The Thief Taker by Janet Gleeson Page B

dwell on this last remark, unable to see a way of averting the inevitable. Was she to be offered to this loathsome thief taker—a man who profited from others’ misfortune—as bait to entice him to help? No, she told herself, Theodore would never misuse her in such a way. His earlier arguments—the age and fragility of the remaining upper servants, Mr. Pitt’s preference for an intermediary—these were the reasons for her unwelcome appointment.
    Theodore expected nothing but compliance, and interpreted her troubled silence as acquiescence. “You should not, of course, reveal that you are my cook—I do not wish him to take insult by my sending a domestic servant,” he continued. “Rather say you are an engraver from my workshop, come on my behalf. I will notify him in advance. Do what you can to play on his sympathy—it can only help. Let him know you are recently arrived and fear you will lose your position if the business flounders, as it certainly will in the face of such a prodigious loss.”
    The hammering started up again. This time it was gentler than before, but Agnes shrank inwardly as she anticipated every stroke. “And how much do I offer to pay?” she murmured.
    â€œTo begin with he will merely require a fee to register the loss. Assuming he finds the wine cooler, the negotiations for its return will come later. At very least he will expect the melted value of the metal. I am prepared to offer that sum plus a modest additional payment. But I don’t wish you to disclose that in the first instance. Nor do I want Sir Bartholomew Grey’s name mentioned. Heaven forbid we attract Pitt’s unsavory attention toward his household or I’ll never see another commission from him.” Theodore paused. “I should also say, if you acquit yourself well in this I shall reward you handsomely. Find the wine cooler and I will pay you twenty guineas.”
    Agnes’s stomach tightened. Twenty guineas was six months’ wages. She still felt a powerful presentiment of doom, but if she took on this role, she might not only save the Blanchard enterprise but benefit Peter. She nodded hesitantly. “Very well, sir,” she said. “When shall I call on Mr. Pitt?”
    Theodore smiled and mopped his brow again. His mood seemed less fraught. “Tomorrow at midday. I will tell my wife to inform Mrs. Tooley you are to be permitted extra freedom to assist me. Marcus Pitt will be expecting you. Philip will escort you to his premises.”
    â€œI could go on my own, if it is more convenient, sir,” said Agnes, who did not in the least relish the prospect of a journey disturbed by the garrulous Philip.
    Theodore shook his head. “Do not underestimate the dangers of this undertaking, Mrs. Meadowes. Pitt might pose as an arbiter of the law, but from all I hear he is as much a rogue as those with whom he deals. Heaven forbid the same fate should befall you as that poor fellow last night…”

Chapter Seventeen
    S OME HOURS LATER , Agnes stood at the kitchen table with a newly boiled calf’s head on a platter before her. She inserted the point of a sharp knife midway between the eyes and slowly raised the skin. Faced with the practicalities of preparing supper, she attempted to push all thoughts of Marcus Pitt from her mind. The only matter superseding the steaming head and its forcemeat stuffing was her pressing need to retrieve Peter from Mrs. Catchpole. Theodore’s proposal offered money and, more immediately, a chance to escape her usual duties. She would thus be able to find somewhere for Peter to stay. She began to view the proposed mission with a measure of willingness—gratitude, even. And yet Theodore Blanchard’s final thoughtless words of warning were not forgotten. The prospect of involving herself in matters outside her world frightened her. But if she could brazen out the perils for Peter’s sake, she could