Olivia Twist(5)
Fagin, the old kidsman, had taken one look at Ollie’s face, proclaimed her the perfect angelic distraction, and without an inkling of her true gender, presented her with a pristine, blue sailor’s suit as a welcome to the crew.
That night, the Dodger had offered her a soft pallet under the eaves of the roof, removed from the chaos of the other boys. Her belly full of smoked meat and day-old rolls, she’d grinned dreamily as he’d tucked her in, promising to teach her a trade that would keep her full and protected for the rest of her days.
When one of the older boys had complained about her prime sleeping spot near the fire, Dodger had punched him sound in the nose, and then pulled his pallet next to hers so that she laid nestled between him and the wall. A few moments later, he’d produced a brightly wrapped piece of candy and handed it to her. “This lot don’t know ’ow good they got it, Ollie.”
With trembling hands, she’d unwrapped the gold cellophane and popped the confection into her mouth. The buttery-sweet taste had brought tears to her eyes. She’d had candy once in her life, on Christmas the year before her nurse passed on.
With his head propped on one hand, those canny blue eyes searched hers. “But you do know, don’cha?”
She’d nodded, swiped at her wet cheeks, and sucked on the sugary goodness melting on her tongue. Dodger had flopped onto his back, one hand behind his head. “Don’t you worry none, kid. After I’ve trained you, you’ll never ’ave a reason to leave our right little nest.”
He’d turned to face her again, blinking at her wet cheeks. “Lesson one: Friends are just enemies in disguise. Don’t let the others see ya bawlin’. Tha’s a good way to get trounced.”
That was the day he’d become her champion. Brash, confident, and brave, he’d been all the things Olivia wanted to be.
Her heart light, she skipped down the rest of the stairs toward the sounds of the dinner party. Against all the odds, that daring, clever boy had fought his way off the streets and into the upper echelon of London society. But if he’d truly left the life behind, whyever would he rob the Platts?
Olivia paused in the darkened hallway and stroked the silver treasure in her pocket. Why, indeed.
CHAPTER 2
Jack donned his old hat and ran a hand over his face as he stepped out the back door of the townhouse he called home. There was only one person in the world for whom Jack would be up and about at this ungodly hour, and she happened to be the woman who’d changed his life. Lois March may look like a half-baked old granny, but when she set her mind to something, not even that cold-hearted bludger, Edward Leeford, could’ve denied her.
Thoughts of the man who’d terrorized his young life set Jack’s feet moving faster. The scar on his right cheekbone throbbed, as it did every time he thought of Leeford and the beating he’d given Jack when he refused to take a five-year-old boy to steal from the most corrupt whorehouse in the city. At thirteen, Jack had seen it all and had no qualms about robbing the old flesh peddler, but the job required a tiny body. Jack had taken the boy halfway to Seven Dials before he’d been struck by a rare moment of conscience and turned back. Everyone had their limits, even orphan thieves, and Jack had reached his. When he returned empty-handed, Leeford, who was several years Jack’s senior, had beat him so badly that he still bore the scars. And when Jack had stepped in to protect the little one from the same fate, Leeford had pulled a knife.
Fagin, his old kidsman—the man who’d been like a father to him—hadn’t said a word as Leeford stabbed Jack between the ribs and took the child to complete the job himself. Jack left that day and never looked back, taking half of Fagin’s gang with him.
He’d heard Leeford had met a tragic end, his story one of Jack’s motivations for finding a new life. Violence begets violence.
He rolled his shoulders as he turned onto Piccadilly Street, the coarse shirt he reserved for his trips into the city scratchy against his skin. Saints! The old biddy had transformed him into a right dandy.
Jack had yet to decide if Lois March was his savior or his one-way ticket to Newgate Prison, but regardless, her intimate acquaintance with every well-off family in London—and more importantly, all their most valuable treasures—had led to his current vocation. He almost smiled, recalling how Lois referred to some of society’s most elite families by the jewels they owned. The Platts’ were “the Rubies,” for the exquisite set of ruby earbobs, bracelet, and necklace Mrs. Platt had inherited from her grandmother. Lois viewed them as the perfect mark because she’d only seen the woman wear the jewels once in twenty years. All the same, he’d argued against the crack. Heirlooms were the type of loot that would be missed, and the paste-jeweled bauble he’d left in their safe wouldn’t fool a blind man.
As Jack turned a corner, he approached a maid from the neighbor’s household carrying a basket of fresh fruit. With a tip of his hat and a grin, he snatched a gleaming apple off the pile.
“Jack!” The girl—who could not have been more than ten and five—slapped his arm and gave him an evocative smile over her shoulder as she passed. “Stop by later and I’ll make ye a nice tart.”
Biting into the crisp, sweet fruit, Jack watched the exaggerated sway of the maid’s hips. The girl really should take more care in who she propositioned. An apple in the wrong hands could spoil her forever. And Jack was most definitely the wrong hands for any sort of intimate association. Jack contemplated going back and putting a definitive end to the flirtation, but the weight of the bracelet in his pocket pushed him onward.