Page 100 of The Swan Syndicate
Stella could see how distraught her friend was, but she wasn’t sure what to do.
“I saw it.”
The women turned to find a middle-aged gentleman with rather long sideburns wiping what looked like champagne from his shirt. It might have been from Flora’s glass, but several people had been bumped, so it could have been from anyone. “The man was quick, but his hand gripped a silver and jeweled item before he stuffed it in his pocket. It happened in a flash, but I saw what I saw.”
“Which way did he go?” Stella asked as she began searching the crowd.
“Down the hallway toward the back of the manor.”
“Stay here,” Stella shouted to the women, and she took off down the hall.
She shoved people out of the way, shouting “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” as she stopped every so often to stand on tiptoes in an attempt to catch sight of the man in question. She’d been watching Flora and her glass of champagne, trying to dodge out of the way, and hadn’t seen the man at all.
The crowd was thinning as she moved farther away from the ballroom. She knew she was on the right track because some of the guests appeared flustered as they glanced down the hall. Was it the thief?
Then she saw him. He wasn’t moving very fast, but he kept his head down as he kept an even pace. She quickened her steps as she followed. Would one of the crews be daring enough to steal jewelry from around someone’s neck during a ball? Had there been more than one thief? Chester, who ran one of the larger gangs—or crews as Beckworth called them—in the city, would never do anything so risky. Beckworth never mentioned a crew running a job during a ball. The topic never came up, but still. If it was common, wouldn’t he have mentioned it?
She ignored the stares of the men and women around her as she hurried along, ready to break out into a run. When he turned for what Stella thought might be the solarium, and the peoplewere becoming scarce, she decided it was time to call for help. Maybe she should have done it sooner, but she was close enough now, he shouldn’t be able to get away.
Four men were coming toward them, and the man she chased had slowed as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He still kept his head down.
“Stop that man!” Stella broke into a run, swearing at her shoes, which started to pinch. “He’s a thief!”
The four men looked around, and Stella rolled her eyes as she gained on the man. Before she could reach him, the four men suddenly understood, but the man bent over as he picked up speed and, leading with his shoulder, plowed into them like they were bowling pins.
While the four men weren’t able to stop the thief, they slowed him down. Stella almost grabbed his coat, but just as her fingers brushed it, she tripped over one of the men. She landed on all fours and, after two attempts, was able to lift her skirts high enough to get back on her feet as she raced after the thief, no longer caring who was watching or that she wasn’t acting like a proper English lady of the manor.
The thief ran through the solarium and out the back patio, almost flying down the steps. Stella was hot on his trail. When he reached the grassy lawn of the classic English garden, he stopped and turned. Stella zeroed in on his face, somewhat shocked by what she saw, though she didn’t know the man. But she knew the leer.
She reached into her pocket with one hand while pulling up her dress with the other so she didn’t trip down the stairs. The man was waiting for her, but his eyes went wide when he saw her pull out her dagger.
He turned to run, and, with one huge lunge, Stella leaped. It was enough to grab a leg, which threw the man off balance, and they tumbled onto the grass.
He had size and weight on his side, but she swung out with her dagger and heard a quick intake of breath. Then a fist slammed into the side of her head, and it sent her wheeling. She reached out one last time, but once again, his coat slipped through her fingers.
Her head hurt like a mother, and when her breath returned, she tried to stand as she watched the man flee into the night. Three other men raced past her as they chased after the thief.
Then Stella, who was having difficulty getting her feet under her, was suddenly lifted up and spun around. She reached for her head.
“Don’t do that.”
Someone stripped the dagger from her hand.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed or stabbed.”
She heaved, gasping for breath, her head pounding, but managed to glance up into Beckworth’s angry and worried face.
Concern overruled his irritation as he shoved the knife into an inside pocket before he held her face in his hands. They were gentle as he took in every inch of her. When his hand moved over the right side of her head, she winced and pulled back.
“Ouch.”
“All right. It’s all right. Let’s get you back inside, or at least to the patio so you can sit and catch your breath.”
Then she was pulled tight against him in a bear hug she couldn’t possibly escape from. His cheek rested on the top of her head, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, turning her head to lean her left cheek against his chest.
“If I’d lost you to a pickpocket, I’d hunt down every crew member until I found the one who did it. I might do that anyway. I know the necklace that was stolen and how important it was to Elizabeth, but you should never have taken it upon yourself to run recklessly into danger.”
“No,” she managed to spit out before his grip tightened.
