Page 138 of Thief of the Ton
“Good boy,” he said. “Forgive me for treating you like a beast of burden, but you’re carrying a very special item.”
He opened the bag to check inside, caught sight of the golden cherub, then smiled at the prospect of returning it, at last, to its real owner.
Finally, justice is done.
He knocked on the door and waited. Moments later, it opened, to reveal the familiar plump, gray-haired woman. But her usual sunny demeanor had gone. Her eyes were red and swollen, as if she’d been crying.
“Mrs. Bates, is anything amiss?”
“Oh, Lord Marlow!” she cried. Then she glanced over her shoulder and back again. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
He took a step forward, but rather than move aside to grant him entrance, she stood her ground.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” he asked.
“I-I don’t know. The master isn’t up to visitors. And he’d never admityou.”
“Nonsense!” Peregrine said. He held up the bag. “I’ve something to lift his spirits—and Miss de Grande’s, of course. Is she at home?”
Mrs. Bates drew in a sharp breath. “Y-you’ve not heard?”
“Heard what?”
“That we have suffered the fruits of your labors, Lord Marlow.”
The skin on the back of his neck tightened. What the devil was going on?
“Please be so good as to admit me, Mrs. Bates,” he said. “I’m come to see Miss de Grande and her father.”
“You’re not welcome, sir,” she said. “Not after what you’ve done. I don’t know how you can show your face here!”
“What the devil am I supposed to have done?”
“Let him in, Mrs. Bates!” a voice croaked from inside. “If only to answer for his actions.”
The woman stepped aside.
“He’s in the parlor,” she said. “But if you say or do anything to harm him further, I swear to God, I’ll—”
“That’s enough, Mrs. Bates,” the voice said. “I’lldeal with him. You fetch your husband.”
The woman sniffed, then ushered Peregrine into the parlor.
De Grande lay reclined in a chair, his legs propped up on a footstool, covered in a blanket. His body seemed to have shrunk—his hands, clasped together on his lap, were thin and claw-like. Deep lines were etched into his features—paper-thin skin that seemed to stretch over his cheekbones. He could almost have been mistaken for a cadaver, except for his deep-set eyes. Clear and bright, they focused on Peregrine with an expression of such hatred that he could swear he could almost taste it.
Footsteps approached from behind.
“What you be wanting, your lordship… Oh!” Mr. Bates stopped short as he caught sight of Peregrine. Then he took hold of his arm. “Shall I see him out, sir?”
“No, Bates, I…” De Grande broke off with a volley of coughs, then he drew in a wheezing breath. “I want him to explain himself, then you may remove him.”
“I’m come to return the clock,” Peregrine said, holding up the bag. “See?”
“The clock!” de Grande spat. “Isthatall you care about? What about my daughter, you bastard?”
“I…don’t understand…”
“I’ve lost her!” de Grande cried, then his body shook with his coughing.
