Anne Stuart by Prince of Swords Page B

are deserted, sometimes he has the effrontery to rob when the house is ablaze with a party. No one quite knows how he does it. He’s as sneaky and silent as a cat.” Ermintrude’s small eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “I thought you were at Lady Plumworthy’s when one such a robbery occurred?” she said sharply.
    “ Perhaps I was. No one bothered to inform me of it,” she lied blithely.
    “ I should think not. It could hardly be your concern,” Ermintrude said with a sniff. She rose and bestowed a gracious kiss on the unwilling Jessamine. “If there’s a problem with your wardrobe, let me know and I’ll see if I can contrive something. I wouldn’t want you to shame my sister.”
    Jessamine stumbled, treading sharply on Ermintrude’s instep, then fell back. “I beg your pardon, Ermy,” she said with breathless innocence. “I am so clumsy on occasion.”
    Ermintrude allowed herself the luxury of a glare. “Till next week.”
    Jessamine nodded and proceeded to accompany Miss Winters to the door. “I can’t imagine where the servants could have gone to,” she said vaguely.
    Ermintrude cast a suspicious look around the place. If she suspected the impoverished Maitlands couldn’t afford so much as a daily maid, her horror would be complete, and the social offer might be rescinded.
    Ermintrude’s carriage waited outside the Maitlands’ front door, the liveried coachman guarding it from the curious denizens of Spitalfields. Jessamine stood in the open doorway until it pulled away, then slowly shut the door and leaned against it.
    She had probably made a very grave mistake. Her plans were well and carefully made: once she amassed a certain amount of money from her work with the despised Clegg, she could afford to move to better quarters and manage a small, discreet launch into society for her beloved Fleur. Once she contracted a reasonable marriage, the future would be assured. Jessamine had learned to make do on very little indeed. Fleur didn’t need to attract a Croesus—any decently landed gentleman with a kind soul would do.
    But this was dangerous indeed. There was no guarantee that any eligible parti would be present at Sally Blaine’s house party, and if the Maitland sisters appeared and then disappeared, questions would be asked.
    She would have to take some of the carefully hoarded money and make new clothes for Fleur, not to mention something decent and discreet for herself. Her mother still had her extensive wardrobe, however, and there might very well be gowns that could be modified, modernized, cut down to fit Jessamine’s slighter figure.
    It would also make her identity clear. The Gypsy fortuneteller would be unmasked, and certain sticklers might not approve of such a creature for a sister-in-law.
    Still, it was a risk she had to take. Josiah Clegg was beginning to frighten her. She’d always been uneasy around him, though she’d lessened her misgivings by assuring herself she was helping the almost lost cause of law and order in the wretched streets of London.
    But lately she could no longer believe that, or believe that Clegg cared one whit for justice. He wanted his thief-taker’s share, and it didn’t matter to him if it came from the neck of a hardened criminal or an innocent child.
    She could help him this one last time. She could enable him to ensnare the notorious Cat, and then she could call it quits. A criminal of such daring would doubtless be worth a generous portion. She could even eschew her own share of it if Clegg would relinquish his hold on her.
    It seemed reasonable enough, and yet she knew it wasn’t. The answer lay in her cards, and she was afraid to read them. Afraid to ask the questions that would place her in an impossible situation.
    The Cat was the least of her worries, she reminded herself firmly. The elegant Earl of Glenshiel was similarly only a troubling distraction. With any luck he had already forgotten her very existence, and if she just managed to