Page 58 of Stolen By the Rogue
Jane peered into the hole as George disappeared down a narrow set of steps. His voice drifted up from the bottom. “Come on.”
“Now I know what you meant when you said we were going to bury the treasure again,” she called to him.
She made her way down the steps and found herself in an underground room. Against one wall was a huge iron door, bolted and locked. It had a look of secure impenetrability. “You don’t take chances,” she observed.
“We can’t afford to,” he replied.
George set his bag on the floor. After rummaging in his coat pocket, he produced a key. But to Jane’s growing interest, he didn’t attempt to use it on the giant padlock. Instead, he slipped it into a small, almost invisible, keyhole to one side of the lock. A click echoed in the tiny space. The main lock was a false one, designed to confuse any potential thief.
The large iron door swung open with ease.
Inside the safe were four large boxes. Each was marked with a set of initials: G.H., A.J., A.M., and S.M.
“I thought there were five of you,” she said.
“There are, but once Harry got married and gave up the life, he no longer needed his.” George pulled the box marked G.H. out and set it on the floor. After producing yet another key, he unlocked the box.
Inside were papers, coins, the odd gemstone, and a large wad of bank notes. It was a small fortune—enough for George to have funded Coal Yard Lane by himself.
“Why did you have to borrow money from Harry to buy the house if you have this?” she asked.
“Because there would be no point in me having all my money tied up in a house when I need it for my flee box,” he replied.
“What is a flee box?”
He shook his head. “Flee box, as in, this is what I will need if I ever have to flee England. We all add to our boxes whenever we get money from a job.”
“There are these things called banks, you, know? They are likely safer than keeping your wealth under the floor of a stable,” she replied.
George opened his bag and lifted the chest out. After a quick check, he placed it into the box. “I don’t trust bankers. They are all thieves.”
That’s the pot calling the kettle black.
The box, along with the treasure hoard, now went back into the safe, and the iron door was closed and locked.
George let out a sigh of relief. “I feel so much better now that has been done. I barely slept a wink last night worrying about it.”
Back upstairs and with the door and straw all set to rights, George led Jane out into the mews.
As they approached, Bob rose from his chair. At George’s signal, he disengaged the rifle. “Good morning, Mister Hawkins, Miss Scott. I trust everything is all in order?”
“Yes, it is. Thank you, Bob. Your banker will receive payment instructions in good time,” replied George.
“As always.”
In Gracechurch Street, George reached into his pocket and produced a handful of coins. “Here, have these and get a hack to take you home. I will join you shortly.”
“Why aren’t I coming with you? I thought we were going to see your father and get our claim underway,” replied Jane.
He shifted uneasily on his feet and wouldn’t meet her gaze. “We shall see my father this afternoon. He will be in court this morning. In the meantime, I have to go somewhere. It’s RR Company business. I shan’t be too long.” George stepped onto the road and waved his hand at a passing hack. The carriage had barely stopped before he had the door open and was bundling Jane inside.
As the hack pulled into the bustling traffic, Jane spun in her seat and pressed her face to the glass. She caught a glimpse of George as he walked in the front door of the RR Coaching Company offices.
A horrible sinking feeling gripped her. She had just stood and watched while a self-confessed liar and master thief had locked her treasure chest in his secure vault, after which she had allowed him to send her away.
“Oh, Jane. You silly girl. What have you done?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
