Page 109 of Thief of the Ton
“Which is?”
“The spoons have been found in a pawnshop on Hatton Garden.”
Peregrine frowned. “Spoons?”
“The regent’s apostle spoons.”
“The spoons that were stolen in Brighton?”
“The very same,” Houseman said, and Peregrine cringed at the pomposity in his voice. “They were brought in by a young man.” He pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. “Yes, that’s right,” he said, tapping the paper with his fingertip. “A young man, the proprietor said. Handed over the spoons in return for twenty guineas. He was dressed in a footman’s livery, and wearing a cloak, despite it being a warm day.”
“And when was this?”
“July fifteenth,” Houseman said, studying the paper. “A few days after they were reported stolen.”
Peregrine let out a snort. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the regent returned to London from Brighton on the fourteenth. Have you checked the Court and Social announcements?”
“What are you saying?”
Peregrine suppressed a laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? The regent himself pawned the spoons. He’s been strapped for cash this summer.”
“The regent himself is demanding the Phoenix be brought to justice,” Houseman said. “That’s what I came to tell you. He’s offered a reward of ten guineas.”
“For the return of the spoons?”
“No—for the successful incarceration of the thief,” Houseman said. “The pawnbroker was only too delighted to hand over the spoons for nothing.”
“I’ll wager he was, given who’d asked for them,” Peregrine said. “Clever bastard.”
“The Phoenix is not so clever.”
“I didn’t mean the Phoenix.”
“But one of the stolen items has been found,” Houseman said, “and now, thanks to my investigation, we have a description of the Phoenix.”
“Good heavens,” Peregrine replied. “I thought you were in possession of greater intelligence. The Phoenix didn’t steal the spoons.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“First, it doesn’t fit the pattern—the Phoenix has stolen items from country estates, not royal residences. Secondly, it’s clear that the Phoenix’s motive isn’t money. And thirdly, not even the Phoenix would be so bold as to deposit his bounty in a prominent pawnbroker’s where it would almost certainly be discovered. But our glorious regent has, in all likelihood, managed to increase his personal funds by twenty guineas, earn himself sympathy for being the victim of a crime, and earned a reputation for generosity in offering a reward which he expects never to have to pay.”
Understanding glimmered in Houseman’s expression—together with a flicker of greed.
“If we catch therealPhoenix, then His Royal Highness will be obliged to pay the reward.”
Hoofbeats echoed outside, and shortly after, Peregrine heard a knock on the main doors. Was the whole of bloody London out to disturb his breakfast?
The footman disappeared, then returned shortly afterward, his wide-eyed, shocked expression reminiscent of a man who’d seen a ghost.
“L-Lord Marlow,” he stammered. “Y-you…have another visitor.”
“Well—don’t just stand there, show him in.”
The footman moved aside to reveal an elderly gentleman who stood in the doorway, leaning on a cane with a silver top. His tanned, wrinkled skin reminded Peregrine of a well-worn leather saddle. He was thinner than when Peregrine last saw him, and the hair, once thick and blond, now formed wisps of gray that framed a face with a long, straight nose and sharp cheekbones. But the expression in his pale blue eyes was as sharp and critical as ever it was, and as Peregrine met his gaze, the past fourteen years seemed to fall away and he was, once more, an adolescent standing before an adult whose approval he constantly strove to earn, but had always been denied.
“What are you doing here, Father?”
Earl Walton twisted his mouth into a sneer. “You’ve not changed, boy,” he said. “Still lacking respect for your elders and betters. This house still belongs to me, you know.”
