Page 12 of Beauty and the Thief

Galloway rested both elbows on the bar and studied Cal in the mirror across from them. “Are we that easy to spot?”

“If you know what to look for.” Cal sipped more tea. He liked it sugary. It was so sweet it almost hurt his teeth.

“I don’t know the others, but I’d wager you have the right of it.”

“That’s a wager I won’t take.”

“Smart man.” Galloway reached over the bar, lifted a glass and a bottle of brandy and poured himself two fingers. He offered it to Cal, and Cal had to force himself to shake his head. He wouldn’t have stopped at two fingers. He didn’t have that much willpower.

“You know I’ve wanted an invitation to The Farm for as long as I can remember,” Galloway said, sipping his brandy. Cal could imagine the smooth liquor sliding down his own throat. The slight burn of it and then the heat. “From the first time I heard it whispered about. In their day my parents were members of the most elite, most secretive agency Britain had to offer. The Barbican was dismantled, but The Farm is almost as good.”

Cal had a thousand questions and half as many answers. Galloway and his sister came from a family of spies. He hadn’t heard of the Barbican, but Galloway’s parents had been members and the children had followed in the parents’ footsteps. “Why do they call it The Farm?” Cal asked.

Galloway sipped his brandy again, taking his time, savoring it. “I don’t know. I can guess, based on the name. To tell you the truth, Lucy and I aren’t even certain we’re bound for The Farm. The letters didn’t name it.”

“Letters?”

“Didn’t you receive a letter?”

Cal laughed. “Sure and the government sends me invitations all the time. Had to turn down the one from the Queen so I did.”

“You’ll be sorry. Her balls are renowned.”

“I wouldn’t know a ball from a—” he waved his hand as though thinking of some other fancy party, ”—a soiree. I’m no nob, and I’m no government agent.”

“You have other talents,” Galloway said quietly, his gaze meeting Cal’s in the mirror.

“A few.”

Galloway waited, but Cal wouldn’t show all his cards this early in the game.

“If you weren’t sent a letter, how were you invited?”

Cal didn’t have to tell Galloway, but there was no reason to hide it. And Galloway had told Cal his own story, probably hoping to oblige Cal to tell his. “I was at a tavern in Whitechapel, minding me own business.” Business was the operative word there. Cal’s business being swindling the young bucks who came in for a thrill out of their blunt.

“Rough area of Town.”

“You know it?”

“Not really.”

“I call it home. So sure and I’m sitting at a table in the tavern, watching the comings and goings. As you do.”

Galloway nodded.

“And in walks this man in a coat most couldn’t afford with a year’s wages. And he looks straight at me and walks over so he does. He stands at the empty chair and asks if he can join me. I thought me night had been made. The mark had come straight to me.”

Galloway smiled. “You’re a thief?”

Cal thought about Mrs. Benton. “I’ve picked a pocket or two, but I consider meself a businessman.”

“Most businessmen don’t call their clients marks.”

“Slip o’ the tongue.”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t think I was known outside the East End, but here comes this man who smells as though he just stepped out of the Bank of England, and he knows all about me. In particular, he knows about a few of me debts, and he offers me a ticket out of town. Sure and he thinks to con the conman. But he hands me the ticket and tells me me country needs me. So I told himself to keep talking.”

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