Lady Lightfingers by Janet Woods Page A

sister before leaving,’ he said, and he turned his back on her and left the room without giving her another glance.

Six
    Thomas had recovered from his illness, except for the occasional cough, and had been allowed to dress and go downstairs.
    Mrs Packer tucked a rug around his knees and Frederick leaped up to purr throatily against his stomach.
    â€˜I’ve made you some nice chicken broth for lunch,’ she said.
    â€˜Your chicken broth is always excellent, Mrs Packer.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir.’
    â€˜Has there been any mail while I was sick?’
    â€˜The usual bills and invitations.’ She hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘That young woman came to see you when you were ill. She said her mother had died and she was going to take her young sister to live with some relatives in the country. Dorset, she mentioned, and prattled on, mentioning a boy . . . a right rapscallion he looked with a top hat pulled down over his ears, if you ask me.’
    He gazed at her in shock. ‘You said Mrs Laws had died? How . . . Was she ill?’
    â€˜She was killed, sir, but they caught the lad who did it. The young woman wrote you a letter; it’s in her diary. I’ll fetch it for you. And I gave her enough money for her train fare from the teapot, and some food. I thought that’s what you’d want me to do.’
    â€˜Yes . . . yes, I would have . . . the poor child.’
    James arrived. ‘The doctor has allowed you out of bed, has he, Uncle? We were quite worried about you. Could you spare a cup of tea for a thirsty man, Mrs Packer?’ Settling himself on a chair round the fire, he opened his paper and began to read.
    Thomas slid Celia’s letter from the notebook and began to read it, exclaiming,
    â€˜Oh, the poor child . . . listen to this, James. It’s from Celia Laws. Such a tragedy.’
    James lowered the paper and gazed over the top at his uncle. ‘Must I?’
    â€˜James, do please act your age and pay attention.’ Thomas ignored his nephew’s groan and began to read.
    Dear Mr Hambert,
    My mother, who never did any harm to anyone, was hit on the head and killed by a ferocious felon, who then stole the wages that she’d worked all week long for.
    James huffed with laughter. ‘What’s that . . . one of Celia’s stories? It certainly sounds like a dramatic opening . . . definitely a tragedy. I believe she might be descended from William Shakespeare.’
    â€˜They say that truth is stranger than fiction, James, and this is the truth, according to Mrs Packer. Celia’s mother has been killed, the poor woman. The young man who hastened her on her way has been arrested, or so Mrs Packer tells me.’
    Gazing sharply at his uncle, James paid more attention to what the older man was saying. ‘Mrs Laws is dead?’ Although he’d only met her once, she couldn’t have been much older than him, and he’d liked her. It was too sudden to take in.
    â€˜What of her children?’
    His query was answered with his uncle’s next breath.
    I am leaving London, where I’m no longer safe from the unwanted attention of certain people. My mother’s wish was for me to take Lottie to the country to be cared for by her sisters, if they are inclined to be charitable to their destitute nieces.
    â€˜Celia is lucky in that she has relatives to fall back on.’
    â€˜She will be if they’ll take her in.’
    Because I wrote these stories for you, I have left them for safekeeping in the notebook you sent me. They number six in all, but they’re not very good. Writing stories was harder than I thought it would be. When Lottie is settled I intend to seek out a theatre company and try and earn my living as an actress, so I can support her.
    I will write to you when I’m settled, dear Mr Hambert, then you will not have to say to your nephew, ‘Do you remember Celia Laws, the girl who snatched my watch