before you reenter the ballroom so we appear unconnected.”

Hannah nodded numbly. “Please make haste!” Already too much time had passed since Samuel had left.

Samuel approached the top of the stairs cautiously. He’d waited until he’d seen Aitken turn left on the landing before ascending the wide staircase in his wake. Once again, time spent memorizing the floor plan was proving beneficial. Aitken had entered the private wing of the house, which meant it was all but certain that his destination was Lady Telford’s chambers. What the fellow hoped to find there Samuel did not know, but if Lady Telford’s arrogant belief that her valuables needed no special protection was any indication, her ladyship likely kept her jewelry in her chambers rather than at the bank. He could only hope that she was wise enough to employ the use of a safe.

Vaguely aware that the music coming from the ballroom had ended, Samuel tugged off his gloves. A latch clicked. Pressing himself against the wall, he peered around the corner in time to see the door to Lady Telford’s sitting room slowly close. The passageway was empty, and in the silence, he heard the muted click of another door. Aitken must have entered Lady Telford’s bedchamber.

Turning, Samuel tossed one glove down the stairs. It landed on the third step from the bottom. When Jealous or Clarke came after him, they would be looking for something to give them direction. The glove would let them know he’d taken the stairs. He moved into the private wing and dropped the second glove. It was all his colleagues would need to see to reach the same conclusion as Samuel.

Slipping his hand into his pocket, he withdrew a small pistol and approached the door leading to Lady Telford’s sitting room. He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. Downstairs, the music began again. Hoping the distant notes would help mask his entry, he turned the doorknob and slowly inched the door open.

Her ladyship’s sitting room was an explosion of pink and lace, but more importantly, there was no sign of Aitken. Samuel entered. The cloying scent of rosewater assailed him. He smothered his desire to cough and tilted his head slightly to listen. Rustling, heavy footsteps, and then the grind of a sash window being raised. Samuel crossed the room in six long strides. If Aitken meant to escape via the window, he had to reach him immediately. Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled open the door leading to Lady Telford’s bedchamber, raised his pistol, and stepped into the room.

In one swift movement, Aitken dropped the small burlap sack in his hand out of the open window and swung around.

“Move away from the window!” Samuel ordered.

With a contemptuous scowl, Aitken took two steps toward the bed. “If you have come for her ladyship’s jewels, you are too late. They are already in the hands of my companions.”

“Perhaps,” Samuel said, keeping his gun trained on the man as he slowly circled the room toward him. “Or they may be in the hands of mine.”

With unnerving calm, Aitken’s gaze flicked from Samuel’s face to the pistol in his hand and back again. “And you are?”

“One of Sir John Fielding’s men,” Samuel said. “It seems that you are overdue for a meeting with the magistrate. Your current criminal undertaking aside, I believe he wishes to discuss your recent activities at the docks.”

Samuel caught the widening of Aitken’s eyes as the first hint of fear flashed across his face. The next moment, the felon lunged for the upturned jewelry box lying on the bed. Samuel fired. Aikens cried out, fleetingly clasping his injured palm with his other hand before releasing it to seize the box. Straightening, he hurled the improvised weapon at Samuel’s head. Samuel darted right to avoid the object. It crashed into the wall behind him as Samuel’s hip hit the corner of the chair at Lady Telford’s dressing table. The chair teetered and fell. Samuel took a second step to steady himself, and in the blink of an eye, Aitken whipped a small firearm from his pocket and aimed it at Samuel.

“How unfortunate that you wounded my left hand when I shoot with my right,” he sneered, backing toward the door.

“Good to know,” Jealous growled from the sitting room, “I shall aim accordingly!”

Aitken froze, and before the felon had time to react to the second principal officer’s presence, Samuel launched himself at the man, toppling him to the ground. Aitken’s head hit the wooden floor with a crack. He groaned, momentarily stunned. Samuel pried the pistol from his fingers and slid it across the floor to Jealous, who stopped its progress with his foot. Aitken blinked, and then, as if suddenly realizing his peril, he clawed Samuel’s face. Blood smeared across Samuel’s cheek as the man’s fingers latched onto Samuel’s hair and damaged ear, mercilessly pulling at them.

With a grunt of pain, Samuel reared back and shook his hair free of Aitken’s grasp. Swinging his arm wide, he planted a solid punch in Aitken’s stomach. The air escaped the felon’s lungs in a single whoosh, leaving him gasping for breath.

Jealous moved to stand over both men, his gun trained on Aitken.

“Did you bring handcuffs?” Samuel asked, attempting to ignore his throbbing face and fist.

Jealous dropped a pair of handcuffs onto the floor beside Samuel. “I never go anywhere without them.” He waited until Samuel had Aitken’s second wrist secure. “Take Aitken’s pistol. You could use a second since we have still to find Grimsby.”

“And the jewelry,” Samuel said, reaching for Aitken’s weapon and tucking it into his pocket.

“That’s the least of our worries,” Jealous said. “Clarke and I ran into the man Aitken had positioned under Lady Telford’s window and removed him. Clarke should have already taken possession of whatever Aitken tossed down.”

“The man you caught wasn’t Grimsby?”

“No.” Jealous dragged Aitken to his feet.

A new fear skittered up Samuel’s spine. If the violent man wasn’t in the garden, where was he?

“If I had to make a guess,” Jealous continued, “I’d say that this spineless weasel left the dirty work of removing the pendant from Lady Telford’s neck to Grimsby while he kept his hands clean emptying her jewelry box.”