slipped to him via that handshake and looking about himself frantically in hopes no one else had noticed, before scooping down to pick it up.
Truly, Puck thought as he stood in the shadows, sipping from his own wineglass, the farce that played out during second intermission was by itself worth the cost of admission.
Once more leaving the baron to his own devices when the gong alerted the audience that the play on the stage was about to recommence, Puck followed behind Mr. Carstairs to assure himself that, yes, the man indeed was reentering his private box.
But, all things considered—and Puck always made it a point to consider everything—it was doubtful dear Dickie would remain there for much longer. For that reason, Puck inclined his head toward the ever-faithful Gaston, who immediately left his place of concealment in order to go down to the street and order the elegant but unmarked black carriage be called to the front of the building in anticipation of its owner’s departure.
Within five minutes, the curtain on the aforementioned private box was pushed back and Dickie Carstairs emerged. Once again betraying himself by looking left and right to assure himself he was unobserved, he headed straight for the stairs that led down to the foyer and the street beyond.
Digging holes. Yes, and even that is probably rather above his expertise, Puck thought, pushing himself away from the wall and following after the man.
When he reached the street, the elegant black town coach was pulling up in front of the theater to inhabit the spot just vacated by the departure of another coach. This one, with its blue paint and yellow-accented wheels, was readily recognizable to anyone who had taken the time earlier in the week to make a passing inspection of the baron’s stables.
With a wink to the grinning footman holding the door open to him, Puck entered the coach, and his coachman, brother to the footman and the pair of them years earlier rescued from an unhappy employment as rather unsuccessful housebreakers, immediately implemented the unspoken order to follow the first coach.
“Sometimes, Gaston,” Puck said as he settled back against the comfortable squabs and shot his shirt cuffs, “it’s almost too easy. However, if you were by any chance considering resting on your laurels, let me remind you that my brother Jack is not called Black Jack for nothing. He probably already knows we’re on our way.”
“How comforting to learn that one’s younger sibling is not entirely a blockhead,” drawled a familiar voice from the dark that enveloped the facing seat.
“Your pardon, m’sieur, ” Gaston apologized fervently. “He took me by surprise, as well. If you were now to lower the knife, kind brother of my m’sieur? ”
Puck slapped his knees and laughed out loud. “Jack!You’re following them, as well? Don’t trust your own compatriots, do you?”
Jack slipped the knife back into the top of his boot. “I trust them to realize they’re being followed, if that’s your question. I’ll admit to being mildly surprised to see you on Dickie’s tail earlier this evening.”
Puck shrugged in his elegant way. “My fault. I was so busy looking out for what was in front of me that I neglected to look behind me. Considering that I’m rather out of favor with a certain somebody at the moment, that could have proved a fatal mistake. Clumsy. Shame on me.”
“The m’sieur is too kind,” Gaston said, and then sighed heavily. “It is I who was to have his back tonight. It is I who has failed.”
“Well, isn’t this lovely. The two of you, gallantly trying to shift the blame away from each other. That’s the problem with both of my brothers, isn’t it? Soft hearts. Soft hearts lead to soft heads, you know, and soft heads are more easily crushed.”
Puck made a face in the darkness. “You should write for the stage, Jack. Don’t hold a candle to Will Shakespeare, but that drivel might do well enough for some
Truly, Puck thought as he stood in the shadows, sipping from his own wineglass, the farce that played out during second intermission was by itself worth the cost of admission.
Once more leaving the baron to his own devices when the gong alerted the audience that the play on the stage was about to recommence, Puck followed behind Mr. Carstairs to assure himself that, yes, the man indeed was reentering his private box.
But, all things considered—and Puck always made it a point to consider everything—it was doubtful dear Dickie would remain there for much longer. For that reason, Puck inclined his head toward the ever-faithful Gaston, who immediately left his place of concealment in order to go down to the street and order the elegant but unmarked black carriage be called to the front of the building in anticipation of its owner’s departure.
Within five minutes, the curtain on the aforementioned private box was pushed back and Dickie Carstairs emerged. Once again betraying himself by looking left and right to assure himself he was unobserved, he headed straight for the stairs that led down to the foyer and the street beyond.
Digging holes. Yes, and even that is probably rather above his expertise, Puck thought, pushing himself away from the wall and following after the man.
When he reached the street, the elegant black town coach was pulling up in front of the theater to inhabit the spot just vacated by the departure of another coach. This one, with its blue paint and yellow-accented wheels, was readily recognizable to anyone who had taken the time earlier in the week to make a passing inspection of the baron’s stables.
With a wink to the grinning footman holding the door open to him, Puck entered the coach, and his coachman, brother to the footman and the pair of them years earlier rescued from an unhappy employment as rather unsuccessful housebreakers, immediately implemented the unspoken order to follow the first coach.
“Sometimes, Gaston,” Puck said as he settled back against the comfortable squabs and shot his shirt cuffs, “it’s almost too easy. However, if you were by any chance considering resting on your laurels, let me remind you that my brother Jack is not called Black Jack for nothing. He probably already knows we’re on our way.”
“How comforting to learn that one’s younger sibling is not entirely a blockhead,” drawled a familiar voice from the dark that enveloped the facing seat.
“Your pardon, m’sieur, ” Gaston apologized fervently. “He took me by surprise, as well. If you were now to lower the knife, kind brother of my m’sieur? ”
Puck slapped his knees and laughed out loud. “Jack!You’re following them, as well? Don’t trust your own compatriots, do you?”
Jack slipped the knife back into the top of his boot. “I trust them to realize they’re being followed, if that’s your question. I’ll admit to being mildly surprised to see you on Dickie’s tail earlier this evening.”
Puck shrugged in his elegant way. “My fault. I was so busy looking out for what was in front of me that I neglected to look behind me. Considering that I’m rather out of favor with a certain somebody at the moment, that could have proved a fatal mistake. Clumsy. Shame on me.”
“The m’sieur is too kind,” Gaston said, and then sighed heavily. “It is I who was to have his back tonight. It is I who has failed.”
“Well, isn’t this lovely. The two of you, gallantly trying to shift the blame away from each other. That’s the problem with both of my brothers, isn’t it? Soft hearts. Soft hearts lead to soft heads, you know, and soft heads are more easily crushed.”
Puck made a face in the darkness. “You should write for the stage, Jack. Don’t hold a candle to Will Shakespeare, but that drivel might do well enough for some
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